A little note from the author: This is my first fanfiction, I'm sorry if the quality isn't brilliant. There's no bromance, slash or romance [sorry!] in this chapter but it may develop as the story does. Review and tell me what you think? Or not it's up to you.
Disclaimer [this applies to the whole story, not just this chapter]: The characters do not belong to me, well, the ones I make up do. Any recognisable characters belong to the Great Gatiss and Moffat, the original creation belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
"Bored!" Sherlock almost shouted, he was lying on the sofa with his knees draw up to his chest and a revolver in his hand. "Bored. Bored. Bored!" With every shout, he fired at the wall until he could hear Johns footsteps hammering down the stairs.
"Sherlock, what the hell do you thi-"
"John! Shut up, I'm bored, I haven't had a case in weeks. There is nothing to do, I can't leave the flat, I can't stay here. Mrs Hudson threw my hand in the bin, I've run out of sulphuric acid. My mind is slowing down and soon I'll be like Anderson... I'M BORED!" With that he shot the wall, tiny pieces of plaster fell down to the floor where they coated the carpet like snow. "John get me something to do!" He whined like a petulant child.
John just glared around the room, papers and books were lying cast off on the floor. A few glasses were sitting on Sherlock's desk filled with, what can only be described as, monstrous looking liquids. He gave up."Um. Listen, Sherlock, you can't shoot the wall just because you're bored. Listen I'm going out with Lizzie. You're welcome to come." he gestured towards the door.
"Boring" Holmes interjected "She'll break up with you, you're boring her and she's got her eyes set on the man who runs the newsagents" Not waiting for Johns reply he jumped up and started pacing laps around the sofa, as if he were trying to wear away the carpet
John sighed and slumped into the armchair, rubbing his eyes. "Don't. Please, you can't just say things like that. You're just being bitter."
"Am not" came the reply.
Watson just sighed. His phone bleeped plaintively, he turned his back on Sherlock and flicked through his messages.
'Hey Jon, Cant do this any more. Sorry. Lzzi. Pls dont call'
John let out a long sigh, before throwing his phone down onto the chair. She couldn't even spell his name right.
'I was right' Sherlock twitched the corners of his mouth.
'Sherlock, that was a bit not good' John leapt up and stormed over to grab his coat from where it hung near the door. 'I'm going out, I need a pint' and you are not welcome to come.'
It was just as John reached out to grab the handle to fling open the door when the doorbell rang. At first it was just a tentative buzz then morphed into one long impatient ringing could be heard throughout the flat.
Sherlock leapt up. 'It's one of ours, male, possibly male. He's impatient waiting to call on us for days now. Couldn't pluck up the courage. This John, this is going to be a good case.' He moved over to the window full of energy and twitched back the curtain, the street was almost empty. He couldn't see their man, Speedy's café sign obscured to the whole of the front door from view.
'John! John go and answer that! God speed!' Holmes rubbed his hands together, pacing up and down in unadulterated glee.
'fine' John sighed. Trudging down the worn stairs, leaving the warm flat behind. All thoughts of his date with Lizzie gone. He paused for a minute by the door, not wanting to commit to flinging it open just yet. You never know quite who will be behind the door. Only last week there was a drunken rabble of girls on a hen night just sitting there crying and wailing about losing one of their party. He gathered his breath and flung open the door.. if there was something he'd learnt from Sherlock it was first impression was everything.
John gasped. 'SHERLOCK! A little help please." There wasn't a middle aged man on the step, Sherlock had been... wrong. There was a young women. She looked about twenty five, maybe a year or so older, thick brown curls fell about her ears. They might have been beautiful if her hair wasn't matted with blood. She had cuts all over her hands and arms. Her top had been ripped and John could see bruising forming along her back. She presented a pitiful picture, slumped on the step.
"John are you oka-" Sherlock slammed to a halt behind him. "that is not a man" He pointed as if to say 'what foul trickery is this?'
"Hello Sherlock... Are you going to let me in?" The girl moaned, and she craned her neck to look up at them. John bent down to check the extent of the damage, Sherlock just stood there analysing.
"Right, there are several shallow lacerations, maybe a fractured wrist. You have at least three deeper cuts that will need stitching and extensive bruising on most areas of the body" He glanced up at Sherlock "will you help me to get her inside, please? I'll need my Med bag as well..."
Sherlock sighed "fine, fine... You came from Camden market, on the way here your accident happened, you were expecting it and well prepared for the meeting with your attacker. You didn't know them but you knew of them. No fear. Afterwards you came here, but not as a... customer. And yet there was no hesitation as to where you needed to go."
The young woman gave a smile "Well done, Holmes, I'd expect nothing less. I see you've been shooting again, and yet you haven't practised in a while your aim is off. I'd say you fired four, no, five times with the desire to shoot a sixth yet you ran out of ammunition. You were playing the violin this morning, Around four hours ago. You needed to oil the bow but you got distracted and spilt some onto the arm rest of your chair. Chair not sofa." She tried to turn to get a better view of her subjects face, but cried out as her arm collapsed beneath her.
"help." She managed to whisper before slowly slipping out of consciousness.
Sherlock bent down quickly to put her hands under her arm to try and drag her inside, his eyes were glowing in excitement as he realised boredom was disappearing far, far over the horizon.
"Sherlock STOP!" John almost screamed
Sherlock dropped the girl onto the hallway floor with a thud. John winced at the sound, Sherlock was possibly the worst person to come to if you were physically damaged. He'd probably just try to fix you with glue."What, what have I done... You said we needed to get her inside!" He said with an edge of worry
"yes, yes I know but you're about to pull her arms off, you need to pick her up under the arms and knees creating a cradle and then rest her head on your shoulder"
Sherlock gently picked her up before moving away from John to carry her upstairs. John was left standing on the step looking at the blood on the step. Mrs Hudson wasn't going to be pleased, he just sighed and closed the door and made sure to remember to buy Mrs Hudson some flowers or something. Not that It'd cover having a new lodger but it was something at least, It'd be more than Sherlock would get her.
John stumbled through the door from the kitchen carrying various bottles and pills there were even several hypodermic needles. He placed them on the floor by the sofa where the girl was lying, trying to create some semblance of order. The clock on the mantel piece ticked audibly as he began to asses the girl. Sherlock started to tap his fingers on the chair where there was a small patch of oil that had seeped into the upholstery.
"Her names, Helen, John"
John glanced up, " and how do you know that?"
in response Sherlock merely held up the woman's bag.
"SHERLOCK! You can't just rifle through a strangers bag!" John was exasperated , Sherlock had absolutely know knowledge of social rules.
"She's not a stranger John she's like me and Mycroft. She knows things, she knows how to see everything. John, this is better than a case!" His eyes lit up like a child that had discovered where their parents hid the sweet jar. It was like it was his birthday.
"Sherlock. You can't look through my bag. It's not... allowed, you. You, detective" Helen peered at John who was inspecting the bruises on her arm. He gently squeezed her wrist.
"Ouch, Ouch! Stop, that hurts" She whined.
" I have to see what the extent of the damage is, Helen"
"Do you have to prod my arm like that? 'm fine, just glue the cuts back together and give me Calpol or something"
Sherlock burst out laughing "Even I can tell it's going to take more than glue to fix you, can you give her that pain killer you gave me when I had to jump out the lorry? That stuff was... interesting"
"Sherlock, I can't just give people injections of painkillers all over the place you know, just because it makes you act like a complete child, not that you aren't like that any way..."
"John, It hurts" A small tear rolled down Helens cheek she lifted her free had to touch her cheek, she let out a small laugh "I haven't cried since four, I'm sorry, It just all hurts" Curling her legs up to her chest she pulled her hand free from John's grasp and rolled over to stare at the back of the sofa. John and Sherlock were left looking at her back. She had a gangly frame, long legs and arms and with a skinny physique, She hadn't got a willowy beauty but instead had a strange animal-like presence. All her movements seemed perfectly executed, even in her damaged state. The men shared a glance that conveyed more than words could.
Sherlock Slid out of his chair to move over to the sofa
"Helen. Helen, listen crying is good. It's okay. Everything hurts, don't worry I jumped out of a lorry whilst it was travelling along the motorway. That hurt. A lot, John was fussing about me for days" John sighed at this point "Shush, John, it's true. Now, John will fuss over you. That's okay, we'll help. I'll find who did this and I'll help you. John will... Well, He'll do what ever it is that doctors do to Helens that are falling apart. Get better and do it quickly Helen, I want to talk to you, you're like me." Sherlock looked a little surprised at himself as if the words that had come out of his mouth weren't his.
"Sherlock, help me make tea" John said.
"You don't need any help, you can make your own tea" He quipped.
John gave a quick pat to the inside of Helens elbow, before injecting a milky liquid into her arm. He put a tiny plaster over the wound She looked up at him through sleepy eyes, her eyes were dark almost black, John found himself getting lost in them, trying to find where the iris ended and the pupil began. Thick lashes framed her eyes, sending shadows onto her already dark eyes. Her skin was smooth and a slight flush crept over her cheekbones. Her delicious skin wasn't tainted with make up.
"Stop staring John, it's not good for your brain" She smirked. John just shook his head, grinning, before pushing himself to his feet. He turned to Sherlock, who was quietly pacing whilst twiddling with a spray paint can that he'd picked up off of his desk.
"Sherlock?" Sherlock stopped and rocked on the balls of his feet, all the while tossing the can into the air, up and over, again and again.
"Yes, John?" He slammed the can down onto the wooden surface of his desk.
"Kitchen, now" John turned and marched out of the room into the kitchen. He left no choice but for Sherlock other than to follow him out of the room. Sherlock strode after him, keeping his eyes on Helen as the drug began to take effect and slow, almost stoner, smile started to creep across her lips.
He heard her mumbling to herself "you'd be a better pirate if you had a parrot, Sherly, John can be your parrot... He can sit on your should, 'n' he would be your parrot" She yawned and sprawled her limbs out over the sofa, despite the bandages a drop of blood rolled down her arm and to her fingertips where it hung until it gently fell to the floor, creating a tiny inky blot on the carpet.
Sherlock spun back around and went to face the terror that was John when he was angry.
"John" Sherlock muttered.
He's tense, leaning against the table. On the balls of his feet. Feels like he needs grounding. Shocked? Yes. Because of Helen? Yes and no. Not her unexpected arrival or her injuries. Not the first time someone's turned up not whole. Does he like her? Yes, but nothing more than friendship. Pupils not dilated, hands not in pockets, not playing with jumper. Palms flat on table, body twisted towards me. Something I've done.
"what did I do wrong?" He said cautiously, all the while monitoring Johns body movements.
John scoffed "Wrong? Sherlock, you were bloody brilliant" He looked at Sherlock sensing the confusion on his face.
"John, I nearly pulled her arms off, like you said. Unless that's some twisted treatment that I haven't heard about yet..."
"No, I didn't mean that. I meant the way you spoke to her, it was... Brilliant, fantastic even. I've never seen you like that. Normally you're so cold towards everyone it's like you have a kinship or something with her" John pushed away from the table and turned to the fridge for a drink.
'Hiding the embarrassment of actually complimenting me' Sherlock thought.
"It was nothing, she's like me John, she can actually observe what's going on around her it's not like that happens everyday this will make for a great experiment"
John sighed almost inaudibly.
"Well, it's a start I hue-"
John was cut off by the sudden unmistakably loud sound of smashing glass, Sherlock spun around racing towards the living room where Helen lay. A scream pierced the air and John felt his heart leap out of his chest. He scrambled away from the fridge letting his glass drop to the floor as he raced after Sherlock.
They stumbled into the room just in time to see a man standing over Helen. He pulled his arm back and plunged a sickening, monstrous looking, ornate knife in her shoulder. The window behind him was shattered and broken glass decorated the carpet like a fatal snow.
"NO!" John and Sherlock's voices mingled with Helen's pitiful, animal-like cry.
The man snapped his head back, his blond hair falling into his eyes, he pulled another knife out of his belt. This one was thinner, sharper and more deadly than the first. Sherlock reached out for a revolver that was lying on the side, snatching it up just as the monster raised his hand, clutching the stiletto blade.
Everything suddenly dissolved into confusion, John tried to leap forward but was pushed back by Sherlock. The man brought the knife down and Helen twisted to try and avoid here fate but the man pinned her down. She let another scream and Sherlock whipped round.
Suddenly everything slowed down, like time itself had stopped. Helens eyes widened, the monster that was the intruder smirked. John's knees buckled beneath him and Sherlock stood, stony faced, holding the gun pointing it at the blond shadow.
He pulled the trigger and time restarted. The gun crackled and the room fell suddenly silent.
Thanks for reading, more to come soon!