(Word count: 1366)
Sherlock stormed into
the hall. Loud music was playing. The place still packed with people, most of them he didn't even knew.
His eyes skimmed over the dimmed area. He found whom he was looking
for and rushed over to her. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her aside.
“Irene, who was that red head?”
She
snorted. “Which one, there are lots of read heads on the party.”
“I
need her name. Give me her name, woman.”
“Sherlock,
calm down, describe her to me.”
He
threw his hands in the air. “Short red hair, intelligent, slender build… and
beautiful.”
Irene
laughed aloud. “That could be anyone.”
“Oh
for god sake’s, you spoke to her earlier.”
“But
you’re not into women, why do you need her so badly?”
Sherlock
glared at her. “She… she, oh never mind.” He turned away from Irene, leaving a
baffled woman staring at him as he disappeared out the door.
He took
a deep breath when he stepped outside into the cool London night air. Why was he
so attracted to this woman? John used to be on his mind all the time, but now…
He sighed as he trotted towards the main road.
“Taxi,”
he called out, sticking his hand in the air.
The
taxi stopped next to him.
He
jumped in. “221 B Baker Street,” he said and glanced out the window as the taxi
took off.
He
shut his eyes, thinking of him and John making out behind the curtains on the stage.
That was when she appeared out of nowhere. She saw them shagging. She smiled at
him then disappeared.
Sherlock
opened his eyes when the taxi stopped in front of his flat. He paid the cabby,
jumped out and rushed up the stairs.
John
was sitting behind his laptop, blogging as usual.
He
looked up when Sherlock barged through the door. “Where did you disappear off
to? I was looking for you and decided to come home when I couldn’t find you.”
Sherlock
jumped feet first onto his chair, put his hands together in front of his face
and shut his eyes, ignoring John.
John
turned around in his chair. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,
leave me alone, John.”
“All
right then. I’m off to bed. Join me when you’re feeling better.” John shut his
laptop and headed over to the bedroom.
“Who
are you?” Sherlock murmured.
***
Janine stood against
the wall next to the door of 221 B, with her arms crossed. She smiled when the
short dark-blonde man stepped out of the apartment building. Sherlock would
follow him soon.
He
called for a taxi to stop and climbed in leaving the door open.
When
Sherlock stepped outside, he shut the door and glanced at the woman standing
against the wall. He turned around and headed towards the taxi.
“I
believe you are looking for me Mister Holmes.”
He
paused at the taxi door and glanced over his shoulder. His eyes enlarged before
he jumped around facing her. “It’s you,” he called out.
The
smile on her face grew wider.
He
turned back, bent forward at the taxi door and talked to John.
He
shut the door and strode towards the woman. “Who are you?”
“Janine.”
He
gazed at her, eyeing her from head to toe, trying to deduce her, but failed
like the time when he met Irene Adler.
“Irene
told me you were looking for me at the party last night.”
“I
was. Why did you disappear and what were you looking for on the stage?”
Her
eyes narrowed as she paced closer to him. “I wanted to see if the rumors about
you and John were true.”
His
face dulled. “What rumors?”
She
snorted. “That you are homosexual and not asexual as some said.”
Sherlock
glared at her. “Who are you? You are not a journalist.”
Janine
chuckled. “Mycroft was right he’s the clever one, not you.”
His
eyes enlarged again. “You know Mycroft?”
“I
do, brother mine.”
He
arched a brow and repeated her words. “Brother mine…” He shook his head. “I
don’t have a sister.”
She
puckered her lips. “Half-sister.”
“I
don’t believe you. Tell Mycroft I’m not in the mood for one of his games.” He flung
around and hurried back to the taxi.
Janine
smiled at him as he opened the door and glanced back at her.
“Who’s
that woman you were talking to?” John asked when Sherlock got into the taxi.
“No
one,” he answered bluntly and gave the cabby an address in Brixton.
When
he glanced back, the woman was gone.
He
grabbed his phone out of his coat pocket and dialled Mycroft’s number. “I want
to see you. Yes, my flat in two hours.” He rolled his eyes. “No, not now, I’m
on my way to Brixton, there’s been another murder… oh, but you ought to know
about that.” He dropped the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
John
glanced at him. Clearly, something bothered Sherlock. “Are you alright?"
He
glanced at him and nodded.
***
Sherlock and John
headed back home after they found enough clues for DI Lestrade on the murder
scene in Brixton.
The
two of them got out after the taxi dropped them in front of 221 B Baker Street.
Sherlock
grimaced when he noticed the doorknocker hung straight. He grabbed it and slanted
it to the right. “Mycroft is here already,” he mumbled and grunted before
opening the door.
John
shook his head. “But you asked him to come over.”
“He’s
early.”
The
two of them trotted up the stairs.
Sherlock
barged through the flat door and glared at his brother. “Who’s Janine?”
Mycroft
smiled. “So, you’ve met our sister.”
John’s
eyes enlarged. “You have a sister?”
“Half-sister,”
the brothers remarked simultaneously.
“Oh.”
He pulled his face and took a seat on the couch, watching the two brothers.
Sherlock
paced over to the window. Glancing out of it, he asked. “Where does she come
from?”
Mycroft
scoffed at him. “Surely you know about the birds and the bees.”
Sherlock
jumped around and glared at him. “Don’t patronize me, Mycroft. Why didn’t you
mention her before?”
He
drew his lips in a thin line. “Father asked me to keep it to myself.” Mycroft
noticed the surprised look on his face. “Yes, he cheated on Mummy thirty years
ago.”
“What
does she want from us, now?”
He
shrugged. “I didn’t know she would be on your birthday party. Then again, I
didn’t know Irene Adler would also be there.”
Sherlock
flopped onto the chair. “What does Irene has to do with this?”
Mycroft
arched a brow. “Oh, you don’t know? She’s Irene’s girlfriend.”
He
gasped aloud. “That’s why I hate parties.”
“Mummy
and I thought it would be good for you to get out of the flat. Mingle with
other people, and make friends.”
“I
don’t need friends. I don’t have friends.” He glanced at John and smiled
faintly. “I have only one.”
Mycroft
laughed. “He’s not your friend. He’s your lover.”
Sherlock
jumped up. “Didn’t you know a lover can be a friend as well?” He snorted. “Oh
but of course, you won’t know. You don’t have a lover, brother mine, only a
goldfish.”
Sherlock
grabbed his violin.
The
tune, God Save the Queen, drifted through the flat.
A
smile appeared on John’s face. He wiped it off when he noticed Mycroft’s
glaring eyes on him.
“This
meeting is over,” Mycroft said and stood up. He pulled his shoulders back and
tapped his umbrella on the floor, glaring at his brother. “There’s one more
thing. I didn’t want to tell you, but since you have this attitude.”
The
violin music stopped.
“She’s
James Moriarty’s sister.” He opened the door and glanced back. “Afternoon,
John.” He left the door open and trotted downstairs, ignoring Sherlock when he
called him back.
Sherlock
put the violin down. “Damn him and damn Jim Moriarty,” he said and flopped next
to John on the couch. “I thought she looked familiar when I saw her. She has
his eyes, his smile.”
He
threw his arms around John and gazed in his eyes. “Make love to me, John.”
*The End*
Disclaimer
This story is based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's, Sherlock Holmes, as well as on the works of Mark Gatiss' and Steven Moffat's, Sherlock - BBC.
All characters, with the exception of a few names, are based on Sherlock BBC.
This story is pure fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.
This short story may be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, provided it appears in its entirety without alteration, and the reader is not charged to access it.
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