Word count: 22 844
1. Moving
to Liverpool
“There’s only six months of school
left, why can’t I stay with Mycroft?”
His mother glared at him. “He
doesn’t have time to babysit you,” she repeated her eldest son’s words on why
Sherlock couldn’t stay with him.
“I’m old enough to look after
myself. I don’t need a babysitter.” Sherlock stormed to his bedroom and slammed
the door shut. He fell down on his bed and buried his face in the pillow.
His mother barged into his room.
“What did I tell you about slamming doors in this house? You better start
packing. We’re moving the end of the month.”
He jerked his head up. “But that’s
in two weeks.”
Without a word, his mother turned
around and walked out.
He snorted and hopped around onto
his other side to face the wall. He pulled up his knees to lie in a foetal
potion, which he often did when he was upset.
Later that afternoon, his father
came home from work announcing he was leaving the next morning for Liverpool. “We
emptied all the offices today. I have to leave early to help them setting up
for work on Monday.”
“When will you be back?” his wife
asked.
“I have to stay. My boss already
booked me into a hotel until you and Sherlock join me in two weeks.”
Sherlock strolled into the living
room after eavesdropping on the conversation. “So, you’re leaving Mummy and me
alone? We have to struggle on our own with packing and organizing a furniture
truck.”
His father glanced at him. “Jeez,
it’s only for two weeks, Sherlock. You’re a grown man, I think you can manage.”
His mother scoffed at him. “You
told me a few hours ago you’re all grown up.”
“Argh,” he mumbled and jumped
around to head back to his room.
“Don’t you go anywhere, Mister,”
she called out. “Set the table, supper is almost ready.”
Sherlock threw his hands in the
air. “I should’ve been a girl,” he yelled before marching into the dining room.
His mother jumped up and stormed
out of the living room. She stopped in the dining room doorway and glared at
her son. “Stop it, now. You’re beginning to annoy me. You’re not the only one
who’s upset that we have to move. I had to give up my flower shop and my
yearlong friends. You’re still young. You can make new friends at school.”
He cast his eyes down. “I’m sorry,
Mummy. You’re right as always.”
She snorted. “Set the table I’m
bringing the food.” She turned away and walked over to the kitchen.
Sherlock opened the buffet’s
drawer and stared at the eating utensils. If she only knew how hard it was for
him to make friends. After four years alone in high school, he finally made
friends with a boy in his class last year.
***
The two weeks went by quickly. The furniture truck was loaded
and ready to go.
Sherlock stood in the doorway and
glanced inside the empty bedroom, his domain of the past seventeen years. His
parents bought the house after they got married and lived there ever since.
“Come love, the truck is waiting.”
He turned around, nodded and
walked past his mother to her car.
As they drove through the gate, a
black sedan with tinted windows pulled up next to them. A chauffeur jumped out,
hurried over to the backdoor and opened it.
A dapper young man in a navy-blue
suit climbed out and leaned on a black umbrella.
Sherlock rolled his eyes when his
mother uttered a shriek of joy.
“Mycroft,” she called out when she
jumped out of the car. She hurried up to him and threw her arms around his
neck. “I was wondering if you were coming to greet us before we leave.”
Sherlock opened the door and
dragged himself out of the car.
Mycroft smiled at his mother. “Oh
Mummy, you know I wouldn’t let you go without saying goodbye.”
The two brothers greeted each
other with a nod.
He glanced at Sherlock. “And you,
little brother, are you excited to see the new house?”
“No,” he replied bluntly. “I’m
going back to the car. Good day, Mycroft.”
“What’s up with him?” he asked
after Sherlock walked away.
“Oh, don’t mind him. He has been
this grumpy ever since we received notice about moving to Liverpool.
Complaining about leaving his friend behind.”
He arched his brows. “Sherlock
doesn’t have friends, Mummy. Well, as far as I know.”
“He made friends with a boy in his
class last year. Matt, or Mark, ugh can’t remember the name.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Matthew Clarkson,
Matt for short,” he asked. “A short boy with brown hair,” he added when his
mother pulled a face.
“Yes, that’s the one. I saw him
only once or twice. But how did you know who he was?”
He cocked his head and smiled.
“Mummy, I’m working for the government, remember.”
She nodded and carried on talking
about the boy. “Sherlock never brings him home. He’s mostly at that boy’s
house.”
Mycroft smiled as he glanced at
his brother in the car. “Well, well, well, my brother has a friend.” He looked
back at his mother. “Who would’ve guessed?”
“What does that mean?”
He gasped. “Oh, nothing, I’m glad
for him.” He smiled again. “Well, I have plenty of work waiting for me and you
have more than three hours of driving ahead of you.” He kissed her on the cheek
and returned to his car. “Give my love to Daddy, and be careful on the road,” he
said before getting into the back.
She waited until the black sedan
pulled away before she strolled back to her car.
“Mycroft had plenty to talk about.
I thought he came just to say goodbye,” Sherlock remarked after his mother
climbed back in the car.
She turned to him and frowned.
“Why are you so jealous of your brother?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not.”
She shook her head, started the
engine and pulled out of this driveway for the last time.
The truck driver hooted when she
drove past him. He put the truck in gear and drove off, following them.
2. A New
Beginning
Sherlock hated every minute of his new school. He didn’t
make any friends in the six months he attended. He kept to himself, minding his
own business.
School closed early. Everybody in
his class, except him, went to a bar to celebrate the beginning of their adulthood.
When he arrived home from school,
his mother greeted him at the front door with an envelope in her hand.
“Guess what this is?” she cried
out when he walked through the door.
He shrugged while shaking his head.
“A letter from Oxford, you’re
accepted.” She smiled, holding the envelope out to him.
He glanced at the tore edges,
looked up and shook his head again. “I’m not going and I don’t want to become a
lawyer.”
“But Sherlock,” she cried out.
“It’s the Holmes family tradition. Your father, your grandfather, and great
grandfather, as well as Mycroft went there. You can’t throw your life away like
this. You have to get a degree in something. A high school diploma only, won’t
get you anywhere.”
He furrowed his brows. “Who says
anything about throwing my life away? I’m going to the University of Liverpool.
I’m going to study biomedical science and become a lab analyst.” He turned around
and left her standing in the corridor, while gaping at him.
He shut his bedroom door behind
him.
After he changed out of his school
uniform, he fell down on his bed, thinking of Matt.
For two months, he received
letters from him every week. The letters diminished until it stopped, even
though Sherlock kept on writing, sending a letter to him every week.
It had been a month since he last
heard of him, until yesterday. In the letter, Matt asked him to stop writing.
He cancelled their plans to spend the holidays together and stated, using scare
quotes, he moved on.
The thought of seeing Matt by the
end of the year, kept him going these past six months. He was his first friend,
his first… love. Now he had nothing to look forward to, except a tedious Christmas
vacation with his parents at home.
***
Surprisingly, Mycroft
put Britain on hold and came to visit for Christmas. He stayed the week and left
after New Year’s Day.
The dormitories opened the second
week in January for the students to move in, enrol into classes and get their
study rosters, before attending university the following Wednesday.
Sherlock kept to himself as usual.
After his classes, he spent his time in the library doing research until
suppertime. Thereafter he buried himself in his textbooks in the dorm room.
The quiet dormitory was bliss to
him during weekends. He preferred to stay in instead of going home. Once every
two months, just to please his mother, he would go home for the weekend.
Sherlock was a straight-A student,
like in high school. The other students became jealous of him. They made fun him.
Some called him a vampire for his pale skin and tall slender physique, while
others called him a geek for being constantly in the library.
In the beginning of his fifth and
final year, his science professor fell ill and had to go on sick leave for the
remainder of the year.
Monday morning the class awaited
the arrival of their new science lector. It was past eight and still no sign of
him.
While waiting, Sherlock put his
elbow on his desk, supported his head on his fist and shut his eyes.
Minutes later, the new lector
barged through the door and apologized with an excuse that his car had a flat
tire.
Sherlock didn’t move, except for
fluttering his eyes when the door banged. He despised people coming late, even
more those who had to set an example.
“I’m Professor Andrew Marks,” the
new lector said while writing his name on the black board. He turned back to
the students and smiled as he glanced over each of them. His brow arched when
he noticed Sherlock’s blasé attitude.
A list of students’ names and locations
where they sat in the classroom lay on his desk. He picked it up and glanced
over it. After finding the name he was looking for, he strolled over to him.
Sherlock jumped when the professor
banged his hand on his desk. He stared at the long slender fingers on the desk
in front of him.
“Mister Holmes, do you find me
boring already?”
He raised his head slowly and
locked eyes with his new science lector. He almost gasped aloud as he laid eyes
on the tall sturdy man with the short blonde hair.
Sherlock stared into his bright
blue eyes. His heart pounded rapidly.
His brow flicked once, the only
indication that he was he pulling himself together. “On the contrary, Professor
Marks.”
He snorted. “So, at least you’ve
paid attention while I introduced myself.”
“I always pay attention,
Professor.”
He narrowed his eyes as he gazed
at his student. “I don’t want to see you with closed eyes in my class again.”
He turned around while asking them to open their textbooks.
Sherlock gazed at him as he walked
away, pausing his eyes on his rear end. With effort, he dragged his gaze away
from the man and opened his textbook. His hand shivered as he paged through the
book. The last time butterflies twirled in his stomach and his flesh crawled
with excitement, was the day he met Matt.
3. A Big
Mistake
After experiencing Sherlock’s intelligent questions during
lectures and looking at his previous test scores, professor Marks realized
Sherlock had an inquisitive mind that absorbs relevant information like a
sponge. With a mind like that, he had bright future ahead of him. He reached
out to him to enhance his ability from A-grade student to a cum laude student.
One day after class, he called
Sherlock aside. He waited until all the students left before he asked. “Do you
have another class now?”
“No, why do you ask, Professor?”
“Me neither. Do you want to have
coffee with me at the cafeteria downstairs?”
Sherlock stopped breathing while
staring at the handsome man.
“If you have something else to do,
we can make it another time.”
He nodded at first before becoming aware of
what he was doing and shook his head. “No, I’m not busy. Coffee will be nice.”
They became friends and spent more
time with each other.
Two month later, professor Marks
invited Sherlock to his home for the weekend. He picked him up Saturday
morning. They went for breakfast at a nearby diner, did some shopping
afterwards and returned to his home late afternoon.
After they unloaded the shopping
bags, he showed Sherlock his room before taking him for a tour through the
house.
“Your house is lovely, Professor.”
“We’re not at uni now. Please,
call me Andrew.” He placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and steered him
towards the kitchen. “Would you like some wine.”
He nodded as he took place against
a cupboard. His heart rate increased when Andrew brushed against him while leaning
over him to reach for the wine glasses.
He poured white wine, handed a
glass to Sherlock and gazed at him. “Why are you so quiet?”
He took the glass from him, sipped
on the wine and shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Andrew grabbed his hand and
dragged him into the living room. “Come sit and relax. Forget about classes and
uni. Just be yourself.”
Sherlock glanced at him when he
sat down on the couch. Could that be an invitation? He didn’t want to make the
same mistake as with Matt. They were attracted to each other. Both were scared
to make a move and he left London without kissing Matt once.
He put his glass on the side table
before he took place next to Andrew on the edge of the couch and turned to him.
“So tell me, did you make any
decisions on the list of labs interested in you?” he asked and moved forward to
sit on the edge of the couch as well.
Sherlock gazed at the full lips as
it moved while he spoke. He took a deep breath, leaned over and kissed him.
Andrew gasped aloud, shoved him
away and jumped up while wiping his mouth. “Good god, why did you do that?”
Sherlock’s eyes enlarged. Within
seconds, he stood on his feet and held his hands in the air. “I’m so sorry. I
thought… I thought you were… I’m sorry,” he brushed his fingers through his
hair.
Andrew glared at him. He snorted.
“You have a brilliant mind. Now you want to throw it away with this gay shit.”
Almost in tears, Sherlock paced up
and down with his hands locked behind his head. “Oh god, what have I done?” he murmured.
With tears in his eyes, he glanced at the furious man in front of him. “I think
I better leave.” He turned away and hurried down the corridor.
Andrew charged forward and caught
up with him before he could enter the room. He grabbed him by the arm and flung
him to the floor.
Sherlock’s head hit the doorframe.
He turned around, crawling on his backside into the room trying to get away
from his professor.
Andrew grabbed hold of his crotch,
pacing towards him while yelling. “Is this what you came here for? Is this what
you want?”
“No, I misread you.” Tears welled
up in his eyes. “I said I was sorry, please don’t hurt me.” He crawled until
his back hit the bed.
His head jerked sideways when a
fist bashed into his face, another blow followed, lacerating his lip.
Andrew kicked him in the ribs
before he grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him up on his feet. He shoved
him onto the bed. “You’ve asked for it. I will give it to you,” he cried out as
he loosened his belt, pulled down the zipper of his pants and exposed his
erected penis.
Sherlock’s eyes enlarged. Before
he could jump up, the professor fell on top off him, pinning him down. “No,” he
cried out.
Andrew tore his shirt trying to
keep him down while he wriggled to get away. “Stop squirming, you want to shag,
we’ll shag.” He struggled, but managed to pull Sherlock’s pants down.
He hollered with pain when his
professor penetrated him from behind. “Please stop, you’re hurting,” he begged.
Andrew ignored him. He kept on
thrusting into him, harder and harder.
Sherlock grasped onto the headboard,
trying to pull himself away but failed.
Only his lips moved as he begged once
again for mercy.
His grip on the headboard
loosened, his arms were getting heavier until he let go when everything
blackened in front of him.
“I’m done,” Andrew announced as he
pulled up his pants and fastened it. “Get dressed and get the fuck out of my
house.” He left the room and strolled towards the bathroom.
After a long shower, he re-entered
the room. “Mister Holmes, there’s no seconds. Get dressed.” He frowned, paced
closer and gasped aloud when he discovered his student was unconscious.
***
Sherlock regained consciousness. He reached out to his
throbbing head and shrieked with pain when he touched the side of his face. He
became aware of the cold hard floor underneath him. Where was he? He tried to
stand up, stumbled and bumped his head against a wall. “Help,” he called out.
Somebody had to come and help him up. He struggled to focus. Unable to
familiarize himself with the surroundings he shut his eyes.
His whole body was sore and stiff.
When he licked his dry lips, it
left a taste of iron in his mouth. He brushed over his lips, feeling the coarseness
of dry blood underneath his fingertips.
With effort, he rolled onto his
stomach when he noticed a lighter part in the darkness around him and crawled
towards it. He sighed with relief as he reached it. It was a door. He continued
crawling until he was out on the pavement.
The sun had already set. It was
almost dark, but there was still enough light to try and figure out where he
was.
He strained his eyes to focus. A white
blur moved in front of him. The blasting of a ship’s horn nearby echoed in his
throbbing head. He was at the harbour.
Sherlock lowered his head and
sighed before everything blackened in front of him again.
When he woke for the second time,
a bright light shined above him. He shut his eyes and turned his head to the
side before he opened them up again. He blinked a few times, before he could
focus. Everything was white around him, except for the light blue curtains.
His head wasn’t throbbing anymore.
The smell of disinfectant hit his
nostrils. He was in hospital.
He turned his head to the other
side and blinked again. “Mycroft?” he murmured. Was he dreaming?
“Ah, my little brother is awake.”
Sherlock shut his eyes. “So, I’m
not dreaming?” he mumbled again.
Mycroft chuckled. “Fortunately
not, brother dear.” He moved his chair closer. “I see you became a child of the
night.”
He opened his eyes and furrowed his
brows. “Ow, it hurts.” He relaxed his facial muscles before he asked. “What do
you mean?”
“What were you doing on the harbour
next to the public toilet? That means only one thing, Sherlock.”
“What? You don’t make sense.”
“Those toilets are used for male
prostitution. Why didn’t you ask me for money?” He shook his head. “Mummy can
never find out about this, it will send her to the grave.”
“Are you out of your mind? I’m not
a bloody prostitute.”
Mycroft drew his lips in a thin
line. “Oh, but you were bloody indeed when we found you.”
Sherlock sighed and turned his
head away.
“Are you going to tell me what
happened, or do I have to draw my own conclusions?”
“Well, you already have.”
“I’m telling Mummy you were
mugged, near the university. Don’t tell them you were at the harbour.”
“Do you mind, I’d like to rest now.”
Mycroft moved his chair back. He
took out his cell phone and left the room to make a call.
He returned after a few minutes
and gazed at Sherlock’s bruised face and swollen lips. He sighed, walked back
to the chair and sat down again. “I worry about you, constantly,” he murmured.
“Then why didn’t you allow me to
stay with you in London six years ago?”
He gasped aloud. “I thought you
wanted to sleep.”
“I said I wanted to rest.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes. He took
one of the magazines on the nearby table, crossed his legs and paged through
it.
4. Final
Year Dropout
Sherlock stayed in hospital for another two weeks before his
doctor discharged him. He never told anybody what actually happened to him that
day, neither did he pressed charges against professor Marks.
After a month, he recovered of
visible scars. The invisible ones remained, and that worried his family.
The first signs were showing when
Sherlock refused to go back to university.
Mycroft flew in from London, on
his mother’s demand, to talk sense into his brother’s head.
After a long discussion, Mycroft
convinced him to go back to London. He would pull a few strings to get him into
a university there.
A month later, he booked Sherlock
a flight back to London.
Mycroft sent his chauffeur to pick
his brother up from the airport, then to the university.
The next morning, Sherlock had to
attend his first science class. He paused in front of the door for a while
before he entered.
The lector stopped writing on the
blackboard. His hand remained on the board as shut his eyes and bit on his
teeth. He hated when someone interrupted him while writing a formula on the
board. “Can I help you,” he asked without looking at the person who entered.
“I’m transferred from Liverpool.
My brother, Mycroft Holmes, arranged for it.”
The lector lowered his hand and
turned to him. His gasped when he laid eyes on the tall slender student with
the ruffled black curly hair. He gaped at him. The man had a pair of cheekbones
any women would envy. He looked like a boy with his flawless pale skin. He
couldn’t be older than nineteen.
“Am I in the right class,
Professor?”
“Huh, um…” He stuttered when he
replied. “Yes, sit here… I mean there…” He took a deep breath and pulled
himself together. “Take a seat, Mister, um…”
Sherlock smiled faintly. “Holmes,
Sherlock Holmes.” He turned away, searched for an open desk and strolled
towards it.”
“How old are you? This class for
final year students. You can’t possibly be in your final year.”
He turned around. “I’m twenty-two,
Professor. I am a final year student.”
He arched a brow. “I’m Professor
Linder, by the way.”
“I know. Your name is on my
subjects list.” He turned back to the desk, chucked his sling bag on the floor
and sat down.
Professor Linder nodded. “Oh, yes
of course.” He turned back to the blackboard and rolled his eyes. He made a
complete fool of himself in front of the students.
The professor glanced at the
formula on the blackboard, his mind a blank. He turned again to face the
students. “Who can complete this formula?”
All of them raised their hands,
except Sherlock. He didn’t pay any attention. His head rested on his hand while
he paged through the textbook.
“Mister Holmes, will you do us the
honours?”
Sherlock didn’t move. He didn’t
look up.
The professor walked over to him
and knocked on his desk. “We don’t daydream in my class, Mister Holmes.”
There was still no reaction from
him.
The professor reached for the
textbook and shut it.
Sherlock gasped and raised his
head.
“Your first day in my class and
you’re already daydreaming.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t. I was
thinking.”
The students burst out with
laughter.
“Well, that’s a good thing then. I
hope you thought about that formula.” Professor Linder pointed to the
blackboard. “Will you please complete it?”
Sherlock stood up. He glanced at the
board then at the professor next to him. He stood head and shoulders above the
man and had to lower his head to look him in the eye. “Do I have…” he pointed
to the front.
“Yes, you have to go down there
and write on the board with this.” He held a piece of white chalk out to him.
Sherlock took it from him and
strolled down to the board.
The professor remained standing in
the back of the class watching the boy’s cute butt as he walked away. He rolled
his eyes again, covered them with his hand while pressing his thumb and
forefinger on his temples. He had to stop doing this and concentrate.
The lecture room buzzed with
talking students.
He took his hand away from his
eyes to quiet them down when he noticed the blackboard. His eyes enlarged. The
boy completed the formula in record time and was on his way back.
Sherlock glanced at the
professor’s gaping face. He looked back at the board. “Did I make a mistake?”
He shook his head slowly before he
turned to him and drowned in the boy’s green-blue eyes. With difficulty, he removed
his gaze and returned it to the front. “You did a great job. Even I couldn’t
have done it with that speed.”
Sherlock took place behind his
desk again.
Professor Linder strolled down to
the front and checked his watch. He sighed, still another thirty minutes to go.
Why was this lecture taking so long today?
He opened his briefcase on the
desk and took a bottle of water out. He drank from it, put it down on the desk
and pulled himself together before continuing the lecture.
***
While Sherlock strolled down the corridor back to his dorm
room, the sad howling of violin music drifted towards him. He stood still and
listened a while before he walked off in that direction. He found the room the
music came from, paused and leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed.
Tears welled up while a sharp pain
gnawing on the inside of his decaying heart. He shut his eyes, allowing the
music to drench his soul, masking the hurt. He should’ve died that day. How
could he trust anyone again? He would never make the first move again. Neither
would he ever allow anyone to touch him again.
“Are you okay?”
His eyes flung open. He didn’t
even notice the music had stopped.
The woman who was playing the
violin stood in front of him, frowning.
He nodded. “I was enjoying your
beautiful music.”
She smiled. “Thank you, glad you
liked it. It’s my own composition. I usually compose this kind of music when
I’m sad. Do you play?”
“No, I can’t. My studies keep me too
busy anyway.”
“Oh, it’s a pity. I would’ve
granted you my services.”
Sherlock furrowed his brows.
The woman chuckled. “To teach you how
to play the violin.”
He snorted. “Of course. Like I
said, my studies –” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’m behind with my
studies I won’t be able to fit that in as well. I have to get going.”
“You’re welcome to stop by and
listen any time,” she called out when he was halfway down the corridor. “I
didn’t catch your name,” she added.
He turned around and waved at her.
“Sherlock Holmes. Thank you, I will.” He carried on walking while recalling the
music she played.
Ten minutes later, he entered his
room. He chucked his sling bag on the bed, thinking again of the violin music.
Maybe he should give it a try. He could make time for it.
He rushed to the door, locked up
and trotted back to the music room.
Willa smiled when he appeared in
the doorway. “Sherlock Holmes, I knew you would change your mind.”
He smiled and entered. “I didn’t
get your name either.”
“It’s Willa. Sit down. I will get
you a violin.” She disappeared into a room at the back and returned with a
violin case. “I prefer that my students have their own violins, but I do make exceptions.”
She gave it to him and started his first lesson by telling him the names of the
different parts of the violin. “This may seem like useless information, but it
is important. Now stand up.”
Sherlock obeyed.
She continued to show him how to
position the violin under his chin and the correct way to stand while playing
it.
An hour later, he glided the bow
over the strings for the first time. He grimaced when it squealed like a
shrieking cat when someone stepped on its tail.
Willa chuckled. “It’s sounds awful
I know, but with practice comes precision and with precision you can bring
forth beautiful music.” She gazed at the young man in front of her. “Reach out
for perfection, Sherlock and one day you too, can touch someone’s soul with
your own compositions.”
He smiled faintly while nodding. “I
better get back to my studies.” He held the violin out to her. “Thank you.”
“Keep it, you have to practice.” She
took it from him when he shook his head. “I’m here every day, except on
Sundays.”
He nodded, left the music room and
hurried back to his room.
5. Get Your
Act Together
Almost every night, Sherlock woke up screaming from the
haunting nightmares. After two months, his roommate filed a complaint. He moved
out with the permission of the Dean, now Sherlock had the room all to himself.
That afternoon, Mycroft visited
him after receiving a phone call from the Dean. “You can’t go on like this. You
need professional help, Sherlock.”
He brushed his fingers through his
hair and held onto his head, yelling. “I can deal with this on my own, stop
whining.”
“Well, you’ve been here for more two
months and I don’t see any progress.”
Sherlock jumped up from the bed.
“Why did you nag me to come here? You should’ve left me in Liverpool.”
Mycroft’s face flushed. “You
refused to go back to that university. I couldn’t allow you to throw four years
of study down the bloody drain,” he cried out. “I thought I did good to bring
you here, but apparently not.” He stood up from the chair, leaned on his
umbrella and glared at his brother. “Get your act together, Sherlock. I don’t
want another call from the Dean, ever.” He walked over to the door, opened it
and turned around. “Make some friends, for god’s sakes.”
Sherlock grimaced, accentuating
his words as he announced. “I don’t need friends.” He fell down on his bed, turned
his back on the door and pulled his knees up to his chest.
Mycroft glanced at him and shook
his head while leaving the room.
Sherlock jumped up when the door
shut. He took the violin case out of the cupboard, locked his door and rushed
over to the music room.
Since he took up violin lessons
two months ago, he practiced every day. He was a quick learner and could play a
piece of music after a month.
Willa was locking up when he came
running down the corridor. “Hello love, I was wondering where you were.”
“Can’t I practice for just thirty
minutes?”
She smiled, unlocked the door and
turned back to him. “I want this back before eight tomorrow morning,” she said
when she handed him the set of keys.
He took it from her. “I promise.”
“Don’t let anybody else in.”
“I won’t.” He shut the door after
she left and took his usual place at the back of the room. He played the piece
of music he practiced, flawless.
Sherlock lowered the violin and
stared blankly in front of him, recalling Mycroft’s words. He was not going to
make friends. He was perfectly fine on his own. He had to get his act together,
though. Exams started next week and he didn’t open a book, yet. He was
neglecting his studies and could only blame himself for it.
Professor Linder passed the music
room on his way home, when he noticed the light was still on. He glanced
through the window and smiled. He opened the door and gazed at the beautiful
man. “Mister Holmes, I didn’t know you played the violin?”
Sherlock flung around and gasped
aloud. “Professor Linder, what are you still doing here?”
He stepped closer. “I give extra
classes three times a week. Where is Professor Casseli?”
He frowned. “Do you mean Willa?”
The professor arched a brow. “Yes,
Willa.”
“She left a few hours ago. She
gave me her keys to lock up when I’m done.”
“So, you missed supper, it’s past
six already.” He took a deep breath. “I’m on my way to a diner. You want to join
me?”
Sherlock’s heart started racing.
His eyes grew large when he recalled the last time he went home with one of his
professors. “I um… can’t. No thanks, I have to study.” He put the violin and
the bow in the case and shut it. “I have to go.”
Professor Linder frowned at the
young man’s dark enlarged eyes. “Are you okay? I was just offering you a free
meal, nothing else.”
He picked up the violin case and
shoved it under his arm. “I know, but I have to go, Professor.”
He took him by the arm when he
walked past him.
Sherlock yanked his arms loose.
“What are you doing?” He glared at him.
“Nothing, I want to speak to you.”
His breathing started racing.
“Don’t touch me ever again.”
The professor held his hands up. “Fine, I
won’t. Just calm down.” He gaped at the young man, before he followed him to
the door.
Sherlock slammed the door shut and
locked up. He trotted down the corridor, leaving a baffled professor behind.
***
Simon sighed as he shook his head after Sherlock disappeared
around the corner. Why did he react that way? It was as if he had a panic
attack, but why. The boy was fine until he suggested that they had supper
together.
He kept on pondering about the boy
on his way to the parking area. He got into his car and drove off.
At the diner, he stared blindly at
the menu. His eyes flickered when the waiter came to take his order. “Oh,
sorry, give me a second.” His eyes skimmed over the menu while the waiter stood
next to him waiting. “I’ll have the Caesar salad and a glass of white wine,
please.”
After the waiter brought his food,
he stopped him before he could leave. “Could you bring me a burger and large chips
as well, takeaway?”
The waiter nodded and left.
Simon couldn’t get the boy out of
his head, now less than ever. He should probably stopped thinking of him as a
boy. He shook his head. He’s so damn cute. If he could only brush his fingers
through those ruffled curls of him.
He sighed when he pushed the empty
bowl backwards. He didn’t finish his wine, stood up and took the brown paper
bag with burger and chips inside. He left enough money on the table and left
the diner.
Simon drove back to the
university. He passed the faculty members’ parking and stopped in front of the
dormitory entrance. He got out of his car and rolled his eyes. How could he
give the food to him, he didn’t know his room number?
He entered the building and paced
down the corridor until he found someone. “Excuse me. Do you know in which room
is Sherlock Holmes?”
The student shook his head. He
directed him to a notice board at the entrance. “There’s a list with names of
the students.”
Simon thanked him and headed back
to the entrance. He found the notice board and next to it the list of room
numbers. He searched until he found Sherlock’s number. “First floor, number
fifteen,” he whispered. He trotted up the stairs, found his room and paused in
front of it. Maybe he should leave the bag in front of the door. No, someone
might take it.
He walked over to room fourteen
and knocked on the door.
A young man opened up. “Hello,
Professor. What brings you here?”
Simon rolled his eyes. This was
childish of him. “Sorry, I have the wrong room.”
The young man shrugged and shut
the door.
He returned to room fifteen and
knocked.
Sherlock’s eyes enlarged when he
opened up. “You again?”
When he shut the door, Simon stuck
his foot in the doorway, keeping the door ajar.
“What do you want from me?”
He held the brown bag out to him.
“I want nothing. I brought you something to eat.” He removed his foot, put the
bag on the floor and turned away.
Sherlock opened the door, bent
down and picked up the bag. “Thank you,” he called out.
Simon turned around and smiled.
“You can’t go to bed on an empty stomach, Mister Holmes.” He turned back and
trotted down the stairs.
***
Sherlock stared at his professor until he disappeared. He
shut the door, opened the brown paper bag and glanced inside. Not hungry, he
ate only a few chips. He put the rest of it with the burger back in the bag.
He took out his science notes and
textbook before he dropped onto the bed and turned on his stomach. He had to
study if he wanted to remain a grade-A student.
While studying, Sherlock’s
thoughts went back to professor Linder. It was kind of him to bring him a
takeaway. He sighed. Poor man, all he wanted was to take him for dinner. He
would apologize tomorrow after class for being so rude. Maybe he should take
him for coffee – “No, are you insane,” he cried out, reprimanding himself. He
shut his eyes. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice – professors were off
limit.
Sherlock studied until two the
next morning. He fell asleep on top of his books.
A nightmare woke him at six. It
was driving him insane. He should get something to occupy his mind. The violin
alone wasn’t sufficient.
As promised, he dropped the musical
room’s keys off before eight that morning and rushed to be in time for his
first class.
At ten, he had back-to-back science
with professor Linder. He had to look him in the eye sometime or the other, but
why today for two hours.
Sherlock took his seat in the back
of the class, glad the professor wasn’t there, yet.
He glanced at the students as they
entered and arched a brow when he picked up something about them he never
noticed before. The guy in front of him had a string of red hair on his jumper,
but his hair was black – perhaps a girlfriend with red hair or the jumper
didn’t belong to him. The girl next to him had crumbs on her corduroy jacket – she
had biscuits for breakfast.
He smiled. Since when did he have
the ability to read people? If he only had it before… He lowered his head and
shut his eyes.
“I’m not that late, Mister Holmes.
You can’t be sleeping already.”
Sherlock jerked his head up. “I
wasn’t sleeping…” He gaped at the professor as he strolled towards him. Why were
his eyes full of sparkles?
Professor Linder stopped in front
of his desk. “How are you this morning, Mister Holmes?”
Sherlock smiled faintly while
deducing him. Shirt not properly ironed – no cleaning lady. He shaved, but
missed a spot on his chin – in a hurry, overslept perhaps. He had some shaving
cream left on his right ear and there was a coffee stain on his tie –
definitely in a hurry. “Fine, thank you. Did you overslept, Professor?”
His eyes enlarged. “Yes, I have,
but how did you know?”
Sherlock pointed to his ear. “Traces
of shaving cream.”
He grabbed hold of his ear, trying
to rub the cream off. “The first day in months I didn’t have early lectures and
I overslept. I have to get to the
bathroom before I can continue.”
“Not necessary, Professor, it’s
not visible to the eyes of normal people.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
Sherlock shook his head. “Sorry, I
was thinking out loud.”
From that day on, Sherlock had
hours of fun deducing his fellow students, driving them mad. He deduced his
professors as well, but always kept it to himself.
After deducing professor Linder a
few times, he became aware of the professor’s feelings for him and agreed to meet
him for coffee. Although his deductions were never wrong, he remained sceptical
and chose the university coffee shop for their meeting.
6. The
First Real Date
Sherlock passed his final year exams successfully. After
graduation, he moved into a tiny bachelor flat Mycroft had organized for him.
With a biomedical science degree in hand, his brother also found him a position
at St. Bartholomew hospital’s laboratory.
He continued to play the violin. On
his off days, he went back to Willa at the university for more lessons.
After the third attempt of asking
him on a date, Sherlock finally agreed and went to dinner with professor
Linder.
After they gave their order to
waiter, he deduced people entering the restaurant, avoiding eye contact with
Simon.
He stopped breathing for a second
when he became aware of a warm hand on top of his. Now he had to look him in
the eyes. He didn’t, though. Instead, he lowered his head and stared at the
table.
When Sherlock moved his hand to
free it, Simon tightened his grip. He gasped and raised his head slowly until
they locked eyes. This man wanted more than he could give him. He wasn’t ready
for a relationship.
“I think you know by now how I
feel about you, Sherlock.”
He nodded, struggling to find the
right words he kept on staring at the man in front of him. He swallowed a dry
lump before he took a deep breath. “I’m not ready for a relationship, Simon. I
hardly know you. Besides, I’m so busy at the lab I don’t have time to social.” Sherlock
rolled his eyes after Simon broke eye contact. What a lame excuse, why didn’t
he tell the man he couldn’t be in a physical relationship, not now – maybe never.
“Can’t you skip a violin lesson
just once a month to make time for me? I know you’re still seeing Willa for
lessons. Well, actually she told me.”
He returned his gaze to Simon. He did
like him. Maybe he should give him a chance. While licking his lower lip and
after sucking on it, he noticed a sparkle in Simon’s eyes. He was turning the
man on. He let go of his lip immediately and placed the back of his fingers in
front of his mouth, distracting him.
“If you want me to beg, I’ll beg,”
he said smiling faintly, his eyes pleading.
Sherlock snorted. “Oh, please
don’t.” He sighed. “I’m not the person you think I am, Simon. You might hate me
if you see me more often.”
He smiled. “I could never hate
you, Mister Holmes. Since that first day you walked into my class room, I
couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
The side of his mouth slouched as
tried to hide a smile. “If you promise not to rush me into anything, we can
give it a try.”
Simon’s eyes enlarged. “I
promise.” He gazed at him like so many times before.
Sherlock sucked on his lip again.
“But if you keep doing that, I
won’t be able to hold my promise.”
Sherlock furrowed his brows.
“Doing what?” he asked biting on the left side of his lower lip.
“What you are doing right now,
biting and licking your lip.”
His face flushed. He let go of his
lip and sighed with relief when the waiter brought their food. This would keep
the professor’s mind out of the gutter for a while.
After they enjoyed their meal and
was on their way back to the car, Simon suggested that Sherlock went back to
his place for a nightcap before taking him back to the flat.
He refused bluntly. “I told you
not to rush me. Can you please take me to my flat?”
Simon’s eyes enlarged. “Fine, I’ll
take you back. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
“And keep your trousers on,
professor Linder.”
He gaped at him before he blinked
a few times. “I beg your pardon. The invitation to my house was for a drink
only. I’m not some… sex maniac, Mister Holmes.”
Sherlock kept a straight face
while hiding a smile behind his hand. This was the first time he saw him angry.
It made him look kind of sexy. He also adored it when he called him Mister
Holmes.
Simon stopped in front of the
block of flats and turned to him. “Are you free this weekend?”
“Only Sunday.”
“Great, I’m picking you up at ten.
I’m cooking you lunch. How can we get to know each other if we don’t spend some
time alone?”
He nodded. “I’ll be ready.” He
opened the car door. “Thanks for dinner, I’ve enjoyed it.” He gasped aloud when
Simon put a firm grip on his shoulder, pulling him closer. He blocked him with
his hands against his chest. “Please don’t, not tonight.”
He let go of Sherlock and sighed.
“Sorry, I promise to take it slow.”
***
After visiting Simon’s house on Sunday, Sherlock agreed to
another visit. This time he allowed him to kiss him goodnight after taking him
back to the flat.
“You see, I don’t bite.”
He snorted. “I knew that. I just
need some time to adjust.”
Simon frowned. “What do you mean
by that?”
“Something happened when I lived
in Liverpool. I’m still trying to figure out how to cope with it.”
“Oh god, what –”
Sherlock held his hands up. “Don’t ask me,” he
said while cutting him off midsentence. “Neither my brother nor my parents know
the story.”
Simon traced his fingers over
Sherlock’s slender hands. “You can tell me when you’re ready.” He kissed him on
the cheek before he let go of his hand. “When can I see you again?”
He chuckled. “Out of the question
this week.”
“What about the weekend?”
“Saturday violin lessons and on
Sunday I have to work.”
“Can’t I pick you up after your
lessons? It’s not the whole day, is it?”
“Don’t push it, Professor.”
Simon sighed. “You’re a difficult
man to persuade, Mister Holmes.”
“I’ll call you if I change my
mind.” Sherlock jumped out the car before Simon could get hold of his hand
again. He strolled over to the driver’s side and bent down. “Thanks for a
lovely day.”
Simon brushed his finger over
Sherlock’s cheek. “I hope you change your mind.” He smiled while watching his
beautiful man walking away. He started the engine and waited until Sherlock
entered the building before he drove off.
7. A
Disastrous Sleepover
Sherlock visited the professor more often at home. Simon
found it more and more difficult to keep the promise he made with each visit. Sherlock
wakened feelings inside him he never thought existed. The sexual tension
building up frustrated him. Each time after a visit, he had to speed back home,
to take a cold shower after dropping him at the flat – but not today, not
tonight. Sherlock agreed to stay over for the weekend.
Simon stood in the doorway and
gazed at him stretched out on the couch, watching television. After six months
without sexual interaction between them, except the odd kisses now and again,
it was time to break his promise.
He turned around and walked into
the kitchen. After placing his hands on the surface of the cupboard, he leaned
against it and shut his eyes. He gained Sherlock’s trust and he didn’t want to
lose it due to bloody sex. Simon banged his fist on the cupboard. He stormed out
of the kitchen, stopped in the living room doorway and glanced at Sherlock.
“I’ll be with you in a minute. I’m going to take a shower.”
He turned around to look at him.
“I’m going nowhere, I promise. Enjoy it.” He turned back and while
repositioning himself on the couch, his tiny PT shorts moved up exposing his
slender, but well-formed, upper thighs.
Simon rolled his eyes while
shaking his head and rushed to the bathroom.
Horny as hell, he jumped into the
shower and opened the cold-water tap. He gasped aloud when the cold water
jetted onto his warm skin. He sighed while glancing down at his erection. The
cold water was useless today.
After a few more minutes, he
relaxed. He got out, dried himself and put on a baggy tracksuit pants and
t-shirt before he returned to the living room.
Sherlock was lying on his back
when he entered.
He couldn’t stop staring at the
man’s crotch. He wanted to grab him, undress him and…
Sherlock interrupted his thoughts.
“Hey, you’re back. How was the shower?”
“Huh?” Simon blinked a few times.
“Refreshing,” he lied.
Sherlock jumped upright and patted
on the seat next to him. “Come watch telly with me. You’ll find it interesting.
It’s about quantum physics.”
He sighed inward when he took
place next to him. The only thing he would find interesting now, was shagging
him. He put his hand on his bare thigh.
Sherlock removed his hand, draping
it over his shoulder as he turned sideways to put his head on Simon’s lap.
He rolled his eyes – so much for a
cold shower. He suppressed another sigh while placing his other hand on
Sherlock’s head, brushing his fingers through the ruffled black hair, twirling
the curls around his fingers.
“Hmm, that feels nice,” he
murmured. He picked the remote up from the floor, switched the television off
and turned on his back. He placed his hand on the side of Simon’s face and
gazed into his eyes. “I know what you want.” He shook his head before he
continued. “But I can’t give it to you.”
“Why not, why won’t you tell me
what’s haunting you?” Simon took the hand from his faced and drew it against
his chest. “Every time we kiss, you push me away as soon as it steams up
between us. Don’t you think after six months I need more than just kisses?”
Sherlock jumped upright. “This is
why I don’t want to sleep over. The few hours we spent together protected me
from this.” He glanced at him. “You should find someone who can give himself
completely to you, someone without baggage, without issues.”
Simon grabbed his arm and pulled
him back on his lap. “I don’t want someone else, I want you, Sherlock. Don’t
you understand? I love you.”
He shut his eyes after those
words. “I love you too…”
“But?”
Sherlock took a deep breath before
opening his eyes. “I’m scared.”
“Why, is it because of what
happened to you in Liverpool?”
He nodded and turned his head
away.
“Listen, I’m not going to hurt
you. You don’t have to be scared of me.” Simon sighed. “I, um… I’ll be gentle
if you just allow me.” He moved out from under his head and stood up.
Sherlock glanced at the hand
reaching out to him. He hesitated before he took it.
Simon pulled him up. “Come let me
show you how gentle I am,” he whispered before leading him down the corridor to
the master bedroom. He made Sherlock sit down on the bed and sat astride him.
He started to kiss the side of his neck. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered and continued
to kiss his neckline. Simon shut his eyes when he became aware of the growing
bulge underneath him. His lips came down on Sherlock’s mouth. Without forcing,
he welcomed his tongue inside his mouth.
Tiny moaning sounds escaped form
their mouths as they aroused each other.
Simon took his t-shirt off and
dropped it on the floor. “May I,” he asked. As soon as Sherlock nodded with
approval, he took off his shirt and chucked it aside. He pushed him gently backwards
and lay on top of him. His breathing speeded up while brushing his crotch
against the bulge in Sherlock’s shorts. “Pull up your legs,” he murmured.
When he pulled his legs up, Simon
took hold of the elastic band and slipped Sherlock’s shorts off before he got
rid of his tracksuit pants.
Sherlock’s eyes enlarged and he gasped
aloud, when their bare skin touched.
“Shh, just enjoy it,” Simon
whispered while panting. “Pull up your legs.”
“But my legs are pulled up.”
“Higher.”
“No Simon, please,” he begged.
There was no stopping him now. He
lowered his shoulders, forced Sherlock’s legs over them and raised his rear end
from the bed before he positioned himself on top of him again. “This is what I
wanted.” His breathing raced. He kissed him again, not noticing the panic in
the man’s eyes underneath him. Simon came upright, took hold of his erection
and tried to enter Sherlock. He looked at him. “You have to relax, love. I
can’t get it in.”
Tears welled up in his eyes. “I
don’t want you to.”
“Why not, this is the best part.”
He ignored him and tried again.
“Stop it,” Sherlock yelled. He hit
against Simon’s chest, yelling. “Get off me. I don’t want to.” He yelled again
and wriggled, trying to get away. “Get off me.” He kicked, missing Simon’s face
with millimetres.
Simon’s eyes enlarged. He let the
legs slipped of his shoulders and get hold of Sherlock’s arms, pinning him onto
the bed. “Look at me,” he called out. “Look at my face. It’s Simon. I’m not the
one who hurt you before.”
“Please, let me go. I’m sorry, I’m
so sorry.”
“Sherlock,” he yelled. “Look at me
for god’s sakes.” He smacked him across the face.
Sherlock gaped at him, his eyes
wild and enlarged.
He jumped up and raced for the
door.
Simon jumped off the bed. He
caught up with him, threw his arms around him and held him tight. “I am not
that monster from Liverpool who hurt you.”
Sherlock struggled to free
himself. “Let me go. I want to go home.”
Simon walked him to the bed and
fell down on it with him. “Calm down. You’re going nowhere.” He didn’t relax
his grip.
He stopped struggling and sighed. “I
can’t do this. I told you, you were going to hate me one of these days.”
“I won’t. I love you.”
He relaxed after a while and fell
asleep in Simon’s arms.
In the middle of the night, Sherlock
woke up when Simon shook him. “What’s wrong?”
“You were making noises in your
sleep. You were having a bad dream. Are you okay?”
He nodded. “I’m just tired.”
They nestled against each other
and fell asleep again.
In the early hours of the morning,
yelling and crying woke Simon. He reached out to wake him.
Sherlock jumped out of bed,
breathless. With enlarged eyes, he stared at him. “My nightmares are back.”
8. Goodbye
Professor Linder
Sherlock ignored Simon’s phone calls after that weekend.
When he knocked on his flat door after work, he pretended to be not at home. He
avoided him for a month until Simon showed up at the lab one morning.
“I told you the last time we
spoke. I can’t see you because I’m swamped with work.
“You’re lying. Tell me the real
reason why you’re avoiding me.
“Find someone who can give himself
completely to you, someone without issues.
“Stop this bullshit. We’ve had
this discussion already. I love you and I don’t want anyone else, but you. When
is your day off?
“Tomorrow
“I’ll pick you up at ten.
“No, I have violin lessons.”
“I’ll take you, and afterwards we
are going to have a nice long chat.
Sherlock nodded. He waited until
Simon disappeared into the lift before he rushed off to his locker. He grabbed
a small plastic sachet out of his bag, took one of the tablets and popped it
into his mouth.
Molly came looking for him and
found him sitting on the floor in front of the lockers. “Are you alright,
Sherlock?
He jumped up, straightened his
clothes and glared at her. “Yes, I’m fine. What do you want?”
She smiled faintly at him. “I have
a John Doe in the morgue. You said I have to call you as soon –
“I know what I said, Molly,” he
cried out, cutting her off midsentence. He rushed out of the locker room and
hurried down to the morgue.
After collecting samples from the
cadaver for research, Sherlock went back to the lab.
He knocked off at five and found
Molly in the hospital foyer when he was on his way out. “Thank you for letting
me know about the body.” He didn’t wait for a reply and hurried past her.
Sherlock popped another one of the
tablets from the sachet after he arrived at his flat. He took the violin and
played on it until late.
Not wanting to go to sleep, he
popped another tablet. It kept him awake and free from nightmares
The next morning, he didn’t wait
for Simon to pick him up. He left the flat earl
Sherlock was playing the violin,
when Simon barged through the door of the musical room
“Why didn’t you wait for me? I
told you I was picking you up.”
He kept on playing. “Don’t
interrupt me.”
“Where’s Willa?”
“She went on her tea break.”
Simon jumped around and rushed out.
Sherlock didn’t even notice he was
gone until he returned with Willa next to him. He stopped playing and glanced
at the two of them
“Tell him what you told me,” Simon
said, glancing at her.
She sighed. “Sherlock, you don’t
need any more lessons. You’re close to perfection playing the violin.”
He smiled at them, put the violin
in its case and handed it to Willa. “Thank you. I’ll buy my own the end of the
month.”
“Sherlock, you can keep it.”
He shook his head. He glanced at
Simon as he walked past him and left the musical room for the last time.
Simon caught up with him in the
corridor. “What’s going on with you?”
He stopped and turned to him. “I
think you better leave. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time with me.” He turned
back and continued walking.
“Stop acting like a child,
Sherlock.” Simon caught up with him again. “Why are you so difficult?”
“Simon, I’m not the person you
think I am. Leave now, while you still like me
He shook his head, watching the
man he loved, walking away.
***
Sherlock was losing sleep of the uppers he popped regularly.
He didn’t eat and lost a lot of weight. He sat in front of the computer,
staring at the screen, the words swimming in front of his eyes.
“Why don’t you go home for the
day?” one of his colleagues asked.
He shook his head and tried
focusing on the words again.
“Look at you, you need to sleep.
You have dark circles under your eyes.”
“I’m fine. Leave me alone, Linda.”
“I use to have a problem sleeping
as well. I can give you some of my sleeping tablets, if you want to?”
Sherlock raised his head and
looked at her. “Is it strong?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes. I take only
a half and sleeps through until the next morning.”
He nodded. “I’ll take some.”
She hurried out of the lab to the
locker room.
When she returned, she held the
plastic container out to him. “You can have it. I have more at home.”
He took it, flipped the lid and
glanced inside. “It’s half full.”
“I know. I don’t take it regularly
anymore, but I keep filling my script every month.”
“Will you cover for me? I think
I’ll go home as you suggested. I’m anyway off tomorrow.”
She nodded and watched him
stumbled out of the lab. Her eyes enlarged. There was something wrong with him.
Mike stepped into the lab and
glanced around. “Where’s Sherlock?”
“I sent him home. He doesn’t look
to well.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll figure
something out.” He hurried out of the lab and went downstairs to the HR office.
He inquired about a telephone number for Sherlock’s next of kin, but they
refused to give it to him if he didn’t have permission from him or from the
head of HR.
“Let me see him then.”
“He’s busy. You can’t just barge
in there.”
Mike returned to the lab. “HR
won’t help me and I can’t see the head because he’s busy. I know he has a
brother here in London, but I don’t know his address, or where he works.”
Linda held a cell phone up. “Maybe
the number will be on here.”
His eyes enlarged. “Is it
Sherlock’s? Where did you find it?”
“Next to the computer, he forgot
to take.”
Mike grabbed it from her. He
scrolled down the contacts, found Mycroft’s number and dialed it. “Hello, no
it’s Mike. He left his phone at the lab. That’s not why I’m calling.
Something’s wrong with him. He doesn’t focus on his work and he doesn’t eat.
You should see how thin he is.” He ended the call and gave the phone back to
Linda. “He will send someone to collect the phone.”
“And what about Sherlock?”
“Mycroft is on his way over to him
now.”
9. Another
Hospital Another Bed
After knocking and banging on the flat’s door, Mycroft
phoned his chauffeur to come up and break the door down.
He grimaced when he entered the
flat. Newspapers were scattered over the floor. Dirty coffee mugs and teacups
stood on the kitchen cupboard.
He found his brother passed out on
the couch and gasped when he noticed how skinny he became. When he walked up to
him, something cracked underneath his shoe. He picked up the broken container and
arched a brow. How many of these did he take? He shook him, but couldn’t wake him
up. “Oh Sherlock, what have you done.”
Mycroft took his phone out of his
pocket and called an ambulance. He gave them the address. “Please hurry. I
don’t know how many of the sleeping tablets he took.”
The paramedics barge within
minutes through the door. They connected him on a heart monitor, put him on the
stretcher and wheeled him out. The lift was too small for the stretcher with a
patient on it to fit. They had to carry him with it down the stairs.
Mycroft followed the ambulance to
the hospital.
After the medical personnel pumped
Sherlock’s stomach, they admitted him into the psych ward, before Mycroft could
see him.
He sat next to his bed, waiting
for him to regain consciousness.
Several hours later, Sherlock
opened his eyes. “Where am I?” he mumbled. “What are you doing here?” he asked
when he noticed Mycroft.
“Yes, once again I saved you,
little brother. This is the second time in just over a year I’m sitting next to
your deathbed. Are you stupid or something?”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“Look at yourself. You’ve become a
bloody drug addict. Good god Sherlock, you have so much potential and you’re
throwing it away.”
He pushed himself upright. “I’m
not a drug addicted. I took only two sleeping tablets.”
Mycroft jumped up. He opened his
medical file, took out the lab results and chucked it on the bed. “Then explain
the amphetamine sulphate they found in your system.”
Sherlock shoved the paper off the
bed. “I need it to get rid of my nightmares.”
“I told you to seek professional
help but you refused. Now look where it brought you.”
“I’m not addicted to it. I can stop
at any time.”
He drew his lips in a thin line. “That
my little brother is a lie and you know it. As soon as the doctor discharges
you, you are going to a rehab centre.”
“I can’t, what about my work at
the lab? I’m not due for leave yet.”
“I will secure your employment at
St Bart’s.” Mycroft smiled. “I’m working for the government, Sherlock. I can
let anything happen.”
After two days, Sherlock’s body
craved the amphetamines. His whole body shivered. His head wanted to explode
with the throbbing pain in his temples. He yelled at the staff, threw the trays
of food on the floor as soon as they left his room. After many attempts reinserting
his intravenous feeding to boost him with vitamins, they gave up when he pulled
it out again.
On the third day, they locked him
up in a soundproof padded room, while keeping an eye on him via a monitor.
Not allowed to visit in the padded
room, Mycroft watched the video footage of him.
Sherlock crawled on the padded
floor. Sometimes he lay on his back staring without blinking. He talked to
himself waving his hands and arms in the air. A day later, he noticed the
cameras high up on the wall. After receiving his food, he threw it at the
cameras.
Mycroft called one of the nurses
closer. “Where do I turn the sound on?”
She smiled and adjusted a button
on the bottom of the video until they could here Sherlock screaming.
He pushed the pause button, waited
until she left before rewinding the video. He found the part he looked for and
pressed the play button.
Sherlock stood on top of the bed,
waving his arms while yelling. “I know you can see me, Mycroft. I hate you for
doing this to me. I hate you. I hate Liverpool and –”
He snorted when he stopped
playback, not interested to hear what he was going to say next. Sherlock hated
him and he was just looking out for him.
With tears in his eyes, Mycroft
left the control room.
At the lift, one of the psychiatrists
caught up with him. “Mister Holmes, could I speak with you for a minute?”
He turned around and smiled. “Yes
of course, something the matter, Doctor?”
The doctor led him into a vacant
room. “What happened to your brother in Liverpool?”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing, when he’s awake. He’s
having nightmares at night. Then he yells at someone to leave him alone and
stop hurting him. All this we gathered from the video footage. When he sits
with me during a session, he refuses to say a word.”
Mycroft sighed before he told him his
version of the incident in Liverpool.
The psychiatrist nodded. “Did he
ever denied or admitted to your accusation of him being a prostitute?”
He shook his head. “What do you
think happened to him, Doctor?”
“Your brother was sexually
assaulted. I’m not sure by whom.”
Mycroft gasped aloud before covering
his mouth. “Poor Sherlock.” He shook his head. “I’m so hard on him. This
explains everything.”
“I would like to keep him here a
while longer after he comes out of the padded room. How long that will take,”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s a brilliant man, did you know that.”
“I know. I think that’s why I’m
pushing him so hard.”
“He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Never once did he hurt any of the staff members. A psychotic man would’ve.”
Mycroft nodded and sighed with
relief. At least Sherlock wasn’t losing his mind.
“Well, thank you for your time,
Mister Holmes.”
They shook hands before taking a course
in different directions.
***
After seven days, they released Sherlock out of the padded
room and took him back to the psychiatric ward.
He drummed his fingers on the
trolley while watching the nurses making his bed. “Why am I back here, I’m not
crazy?”
“You have to ask your doctor,
Mister Holmes.”
He flopped onto the freshly made
bed. He locked his fingers behind his head and raised his voice. “I’m bored.
Give me something to do, anything.”
“Is it really necessary to shout,
Sherlock?”
His head jerked up. “Oh, it’s
you,” he said and dropped back on the pillow.
“You look much better,” Mycroft
said.
He snorted. “Sorry I can’t say the
same about you, brother mine.”
“I see they couldn’t get rid of
you rudeness.”
Sherlock jumped upright and let
his feet hang from the bed. “They didn’t get rid of anything. When are they
discharging me? I’m bored. I miss my violin and I want to get out of this
nuthouse.”
“Doctor Müller wants to keep you here
for another week, maybe longer.” He glanced at his brother before taking a seat
next to his bed. “I can help you if you want to make a case against the person
who hurt you in Liverpool.”
“Why would I make a case? To whom
are you referring?”
“Come on. Don’t play stupid with
me. I work for the government. It’s my job to find things out.”
“Ugh, Mycroft Holmes is the
British government.” Sherlock fell back on his bed. “Stay out of my business,
Mycroft, or you may discover more than your little brain can handle. I’m not a
saint you know.”
He scoffed at him. “Oh, that I
know, brother dear.”
“Next time you visit, bring me
some biscuits will you. The buttermilk kind.”
Mycroft recognized that was his
cue to leave and stood up. “Will do. Behave now, until next time.”
Sherlock jumped out of bed after
his brother left and hurried to the nurses’ station. “Do you have something for
me to do?”
One of the sisters dragged him
into the duty room. “Don’t let matron or one of the doctors catch you.”
He smiled and followed her into
the stock room.
She showed him the stock sheets,
opened the cupboards where they kept all the medical supplies and gave him a
pen. “Are you up for it?”
“Anything will make me happy.”
With a head for numbers, mathematics
and logic, Sherlock helped the nurses counting stock, balancing their drug
books and working out the formulas for the correct dosages before they could
administer prescribed medicines.
Deducing the new patients as they
wheeled them passed his room, he helped many a time with diagnoses when the
psychiatrists missed something.
Although doctor Müller was not
happy that Sherlock refused the tablets he described, he was impressed with his
improvement.
By the end of the week, he
discharged him, after two weeks in hospital.
Mycroft sent his chauffeur to pick
him up at hospital with a message that he would visit him later that evening.
10. Meeting
DI Lestrade
Mycroft made a rule to visit his brother on a regular basis
to keep an eye on him and to see if he coped. Sherlock stayed drug free and
picked up the weight he lost.
One day while sitting in a diner,
Mycroft arrived with an unknown man on his side. Sherlock gazed at them,
deducing the man. He was a police officer, perhaps a private investigator. He
wore a wedding ring recently. Why did he take it off?
Sherlock furrowed his brows. He
recognized the look on the man’s face. He was attracted to Mycroft – smitten to
be exact. The man couldn’t stop smiling neither could he take his eyes off him.
He drew the waiter’s attention
before he stood up.
The waiter rushed over to him.
“Your food will be ready any minute, Sir.”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m joining them.”
He pointed to his brother’s table. “Would you serve me there?”
“No problem, Sir.”
Sherlock smiled as he strolled
over to his brother. He stopped behind him and placed his hands on his
shoulders while bending down. “Fancy seeing you in a place like this,” he
whispered in his ear.
Mycroft gasped when he jerked his
head around.
“I’m his brother, Sherlock,” he
said and held his hand out to the man.
He jumped up, took his hand and
introduced himself. “Lestrade, Greg Lestrade.” He remained standing and gazed
at Mycroft.
“Oh for heaven’s sake sit down,
Greg. You too, Sherlock.”
“Business or pleasure?” he asked
after taking a seat.
Mycroft glared at his brother.
“None of your business.”
“Then it must be pleasure,” he
said, smiling.
Greg glanced at the two brothers.
“Would you excuse me for a second,” he said, stood up and left the table.
“What are you doing here,
Sherlock?”
He scoffed at him. “I can ask you
the same thing. This is not your usual dining place.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “He can’t
afford a grand restaurant on his salary.”
Sherlock arched a brow. “And how
would you know? Oh wait, you work for the government. You logged into his bank
account before dating him. Why do you keep him a secret?”
“I don’t. I would’ve brought him
along to meet you on Saturday.”
“He’s quite handsome.”
Mycroft’s face flushed. “Yes,
isn’t he?”
“Good catch, Mycroft. Where did
you meet?”
“He was working on a case, MI6
took over.”
“Police officer?”
“Yes, detective inspector at New
Scotland Yard.”
Greg returned, brushed his hand
over Mycroft’s shoulder as he passed him and took place next to him again.
“Sorry I kept you waiting.”
“You didn’t, love. I was just
telling Sherlock how we met.”
His eyes enlarged. “I thought you
said we have to keep it a secret.”
“He’s my brother, we don’t have
secrets.” He turned to Sherlock and smirked. “Do we, brother mine?”
“That’s debatable.”
Mycroft kicked him under the
table, turned back to Greg and smiled. “Decided what to order from the menu
yet, dear?”
“No.” He grabbed the menu lying on
the table next to him. “Give me a few minutes.”
The waiter brought Sherlock’s
food. After he put on the table, he turned to the other two and waited for
their order.
“I’ll have the chicken schnitzel,”
Mycroft said and patted Greg on the hand.
“Huh.” He looked up and noticed
the waiter. “Oh yeah, right, a beef burger and chips with fried onion rings on
the side, please.”
“How can you eat that greasy food?
When last did you check your cholesterol?”
Greg snorted. “There’s nothing
wrong with me or the food I eat.” He poked him in the ribs. “You can do with a
bit of greasy food. I don’t like bony men, you know.”
“You haven’t seen me naked, yet.”
Sherlock snorted and choked on his
food. He coughed a few times, before he was able to take a sip of water. “At
least now I know you haven’t slept together, yet.” He put his fork down. “Greg,
why did you take your wedding ring off?”
“Good god Sherlock, that’s
private.”
Greg placed his hand on Mycroft’s
arm. “No love, it’s not a secret. I’ll tell him.”
“I was married, am married. The
wife and I split up a few months ago.”
“So, technically you’re still
married?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I did file for a
divorce.”
“What if your wife wants you back,
what about my brother?”
Mycroft let his head hang and
covered his face with his hand.
“No, there’s no chance in hell. I
won’t take her back.”
Sherlock picked up his fork again.
“There’s no guarantee either.”
“Would you please stop it?” He
glared at his brother. “This is not an interrogation.”
Greg crossed his arms in front of
him. “How did you know about the ring? I took it off a month ago.” He examined
his ring finger. “If you look closely you can still see the mark, but not from
where you’re sitting.”
“I saw it from where I sat after
you came in.”
Mycroft snorted. “My brother
discovered his natural endowment. More of a nuisance, I would say.”
Greg moved his chair closer to
Sherlock. “Tell me more about this…” He pulled a face and glanced at Mycroft.
“The what?”
He rolled his eyes. “Are we really
discussing this now?”
He patted Mycroft on the hand.
“Yes love, this sounds very interesting.”
Sherlock smiled. “Deduction,” he
answered to avoid a lovers tiff.
Greg’s head jerked back to him.
“Yeah, that.”
“Let’s see.” Sherlock turned his
head to the table closest to them. “That man is married. The woman opposite him
is not his wife.”
“Perhaps he’s on a business date,”
Mycroft remarked.
Sherlock glared at him. “Holding her
hand?”
“How do you now she’s not his
wife?” Greg asked, glancing at the man and woman.
“Look at his wedding ring. It’s fitting
tight around his finger and the gold is fading, not sparkling like a new ring.
He’s married about ten years, maybe longer. If she’s his wife, she had to be
fifteen when they got married.”
“Wow, that’s excellent,” he
remarked. “Deduce someone else.”
Sherlock smiled, enjoying it to
annoy his brother. He glanced at another table, deduced the couple and
continued to the next until Mycroft banged his fist on the table.
“Stop showing off and stop trying
to impress my boyfriend.”
“Oh, I’m impressed alright.” Greg
put his hand on Mycroft’s thigh and gave it a squeeze. “Maybe Sherlock can help
me on a case I’m struggling to solve.”
“Fine go on, pretend I’m not
here.”
He smiled at him before he turned
back to Sherlock to inform him about the case. “Come down to the station. I’ll
give you the case file to go through. Perhaps take you to the crime scene.”
“I can be there tomorrow morning.”
Greg smiled showing off his
perfectly formed white teeth. “Isn’t this great, love,” he said returning his
gaze to his date.
“I’m sorry, are you talking to
me?”
Sherlock kicked Mycroft’s leg
under the table.
The two brothers glared at each
other.
“Come on, love. Don’t you want me
to solve the case, get the scum in jail and tidy Britain’s streets up a bit?”
“Not if you are going to ignore
me.”
Greg moved his chair back and traced
his fingers across Mycroft’s arm while leaning over to him. “I’ll make it up to
you, say tonight.”
“Yes Mycroft. Then you can show
him you don’t need greasy food, you’re not that boney after all.”
“Oh shut up, Sherlock.”
“I better get a move on. This
table is getting to soppy for my liking.” He moved his chair backwards and
stood up.
Greg jumped to his feet. “It was
nice meeting you, looking forward to work with you.”
Sherlock nodded while smirking at
his brother. “Evening,” he greeted and left the table.
11. The
Consulting Detective
Sherlock took a taxi the next day to meet with Greg at New
Scotland Yard. After going through the case files, he took him to the crime
scene at an old house in Brooklyn.
When they returned after a few
hours, Greg called Sally, a detective and Anderson, a forensics expert, who’s
working on the case with him to his office and introduced them to Sherlock.
“Are you a private detective?
Sally asked.
“No, he’s a lab analyst with
deduction skills,” Greg answered on behalf of Sherlock. “Tell them about the
extra clues you found.”
They glanced at each other while
listening to Sherlock’s findings.
“That’s impossible. We’ve searched
thoroughly,” Anderson said.
Sherlock ignored the remark. “You
have to question the gardener again.”
Sally gaped at him before she
turned to Greg. “Why did you bring him in? Are we not good enough anymore?”
DI Lestrade held his hands up.
“No, that’s not it. Just hear him out.”
Sherlock explained to them why he
thought the gardener was the killer.
“We’ve already interrogated him.
He’s innocent. I’m not going to waste my time.” She pointed at Sherlock as she
glanced at Greg. “Who does he think he is?”
Anderson chuckled. “This is police
work, not some kind of lab experiment.”
Sherlock glared at the two them.
“Well Greg, it seems to me your team has everything under control. I refuse to
listen to their insults any longer.” He turned around and walked out of the
office.
Lestrade glared at them. “Why are
you so rude to the man? He went out of his way to help us. Bring the gardener
in for further questioning, that’s an order.” He rushed out of his office and caught
up with Sherlock outside the building, waiting for a taxi. “Don’t mind them.
Are you sure it’s the gardener?”
Sherlock turned to him. “If he is
the killer, I will help you with your other cases.” He lowered his arm when a
taxi stopped next to him. He opened the door and glanced back at Greg. “Your
cases, my time, free of charge. Afternoon, Detective Inspector.”
Greg stared at the taxi driving
off. Goodness, not even six hours on the case and he solved it. He could be an
asset to the station.
The ringing of his cell phone drew
his attention. “Lestrade,” he answered. He smiled. “Hello love. Yes, he just
left with a taxi.” He smiled again. “I told you last night your brother is impressive.”
His face dulled. “Don’t be silly. Why would I leave you for him?” He glanced at
his watch. “I have to go. Will I see you tonight?” He nodded. “I’ll be home at
five. Greg smiled once again as he put his phone away while walking back to his
office.
***
Just before five, Sherlock’s cell phone rang. He glanced at
the screen and frowned not recognizing the number, before he answered. He
arched a brow. “What did I tell you? Yes, my offer still stands. How many
unsolved cases do you have?” He smiled. “I will see you again tomorrow.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he patted
the cell phone against his chin. He had to work tomorrow. He bit his lower lip,
searched the lab’s number on his phone and dialled it. “Linda, Sherlock. I’m not
coming in tomorrow, will be there on Friday.” He sighed. “Of course I’m fine.”
He ended the call and called Mycroft. “No, calling is faster than texting. I
want a favour from you.” He shook his head. “Not money. Let them reduce my
working hours at Bart’s.” He sighed. “Why do you always have to know
everything? I’m going to be a consulting detective. Yes, consulting detective,
Google it, I’ll be the first one.” He smiled. “Did he tell you I solved the
case? Good, now reduce my hours at the lab. I will be there on Fridays only.”
His face flushed. “Good god, Mycroft,” he yelled. “This is what I want to do.
Yes without pay.” Sherlock arched a brow. “Is Lestrade there? Put him on the
phone.” He waited a few seconds, before Greg answered. “Will you talk some sense
into your boyfriend’s head,” he said and dropped the call before he could put
Mycroft back on the phone.
As soon as he took a seat on the
couch, a text message came through. He glanced at the screen and smiled,
reading the message.
‘How rude of you to drop the call in Greg’s ear. MH’
He chucked the phone on the couch
when he stood up. He picked up his violin and soon the music swept his mind
away from daily life.
Sherlock went to bed just after
midnight and woke early the next morning.
After he took a shower, he got
dressed and rushed downstairs, skipping breakfast.
A taxi picked him up and drove him
to New Scotland Yard.
Sally met him halfway to Greg’s
office. “So, you call yourself now a consulting detective?”
“Yes, the only one in the world.”
She snorted as they entered the
office.
Anderson was already inside,
discussing a forensics report with Lestrade. He rolled his eyes when he noticed
Sherlock. “Oh god,” he mumbled. “Coming to solve another case, Mister Detective
wannabe?”
“Consulting detective, Anderson.
Get your facts straight.”
Sally smirked. “Yes, the only one
in the world.” She imitated his words from earlier.
He ignored her and fixed his eyes
on Lestrade.
Greg jumped up from behind his
desk. “Good god what is wrong with you. He’s here to help us. Have some respect
for his talent. If it wasn’t for him that bloody gardener would’ve killed
again.” He glared at them before he sat down again. “Teamwork people,
teamwork.” He rolled his eyes, sighing. “Now, can we get back to work?”
Sally and Anderson nodded.
The phone on his desk rang. He
grabbed it to answer. “Yes. Speaking.” He jumped up. “We’ll be there in a
minute.” He chucked the receiver onto the phone and grabbed his jacket. “They
found a body in the Grand Deluxe hotel’s basement parking. Sherlock, you’re
coming with me.”
“Why does he have to go to the
crime scene?”
Greg glared at Anderson. “Stop
this bullshit, both of you. You’re starting to annoy me.”
Sally gaped at him. “I didn’t say
anything.”
“The expression on your face says
a lot.” He charged out the office with Sherlock behind him.
Half an hour later, they stopped
in front of the hotel with Anderson and Sally right behind them.
They entered the hotel and found
the manager in the lobby.
After explaining to them that the
deceased was one of their guests, he accompanied them to the lift and down to
the basement parking.
He showed them the body and left
after Lestrade ordered him to go.
Before examining the area or the
body, all of them put on protective clothing, gloves and shoe covers except
Sherlock. He took only a pair of gloves and strolled over to the body.
“You will contaminate the crime
scene,” Anderson called out to him.
He kept on walking, ignoring him.
Greg drew a deep breath. “Let him
go, he knows what he’s doing.”
Sally snorted. “Does he?”
After only a few minutes with the
body, Sherlock picked up a lot more than clues.
Greg stood with his arms crossed
and smiled while watching him in action. “I told you he was good,” he whispered
to Anderson.
He rolled his eyes while shaking
his head and walked over to Sally. “This is bullshit. We had to study, attend
classes and he just walks in here as if he was sent by God.”
Sally turned around facing him.
“Where did Lestrade find him, that’s what I like to know?”
***
A day later, there was another body found in the basement
parking. Greg phoned Sherlock, informed him about it, but he was at the lab and
was unable to accompanied him.
On Monday, Sherlock solved the
case and they arrested the janitor.
Greg gave him files of other
unsolved cases. One after the other he solved them as well. He saved prisoners,
wrongfully accused, from death penalty. Sometimes he received incentives from
their families as gratitude for his help.
Soon his name appeared in
newspapers next to Lestrade’s.
Even Mycroft came to him for help
when MI6 had an unsolved problem.
Sherlock invested in a few coats
and scarfs to stand out from the rest when he had to do investigations. He
became attached to his new look and wore the dark blue scarf twisted around his
neck along with the long black or navy coat with its collar turned up every
time he sat foot out of his flat.
At first, Mycroft, Lestrade and
his team made fun of him until they were used to it.
Sherlock resigned his position in
the lab at St. Bartholomew hospital. He didn’t have the time to work there, as well
as solving cases. With a good word from Mycroft, the CEO of the hospital
granted him permission to use the lab whenever he needed it. It suited him. His
bachelor’s flat was too small. There wasn’t enough space to put up the new
microscope he bought along with other necessary lab equipment.
Sherlock sighed as he struggled to
make his way through and over boxes standing on the floor. He had to find a new
flat, and soon.
12. Big
Brother Is Watching
While working on another case Lestrade and his team couldn’t
solve, Sherlock fell asleep next to the microscope. He was alone at the lab and
it was already past midnight
He woke an hour later with a stiff
neck and sore back. He had to stay awake until he was finished. If he had only
one tablet, it would see him through. He glanced at his watch, jumped up and
put on his coat before he left.
A taxi dropped him off a few
blocks from the hospital. He waited until the driver drove off before he walked
into a dark alley. His eyes skimmed over the area.
When he noticed someone
approaching, he pushed his back against the wall, hoping the person didn’t see
him. His heart hammered in his chest. Was it the dealer? It might be a mugger
or even a killer.
He was hardly breathing. He
narrowed his eyes trying to recognize the man.
“Yo, Sherly my man,” the man
called out.
Sherlock sighed with relief. “I
took a chance, I didn’t know if you were still dealing here.”
“Long time man, where you been?”
the black man asked.
“I stopped using, Whitey.”
He frowned. “Now what you doing
here?”
“I need just one. I have to finish
this thing I’m working on and I keep falling asleep.”
“Going to cost you a lot, better
you take five I give it for same price as one.”
Sherlock shook his head. “Fine,
give me five. Is the price still the same?”
“What you pay last time?”
He sighed. “I can’t remember.”
The black man held his hand out.
“Give me hundred pounds for five.”
Neither of the two men noticed the
car stopping at the end of the alley. A man climbed out and strolled towards
them.
Sherlock took out his wallet and
opened it. “Where’s the tablets, Whitey. If you run with my money, I’ll hunt
you down.”
He snorted. “What? No Sherly man,
I will never run with your money. The tablets are in my pocket.” He took out a
sachet with the five small tablets inside and laid it on the palm of his hand.
“There, you believe me now?”
He chuckled when he took two fifty
pound notes out of his wallet. Before he could hand the money over, a voice
spoke in the dark behind them.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,
Sherlock.”
He flung around. “Greg, what are
you doing here?” When he turned back, Whitey was gone. “Now looked what you’ve
done,” he cried out. “Did Mycroft send you?”
“Yes, he worries about you. He saw
on the CCTV monitor in his office you were heading over here. He knows it’s
your old dealing place, so he woke me up and asked me to save you from falling
for this crap again.”
Sherlock raised his head and
scanned the buildings. “There are no surveillance cameras here.” His brows furrowed,
making nose crinkles. “What’s he still doing at the office?”
Greg pointed to a camera at the
end of the alley. “There’s one where the taxi dropped you off. He’s still at
the office because he’s looking out for you.”
He placed his hands in his coat
pockets and turned around, biting his lower lip. He could kill Mycroft for
spying on him.
Greg took him by the arm. “Come.
I’ll take you home.”
He jerked loose and charged down
the alley, his long coat flapping behind him.
Greg sighed, while watching him,
before he followed.
The two men drove in silence to
the flat.
Sherlock jumped out when the car
stopped. He slammed the door shut and stormed into the building and up the
stairs.
He fell down on the couch, lit a
cigarette and reached for his phone in his pocket. He typed a text message to
his brother and sent it.
Seconds later, the phone beeped
with a reply.
‘I’m not spying on you, Sherlock. I saved your life tonight, well, Greg too.
MH’
Sherlock chucked the phone on the
couch after he read the message and jumped up. He bumped his leg against one of
the boxes and grunted. He had to find another flat.
***
Sherlock woke up late that morning. He sighed when he
glanced at his watch and threw the duvet off him. If he stayed awake for the
night, he could’ve solved the case already.
He jumped out of bed, grabbed a
cigarette and lit it. He drew a deep breath of smoke, raised his head and
released the smoke slowly towards the ceiling.
After the second cigarette, he
dragged himself through the shower. He put on clean pyjamas, flopped onto the
couch and called Greg. “I’m fine, stop worrying.” He rolled his eyes. “Mycroft
is filling your head with all kinds of rubbish about me. I know you’re gullible
because you’re still in love. My god, I thought you were the dominant one. Ha, was
I wrong.” Sherlock’s eyes enlarged. “Yes, I’m done. I called because I want a
phone number from you.” He shook his head. “No, the case is closed. The file is
in the archives.” His face dulled. “No, don’t ask Anderson, no, neither Sally.
I’ll get dressed and come over to look for it myself.” A smile formed on his
face. “His name is Hudson. A drug cartel case, he got the death penalty. Yes,
that’s the one.” Sherlock lit another cigarette before he continued. “I want
his wife’s phone number. Thanks.”
Sherlock paced up and down the
flat, smoking the one cigarette after the other while waiting for Greg to call
back.
An hour later, he took his violin
and started playing. A knock on the door distracted him. He started over and
stopped again when another knock followed. He grimaced when he put the violin
down.
He sauntered over to the door and
yanked it open. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He turned around, headed for the
couch and sat down, crossing his legs.
Mycroft entered the flat and
gasped aloud. “Goodness me, what happened here?”
“What do you want, Mycroft?”
“You need a bigger place, little
brother.”
Sherlock glared at him. “Do you
think I don’t… No wait, you don’t think.”
He took a seat next to him while
glancing at the boxes around him. “What do you have in these boxes?”
“My lab equipment I bought while I
still had money.”
“You know you can come to me if
you’re in trouble, financially I mean.”
He snorted. “And other troubles
you’ll resolve on your own without my knowledge. Am I right?”
Mycroft tapped the tip of his
umbrella on the floor while he drew his lips in a thin line. “What is your
business with the wife of the drug cartel lord?”
Sherlock jumped up. “Did your
boyfriend called you up to ask permission before he gives me her phone number?”
“Stop acting like a bloody child, Sherlock.”
“Do you want a cigarette?” he
asked after he took one out and lit it.
He took one. “Greg will kill me.
He doesn’t like it when I smoke.”
Sherlock lit his brother’s
cigarette. “Why not, he smokes too.” He chuckled. “Maybe you’re too butch for
him with a cigarette in your hand.”
“Ugh, don’t be silly. You didn’t
answer my question, yet.”
“Which one?”
He rolled his eyes while pulling
on his cigarette. “Hudson’s wife, why do you want her number?”
He took place next to his brother
again. “Dear Missis Hudson, she said if I ever needed a flat I can call her
anytime. Well, I need a bigger flat.”
Mycroft sighed with relief.
Sherlock turned his head slowly
towards him, raising a brow. “You didn’t…” He gasped aloud. “Oh my god, you and
Greg thought I want to contact her for drugs.” He jumped up again. “My god,
Mycroft, the woman didn’t even know he was a drug lord until he was busted for
it,” he yelled. “She was elated when he was sentence to death.”
“Calm down, little brother,
everyone makes mistakes.”
“Some too many than others.”
“I suppose you are flawless?”
He nodded. “I made one mistake,
though.”
“Yes, we all know what that was.”
Sherlock furrowed his brows. “No,
not that. I was wrong to think Greg was the dominant one in your relationship.”
Mycroft’s eyes enlarged as his
face flushed. “What did he tell you?”
Sherlock smiled when he picked up
his violin and played God saves the Queen on it.
Mycroft jumped up, glared at his
brother and marched to the door. “Just remember, my eyes are fixed on you, day
and night,” he announced and hurried out of the flat.
He kept on smiling, stopped
playing and put the violin down to shut the door.
Minutes after his brother left,
his phoned beeped. It was Greg, sending a text message with Missis Hudson’s
cell phone number.
Sherlock burst out with laughter.
After he calmed down, he gave her
a call.
She recognized him immediately
after he told her his name.
“I know it’s out of the blue, but
do you have a vacant flat?” He nodded. “I can come tomorrow.” He smiled. “No
need to write it down, I’ll remember the address, Missis Hudson.” He chuckled.
“Yes, two two one B, Baker Street. Good day to you too, Missis Hudson.” He ended
the call and jumped in the air, yelling. “Yes.”
13. 221B Baker Street
Mike moved his chair backwards and stood up. “I’m going for
lunch, do you want something form the café?”
Sherlock looked up from the
microscope and glanced at his watch. “One o’clock already?” He stood up,
stretched his back and took his packet of cigarettes out of his lab coat’s
pocket. “I’m on the roof if anyone’s looking for me.”
Mark accompanied him to the lift.
“Do you want me to bring you something?”
“Yes, a flat mate.”
He chuckled. “So, when did you
decide to change your mind?”
“Last night when I checked my
budget.” Sherlock got out when the lift stopped on the top floor.
“And something to eat?” Mike asked
while keeping the door open.
“No thanks.”
He shook his head after the doors
shut, pressed the ground floor button and smiled all the way down.
After he bought a hot dog and
milkshake, he went over to the park across the hospital to his usual spot. He
took place on one of the benches to eat, when he noticed a familiar face passing
him by. “John,” he called out, but the man kept on walking. He put his lunch
down and jumped up. “John Watson, he called out again, louder this time.
The man stopped and turned around.
He didn’t recognize him at first and frowned, while walking closer.
“It’s Mike, from school.”
His face lit up. “Oh yeah, Mike.”
“How are you? Heard you got shot
in Afghanistan.”
“Well, as you can see I’m doing
fine.”
“I’m having lunch, can I get you
something?”
“Just coffee, thanks.”
Mike pointed to the bench where he
left his food. “Have a seat. Be with you in a minute.” He trotted off as fast
as his plump body allowed him to the café. He hurried back with John’s coffee
and handed it to him
Out of breath, he fell down on the
bench, grabbed his milkshake and took a mouthful. “When did you return?
“About a month ago.”
“Where are you staying now?”
John sighed. “In a room across
town, on my army pension I can hardly afford the rent.”
Mike smiled. “This is a
coincidence. A colleague of mine is looking for a flat mate. Are you
interested?”
His eyes enlarged. “Yes of course.
Where are you working?”
He pointed to the tall building on
his left. “St. Bart’s hospital, I’m a lab technician there.”
After he finished his lunch, he
glanced at his watch. “I have still ten minutes left, but we can go now if
you’re in a hurry.”
John shook his head. “No hurry,
only an empty room awaits me.”
They chatted about schooldays until
the time was up, before heading back to the hospital.
They took the lift up to the lab.
He opened the door and glanced
around. “Is Sherlock still up on the roof?”
Linda shrugged. “I guess so.”
He shut the lab door and turned
around. “Let me show you to the roof.”
They took the lift again and
climbed out on the top floor.
“Sorry, I’m not going with you.
The stairs will kill me. Just take them up and go through the door. You’ll find
him there smoking.”
John nodded and started climbing
the two flights of stairs until he found the door and pushed it open. He
glanced at the slender tall man dressed in a dark suit, with a cigarette
between his fingers. His black curly hair ruffled from the wind. He paced
closer. “Those things will kill you,” he said and raised a brow when the man
didn’t even twitch a finger.
“People die all the time, smoking
or non-smoking,” Sherlock said before he turned around and drew another breath
of smoke.
John smiled. “Mike said I’ll find
you here?”
“Are you here about the flat?”
His eyes enlarged. “How did you
know?”
He smiled, put out the cigarette butt
and walked closer. “Sherlock Holmes,” he said and held out his hand.
“John Watson,” he said while
shaking his hand.
“Do you want to see the flat now
or are you in a hurry?”
“Now is fine, but you’re still on
duty.”
Sherlock walked past him and held
the door opened. “I’m not working here.”
John shook his head while
frowning. “I’m confused. Mike called you, a colleague of his.”
“Are you coming?”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” he said and sped
up his pace.
They trotted down the stairs.
“So, what do you do if you’re not
working here,” he asked after they stepped into the lift.
“I’m a consulting detective. I
used to work here, but now I’m using the lab only when I have to analyse
evidence I found on crime scenes.”
John frowned and blinked a few
times. “But don’t the police have a forensics lab to analyse the evidence?”
Sherlock glanced at him when they
got out of the lift. “They do, but I take my own samples and sometimes they
don’t see it as evidence while I do.” He held the lab door open, waited until
John had entered and stepped inside as well.
Mike smiled. “I see you found each
other.”
John’s eyes enlarged, while the
corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched once.
They glanced at Mike without
saying a word.
Sherlock grabbed his cell phone,
put it inside his trousers pocket and headed back to the door. “Shall we go,”
he said keeping the door open. “I just need to get my coat in my locker.”
They walked down the corridor to
the locker room.
“What kind of work are you doing?”
“I’m a doctor. An army doctor
actually. I got shot and had to return.”
“In your shoulder. Were you in
Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asked while opening his locker.
“Afghanistan, but how did you know
I got shot in the shoulder?”
Sherlock put his dark blue scarf
around his neck, put on his coat and flipped the collar up. “You keep touching
your right shoulder, sometimes rolling it while pulling a face. The pain is
still bugging you. Am I right?”
John shook his head in disbelieve,
before he smiled. “That’s amazing.”
They strolled back to the lift,
took it to the ground floor and exited the hospital building.
Sherlock hopped off the pavement
and held his hand up for a taxi.
They got in after a taxi stopped.
“221B Baker Street,” he said and
glanced at John. “I hope you’ll like the flat.”
“Ugh, anything will be better than
the room I’m staying in.”
“And the violin,” Sherlock added.
John’s head jerked around.
“Sorry?”
“I play the violin when I’m
thinking and when I want to escape from the world. I hope it won’t bother you.”
“Oh, no it won’t.”
The taxi dropped them off in front
of the address he gave.
Using the doorknocker, Sherlock
knocked on the door.
A woman in her late sixties opened
up. Her face lit up. “Sherlock,” she called out and threw her arms around him
after he stepped closer.
“This is John Watson, my new flat
mate,” he said after freeing himself from her arms. He turned to John. “Missis
Hudson, our landlady.”
“Come in you two, come in.” She
shut the door after they’ve entered and went back to her flat while the two men
walked upstairs.
Sherlock opened the door, stepped
inside and watched John’s face while he entered the flat.
John nodded after he looked
around. “Yes, I like it.”
He smiled. “My thoughts exactly.”
He pointed over the living room.
“This boxes and stuff, will Missis Hudson remove it?”
Sherlock’s face dulled. “It’s
mine. I moved in two days ago. It will be out of the way when you move in.”
“Oh sorry, I didn’t know.”
Missis Hudson pushed the door open
and entered with a tray in her hands.
“Oh, let me.” John took the tray
from her and placed it on the kitchen table.
“Well, what do you think of the
place, John?”
He nodded. “It’s nice.”
She grabbed his arm and cuddled up
against him. “Nice and cosy for new lovers, isn’t it.
John’s eyes enlarged. “We’re not
lovers.”
“Don’t be shy, John. I like them
all.”
Sherlock smiled while pouring tea.
He bit and sucked on his lower lip to keep him from laughing.
He brought them each a cup and
returned to the kitchen for his.
After they had tea, Missis Hudson
took the tray and left the two men alone.
“When can you move in?
“By the end of next week, I have
to give a week’s notice.
Sherlock gazed at the handsome man
in front of him. He pulled a face. “So, I have to be alone for another week.”
John smiled at him. “Time goes by
so fast, before you know it I’ve moved in.”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Sitting in my room, trying to
start a blog,” he replied. He took a deep breath. “So, do you have a
girlfriend?”
Sherlock smiled. “No.”
“Me neither.”
“I know. Do you have a boyfriend?”
John’s eyes narrowed for a second,
before he cleared his throat and changed his position on the chair before he
answered. “Um, no.”
With his elbow on the arm of the
chair, Sherlock supported his head on his thumb and two fingers, while glancing
at him. “Me neither,” he said still smiling.
John frowned and looked him in the
eye. “Why do you find this so amusing?”
“I find us amusing. Firstly, the
one wants to determine if the other one’s gay. After we concluded we are both
gay, we, secondly, wanted to find out if we are single.”
John licked his lips before he
smiled. “I know. It’s silly.”
“The minute I saw you there on the
roof, I knew you were gay.”
“Impossible? Look at me, I’m
butch.”
Sherlock jumped up when his phone
rang. “No I’m not busy,” he answered. “Be there right away.” He turned to John.
“Do you want to go with me to a crime scene?”
“Hell yes,” he said and jumped up.
Sherlock put on his scarf and
coat, and trotted downstairs with John behind him.
They rushed out of the building onto
the pavement and stopped a taxi.
Sherlock gave the cabby the
address after they jumped in and leaned back in his seat, glancing out the
window aware of John’s eyes on him.
13. Mycroft and Greg Come For Dinner
John didn’t wait for the end of that following week to relocate. He moved in two days later. He accompanied Sherlock to every crime scene, helped him searching for clues and solving cases.
Almost two months later, he met
Mycroft in a peculiar way.
John returned from shopping when a
black sedan with tinted windows stopped next to him. The chauffeur jumped out
and opened the backdoor, ordering him to get it. After he refused, his cell
phone rang. When he answered, a voice commanded him to get into the car. The
person called him by his name and profession.
He sighed after the person dropped
the call.
When he climbed into the car, his
eyes enlarged when the man in the back spoke to him. “It was you on the phone.
How did you know my number?
Mycroft smiled. “Doctor John
Watson, finally we meet.”
He frowned. “How do you know me?”
“How is Sherlock? Is he behaving
himself?”
John snorted. “Who are you and how
do you know Sherlock?”
He pulled a face. “He never talks
about me? That’s a shame. We’ve come such a long way.”
“Sod this, I’m getting out.” He
reached for the door handle. When he pulled it, the door didn’t open.
Mycroft chuckled. “Sorry, kiddies
lock. It opens only from the outside.”
John reached for his phone. “I’m
calling the police if I don’t get answers from you soon.”
“Oh you can try, they will laugh
at you.” He fiddled with his umbrella’s handle. “I want you to keep an eye on
Sherlock for me. I worry about him, constantly.”
He snorted while shaking his head.
“Are you an old boyfriend?”
“Oh god no, he’s my little
brother.”
John rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you
bloody say so in the first place? I’m staying there for nearly two months and
you never visit him once. Why don’t you stop by one afternoon? Come and see for
yourself how he’s doing.” He bit on his teeth. “Now open this bloody door and
let me out.”
Mycroft tapped his umbrella against
the window separating the driver from them.
The backdoor opened up seconds
later.
John grabbed his shopping bag, jumped
out and bent down glancing at him. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?
I’m cooking.”
“Oh how sweet. The two of you have
cooking arrangements. May I bring, um, a plus one?”
He raised a brow and shrugged.
“Bring whomever like.” John shut the door and shook his head as the car drove
off. What an odd man. He shook his head again before he walked off in the
direction of the flat.
When John entered the flat, he
found Sherlock on his back on the couch with his eyes shut and his hands
together in front of his face. He raised a brow before he stepped into the
kitchen and put the shopping bag on the table. “I met you brother just now,” he
said while emptying the bag. He frowned, let go of everything and walked back
to the living room. “Did you hear me? I said I met your brother.”
Sherlock opened his eyes and sighed. “Oh god, what did he want?”
Sherlock opened his eyes and sighed. “Oh god, what did he want?”
“Not much, he was glad to meet me
and he asked how you were.”
“Did you tell him?”
“No, I’ve invited him for dinner
so that he can see for himself.”
He jumped up and glared at John.
“Why did you do that for?”
“He’s your brother, Sherlock. I’m
living here for almost two months and I didn’t know you had a brother. You
never talk about him.”
“What about Harry, why doesn’t she
visit you or you visit her?”
“That’s different. We don’t like
each other very much.”
“No different from Mycroft and me.
He makes my life hell and I annoy him.”
John returned to the kitchen.
“Anyway, he’s coming over tonight.” He glanced back and chuckled. “He asked if
he could bring a plus one.”
Sherlock smiled when he stepped
into the kitchen. “His plus one is Greg.”
His eyes enlarge while he gaped at
him. “Lestrade, Greg Lestrade from Scotland yard?”
He nodded.
John blinked a few time while he
smiled. “I didn’t know he’s gay.”
Sherlock glanced inside the empty bag.
“What are you cooking tonight?”
“I bought chicken, veggies and…”
“And what?”
“Biscuits, buttermilk biscuits,”
he said and took the packet out of the drawer where he hid it. He wanted to
give it to him tonight, but since he upset him with word from his brother, he
gave it now instead.
Sherlock kissed him on the cheek,
grabbed the packet and trotted back to the living room.
John shook his head while waiting
for his throbbing heart to calm down. “No, it can’t be,” he muttered.
He took a deep breath before he
grabbed the chicken, cut it into portions and rinsed it in the sink. With the
water still running, he stared blindly in front of him, thinking of those warm
tender lips on his cheek.
The chicken portions covered the
outlet, keeping the water from draining. The sink filled up with water until it
flowed over the side.
John blinked a few times when he
became aware of water running down his legs. His eyes enlarged when he noticed
the sink had overflowed. “Oh fuck,” he cried out and shoved the chicken aside
to drain the water.
“Are you okay, John,” Sherlock
called out from the living room.
“Yes.” He grabbed dishcloths to
dry the floor, but there was too much water. He raced off to the bathroom,
grabbed two towels and rushed back to the kitchen.
“What’s going on in there?”
Sherlock put the packet of biscuits down and stood up. He gasped aloud when he noticed
the water on the floor. “Are you trying to flood the kitchen?”
John stood on his knees wiping the
floor. “No, when I turned my back for a second the sink overflowed.” If he only
knew, he was thinking of him and his sweet lips. “Bloody hell,” he yelled.
“Can I help you with something,
John?”
“Yes, bring me another towel.”
Sherlock came back with more
towels. “Let me dry up then you can continue preparing the chicken.”
He stood up and took one of the
towels. “I’m soaking wet.”
“Take off your trousers or you’ll
wet the rest of the floor.”
John glanced at him.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh god,
I’ll turn around.”
He waited until he turned his
back, before taking off his wet trousers. He dried his legs and shoes before he
hurried out of the kitchen.
Sherlock turned around just in
time to see his cute butt in the red underpants and his well-formed bare legs.
He smiled and dried the rest of the floor. He left the towels and cloths in a
pile in the corner of the kitchen to fetch a bucket in the bathroom.
John returned after he changed
into another set of clothing. “Did you manage?”
He nodded. “Yes, I’m just getting
a bucket.”
John continued preparing dinner.
Sherlock came back with a bucket
and chucked the wet cloths and towels inside. When he lifted the bucket, John
took it out of his hands.
“It’s too heavy. Let me carry it.”
He frowned when he let go. “I am
capable to carry heavy things,” he said while following him to the bathroom.
John emptied the bucket in the
washing machine and turned to him. “You don’t have to do everything yourself,
you know. Let a man… me help you with the heavy lifting.”
Sherlock gaped at him, speechless.
John left him standing in the
bathroom while he hurried back to the kitchen.
Soon the flat filled with the
aroma of oven-baked chicken.
When Mycroft and Greg arrived at
six, dinner was ready.
John ignored Mycroft and greeted
Greg.
“I believe you two have met,
thanks to my brother.”
He nodded. “Dinner is ready. Will
you set the table, Sherlock?”
Mycroft smiled, leaned over to
Greg and whispered. “Look at them, aren’t they a cute couple.”
“Don’t start, Mycroft,” Sherlock
said and glared at him before continuing to set the table.
“We brought a bottle of white
wine,” Greg announced, took it out of the bag and walked over to John.
“I noticed the chicken in your shopping
bag while you were in my car. I figured it was dinner and asked him to buy
white wine instead of red.”
John’s face flushed with anger.
“Don’t even mention that. You kept me prisoner in your bloody car.”
“Oh come now. Let’s not argue,
John. That’s in the past.”
Dinner wasn’t as awkward as
Sherlock expected it would be. In fact, he enjoyed the evening. For once, he
and Mycroft were civil around a table. No catfights like when they were still
in school and no sarcastic remarks from either of them like when they were
alone in each other’s company.
Mycroft and Greg left the flat after
ten that night.
“That went well,” John said when
they were alone in the flat again. “Your brother is quite a pleasant guy after
all.”
“I suppose he has his moments.”
After they cleaned up the kitchen,
they said good night and disappeared into separate bedrooms.
Later that night shouting noises
woke John. He lay still to listen and gasped when Sherlock screamed. He jumped
out of bed and rushed to his bedroom. He knocked on the door and entered.
Sherlock wriggled on the bed and shouted
at someone to let him go.
John stepped closer and sat down
on the bed. He rubbed his arm and tried to hush him. When that didn’t work,
John pulled his feet up on the bed and moved closer. He put Sherlock’s head on
his lap, brushed his fingers through his curly hair and over his forehead.
Sherlock stopped squirming. He
called out another two times before he settled down.
John stayed with him until five
the next morning. He crawled out from under his head and shut the door after he
left the room. He returned to his bedroom, dropped down on the bed and fell
asleep.
15. Nightly
Visits
John sat at the breakfast table, hanging his head like a
wilted flower. After Sherlock woke him, he changed his position, sagged down to
the right side and supported his head with his hand.
Sherlock sat with the newspaper in
front of his face, reading. Every now and again, he picked up the cup of
coffee, took a sip and put it back on the table without looking away from the
paper. “John?” He lowered the left side of the newspaper and glanced at him.
“John, wake up. What are you doing at night, definitely not sleeping?
He jumped upright, rubbed his eyes
and pulled his face. “I can’t keep my bloody eyes open.” He stood up, warmed
his cup of coffee in the microwave oven and sat down again. He drank half of
the coffee, picked up the fork and moved the scrambled eggs from side to side
in his plate.
After Sherlock reached the last
page of the newspaper, he folded it in half and put it on the table. “John, you
have to eat. You can’t start your day on an empty stomach.”
He put the fork down. “You never
eat breakfast.”
“I don’t have to eat. When I’m
working I’m not eating.” He drank the last bit of coffee in his cup. “Why are
you so tired these last few days? What is bugging you?”
John shook his head, took a bite
of the eggs and chewed on it as if it was a piece of gum. He never told
Sherlock about the nightmares, neither about his nightly visits to calm him
down. “It’s my blog. I don’t keep track of time when I write,” he fibbed.
“You don’t need to blog about all
our cases. Who reads it anyway?”
“You’d be surprise. I had over two
thousand hits on the previous one.”
Sherlock sighed. “I see in the
paper there’s a serial killer loose in London again. Three women strangled
already, I’m expecting a call from Lestrade soon.”
“Are we doing anything today?”
“No, why?”
John pushed his plate aside and
stood up. “I’m going back to bed, wake me after two hours.”
Sherlock pulled a face when he
left the table. “What am I going to do all by myself?”
“What you did before I moved in
with you.”
***
When John woke after four hours of sleep, he glanced at the
clock radio and jumped out of bed when he noticed the time. Sherlock didn’t
wake him after two hours, as he asked. He straightened his clothes and rushed
into the living room. “Sherlock,” he called out. He glanced inside the kitchen
and in the bathroom. He was alone in the flat. Where could Sherlock be?
John rushed downstairs to Missis
Hudson’s flat and knocked on the door.
She opened up and smiled. “John,
did you have a nice nap? Come in, dear.”
“No thank you, Missis Hudson. I’m
looking for Sherlock?”
“He said you would come looking
for him. He’s at St. Bart’s, at the morgue.”
His eyes enlarged. “The morgue,
what’s he doing there? Did Lestrade call him for a case?”
“No dear, he called Molly to find
out if she has any fresh cadavers.” She grimaced while her body shuddered.
John furrowed his brows while
gaping at her. “What does he want with… Oh, never mind.” He raced back up the
stairs, grabbed his jacket and ran down again.
He stood a while before a taxi
stopped next to him. He jumped in, gave the hospital’s address and stared out
the window after he moved back in the seat.
After the taxi dropped him off in
front of the hospital, he inquired at reception on which floor the morgue was.
He took the lift down. When he got
out, he ran into Sherlock who was on his way to the lift.
“John? What are you doing here?
You should’ve waited for me.”
“And you should’ve wakened me to
tell me you were leaving.”
He scoffed at John. “Since when do
I have to tell you my whereabouts?”
“No you don’t have to, Sherlock.
I’ll mind my own business and stop worrying about you.”
He flung around and marched back
to the lift.
Sherlock’s eyes enlarged while
gaping at him. “John, wait.” He caught up with him and grabbed his arm. “Why do
you worry about me?”
He turned around and glared at
him. “Because I… I care about.”
Sherlock smiled. “I care about you
too, John.”
“No you don’t. If you did, you
wouldn’t leave me alone not telling me where you’re going.”
“How can I prove to you that I do
care? I’ll buy you a coffee.”
“I don’t want coffee. Are you done
here, can we go home.”
“Yes, I’m done.”
They stepped into the lift.
He glanced at John. “Is there
something else I can buy, since you don’t want coffee?”
John shut his eyes. He move closer
and raised his head looking him in the eye. “You don’t have to buy me
anything.” His lips parted as if he wanted to speak but instead of saying something,
he slipped the tip of his tongue out, licking his lower lip while drowning in
Sherlock green-blue eyes.
Sherlock glided his gaze over to
his mouth and held his breath. “Stop that,” he said, before returning his gaze
to John’s eyes.
“Stop what?”
He shook his head. “Nothing,” he
murmured and turned his head away.
John gazed at him from behind and
smiled. Sherlock was attracted to him. He cast his eyes down. Should he make
the first move or should he wait until Sherlock was ready to make a move?
***
Two weeks passed before Sherlock had another nightmare
again. After the first incident, John didn’t shut his door anymore. He left it
ajar to hear as soon as the screaming started.
Like before, he sat with his back
against the headboard while Sherlock curled himself up in a foetal position with
his head on John’s lap. He calmed down as soon as John started brushing his
fingers through his hair and over his forehead.
While ruffling Sherlock’s curls,
his head fell backwards as he dozed off.
He never woke up in time to leave
the room before five.
Sherlock stretched and
repositioned himself. When he placed his hand underneath his head, he opened
his eyes and frowned. He turned his head to see what caused the bulge under his
hand and gasped. He jerked his hand away from John’s crotch. He raised his head
to look at him. “John,” he whispered, before patting him on the arm. “What are
you doing in my bed?” He shook his shoulder.
“Huh.” John opened his eyes for a
second, fluttered his eyelids and shut them again.
“John,” he called out again.
He pulled his face and blinked as
he forced his eyes open. “What…” he grunted. He rubbed his eyes and glanced down
at Sherlock staring at him with enlarged eyes. He gasped aloud and jumped out
of bed. “Oh my god, I fell asleep.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, yawned
and scratched the back of his head with both hands.
“What were you doing here?”
Sherlock asked for the second time and stood up as well. He walked over to the
other side of the bed and took place next to John.
He sighed. “You’ve been having
these nightmares.”
Sherlock’s face dulled. “Ugh, not
again. I thought they were gone.”
“I sat with you every night while
you were having them. Usually I stay awake and leave before five. I don’t know
why I dozed off this time.”
“You poor thing, you sit here the
whole night listening to my yelling.”
John shook his head. “No, that’s
the thing. As soon as I put your head on my lap and brush my fingers repeatedly
through your hair, you calm down.”
Sherlock gazed at him and smiled.
“You, John Watson, keep me right.” He kissed him on the cheek and stood up.
John jumped up and grabbed his arm
before he could leave the room. He pulled him closer, raised his heels to stand
on the tips of his toes and kissed him on the lips.
Sherlock gasped as a tingling
feeling rushed through his body.
“You’ve asked me the other day what
you can buy me.”
“And you said I don’t have to buy
you anything.”
“Yes I know. What I want comes for
free.”
Sherlock’s heart hammered in his
chest, scared to ask. He swallowed a lump and took a deep breath. “What do you
want, John?”
“I want this, I want you.”
His breathing sped up. “You don’t
want me, John. I’m damaged goods.”
John gazed into his eyes. “I don’t
mind. I can wait.”
He threw his arms around him. “Oh,
John.”
He put his arms around Sherlock’s
slender body and smiled as he held him tight.
16. Lovers
at Last
Sherlock sat at the kitchen table after making breakfast for
John. It was the first morning he didn’t sit with the newspaper in front of
him. His head rested on his hand while he stared in front of him.
John glanced at him. “Are you sure
you don’t want anything to eat?”
He smiled before shaking his head.
The newspaper lay on the table
next to him as usual. He traced the headline letters with his fingers.
John placed his hand on his. “I’m
not rushing you into anything, Sherlock.”
His fingers stopped tracing the
letters. He looked up and smiled. “I know,” he said and stood up from the
table.
John stood up after he left, put
the dirty dishes in the sink and strolled towards the bathroom to take a
shower.
Sherlock picked up his violin and
played a piece of music he composed a few days ago.
John’s eyes enlarged when the
music came drifting towards him. He wrapped a towel around his waist and
stepped out of the bathroom. He leaned against the doorway, watching him.
“That’s beautiful,” he said after Sherlock stopped.
He turned around and smiled. “Do
you think so? It’s my own composition.”
John arched a brow. “Wow, a
beautiful face, and talented as well.”
Sherlock waved his hand back and
forth. “Put something on, you’re distracting me.”
He snorted. “Okay, I’m leaving. I
have to take a shower first.”
He turned to the window and
glanced out of it while playing different pieces of music.
John came back after his shower, fully dressed
this time.
After cleaning up the kitchen, he
went back to the living room and sat in his favourite chair while listening to
the violin music.
When Sherlock’s phone beeped, John
picked it up and read the message. “It’s Mycroft.”
“Ignore him,” he said and kept on
playing.
“I think it’s important,
Sherlock.”
He lowered the violin and turned
to John. “What does he want?”
“He says Britain needs you.”
Sherlock’s face dulled. “Not now.”
He put the violin down, grabbed the phone from John and dialled Mycroft’s
number. “What now, don’t you think Britain can wait?” He sighed and shut his
eyes as he listened while his brother explained. “Fine, I’ll do it.” He pulled
a face and chucked the phone on the couch.
“Is something wrong, Sherlock?”
“Yes, I have to leave. Mycroft’s
driver is picking me up in thirty minutes.”
John’s eyes enlarged. “Where are
you going?”
“France, I’ll be gone for a month,
maybe longer.” He rushed into the bathroom and took a shower.
John stood outside the door
waiting for him.
When he came out he nearly bumped
into him. “I’m sorry for leaving, John.” He moved past him and hurried to his
bedroom.
After he packed a few things, he
put on his coat and scarf. He frowned when he noticed the expression on John’s
face. “Don’t look so worried. I’ll come back.”
He sighed. “I’ll be waiting.” He
took the suitcase from Sherlock, kissed him on the cheek and accompanied him
downstairs.
The black sedan stood in front of
the building when they came out.
The two men glanced at each other.
Sherlock nodded, took the suitcase
from John and jumped in the back of the car.
John remained standing on the
pavement long after the car disappeared. He sighed again before heading back to
the flat.
***
Sherlock returned three months later. He glanced at the
building, then at the green door with the 221B copperplates and smiled. He
missed this place, but not as much as he missed John.
When he reached for the door, it
opened and John appeared in the doorway.
Both men stared at each other.
“Hello John.”
“Sherlock, you’re back.” His eyes
shot full of tears. He jumped forward and threw his arms around him. “Oh god, I
missed you.”
Sherlock smiled as he pulled John
against him. “We better go inside, the neighbours will talk.”
“Sod the neighbours.” He placed his
hands on Sherlock’s cheeks, pulled him down and kissed him on the lips. “Now
they can talk.” He grabbed his suitcase, held the door open and trotted behind
him up the stairs.
Sherlock took his coat and scarf
off, hung it behind the door before he stepped into the living room and dropped
onto his chai
John sat down in his chair
opposite him. “Tell me, did you save Britain?”
He chuckled. “Oh, my brother can
be a real drama queen.”
John moved to the edge of his
chair and placed his hand on Sherlock’s knee. “Did you have time to think when
you were in France?”
He smiled. “I had plenty of time,
John. After work, it was all I did, thinking of you… of us.”
“And?”
“Do you promise not to rush me?”
John moved off the seat, down onto
his knees and placed his hands around Sherlock’s hips. “Oh god yes, I promise.”
He stood up and bent over, drowning in the green-blue eyes.
Sherlock tilted his head backwards
when John’s lips covered his mouth. He uttered noises of pleasure. “Oh, I
missed kissing,” he whispered when John traced his lips down his neck.
***
John kept his promise and waited patiently. Their
relationship consisted of cuddles and kisses alone. It suited Sherlock. He
didn’t want to take another risk in having sex and relived that moment when his
professor brutally raped him.
Not once did John demanded sex
from him or even suggested it.
He preferred that they slept in
John’s bedroom. He loved his manly smell that was all over the room and in his
bed. He felt safer there as well.
One night, a voice woke Sherlock.
He held his breath to listen. He sighed with relief. It was coming from
somewhere in the flat and not from his head as he thought. He reached out to
John, but he wasn’t next to him in bed. He stood up and without switching on a
light, he paced down the corridor. He frowned when he approached the living
room. Someone was moaning and mumbling in there.
Sherlock retreated to the
bathroom. He reached for the mop in the dark. After finding it, he returned to
the living room doorway. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus in the dark.
There was someone on the couch.
He held his breath as he searched
for the light switch on the wall. When he found it, he raised the mop and
flipped the light on while yelling. “Who are you?” He dropped the mop on the
floor and gaped at John wearing his coat.
John jumped up and covered
himself. “Good god, Sherlock,” he shouted. “I thought you were sleeping.”
Without a word, Sherlock turned around and
walked back to the bedroom.
When John stormed in, he was
dressed in his pyjamas again. He fell down on the bed and switched the bed lamp
on. “Please don’t be mad at me.” He shook his head. “I’m a hot-blooded man with
needs.”
“I’m not mad at you, John. I’m mad
at myself for depriving you of sex.”
He put his arms around Sherlock.
“No you’re not. I promised you I won’t rush you, remember.” He sighed. “I had
to get rid of this sexual tension.”
Sherlock pushed him gently away
and frowned. “Why did you wear my coat?”
John’s face flushed. “I wanted to
smell you, fantasize, as if it was your hand and not mine.”
He tried to hide a smile. “How
many times did I put my coat on not knowing you wore it the night before?”
He shook his head. “I swear this
was the first time. The other times I did it in the bathroom.”
Sherlock sighed. “Are you sure
you’re up for this asexual relationship?”
“Yes, of course.” He nodded. “Of
course I am.”
He stood up, sat astride John and
pushed him backwards. “I love you, John, but I’m not ready for more than what
we have.” He fell on top of him and kissed him.
John snorted. “Oh no you don’t.”
He put his arms around him, held him tight as he came upright and stood up with
him in his arms. He turned around and fell back on the bed with Sherlock underneath
him. “I’m the dominant one.” He gazed at him and sighed. “My god you’re
beautiful.” He traced his fingers along the side of his face, from his high
cheekbones down to his neckline, before his mouth covered Sherlock’s luscious
lips.
After a long passionate kiss, he
let him go. “We better get some sleep.”
Sherlock moved up to his side of
the bed and chuckled. “Don’t you need my coat before you sleep?”
John glared at him, before he
switched off the light. He put his arm under Sherlock’s head and the other one
around his body and pulled him closer.
Sherlock tried not to burst out
with laughter. He kept his pose but the shaking of his body gave him away.
“Stop laughing and sleep. And not
a bloody word about the coat to your brother.
“How do you expect me to sleep
with that image imprinted in my mind, John?”
He tightened his grip and yanked
him closer. “Shut up and sleep, Sherlock.”
*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 novella 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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