Been a tad busy with college, depressive episodes, relapses, psychiatrist, and other shit that I don't even know what to call. Only writing because it helps me to think and/or calm down sometimes, and because I need to write a Sherlock story as that is what I am into at the moment. If you want to know anything else, instead of bothering me, just look at my Tumblr, I use it as my outlet sometimes:
Sorry, but I really just don't want to talk or anything right now, I just want to write any forget everything else. Leave a review if you want; I may not reply in this state, but I promise you it is appreciated. Thank you.
Sherlock Holmes didn't do boredom.
John Watson didn't really do boredom either, but at least he didn't become a hyperactive, insulting, cursing, whining child. His words, of course.
He sighed for the fifth time that morning - and it was only about 11am. "Sherlock, do not use the gun," he sternly ordered his flatmate, who was - for the sixth time that morning - edging towards their safe on top of the cabinet in the sitting room.
The only Consulting Detective in the world gave John the most childish sulky look and huffed, turning around and slumping down on the sofa instead, stretching out and closing his eyes with a sigh.
John sighed to himself too. This just wasn't fun; they needed a case, most for their sanity than anything.
He pushed himself up from the arms of his chair and stretched briefly before heading to the door, taking his jacket off the peg on his way.
Sherlock, without opening his eyes or moving, immediately asked, "where are you going?"
John sighed (again - for the seventh time that morning alone) and replied grumpily, "out. Maybe Scotland Yard have a case for you." Sherlock huffed in reply to show exactly what he thought of that, and John rolled his eyes, ignored his flatmate's reaction, and left, calling behind him, "text if you need anything."
Outside, he took a deep breath of London air, before briskly walking down the pavement in the general direction of the police station. It did cross his mind to go and check there, but usually Lestrade went to Sherlock with cases, rather than the other way around.
He decided that he couldn't really be bothered to go into the Scotland Yard just for a case, so he just continued walking, the thought crossing his mind to do some shopping - Sherlock had been putting body parts in the fridge again, so there wasn't much food left. However, that too seemed a little mundane. John sighed to himself for the either time. It seemed that he was in need of an adventure too.
Walking along and not really paying attention to where he was going, he almost managed to bump into a woman, who stopped just before the collision could happen. John quickly stopped too and began apologising, "sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going..." He trailed off as he noticed the woman had a Golden Retriever Guide Dog on her other side.
Great. He had almost walked into a blind person. And then had said he wasn't looking where he was going. This day was just great.
The woman, however, didn't seemed perturbed by either of his offenses; she simply smiled at him and replied, "oh, it's alright." John smiled slightly too, before realising she couldn't see him.
"Oh, uh, good..." he trailed off for the second time and quickly realised he had no idea how to converse with someone who couldn't see him. Mentally facepalming, he just stood there for a minute wondering what the hell to do next.
Suddenly the woman asked, "excuse me, sir, actually, do you know where Baker Street is?"
Looking at her in surprise before remembering (again) that she still couldn't see him, John replied, "yeah, yeah I do; I live there." The woman smiled at him and John had to appreciate her looks before sternly telling himself off for doing so. Instead, he added, "would you like me to show you there?"
The woman looked happy enough for him to do so, replying, "if you're not busy; thank you very much." She held out her hand and he shook it. "Laura Wesley," she told him.
John withdrew his hand and replied, "John Watson."
Laura raised her eyebrows. "Oh! With Sherlock Holmes?" She asked.
John nodded, once again displaying his wonderful disregard for the obvious - the woman still couldn't see him - and said, "yeah, um, he's back at the flat. Is that where you were heading?"
Laura nodded with a smile. "Yes, I was going to ask him to help me with something. It involves a diamond, a burglary, and a dog." She patted the head of her Guide Dog beside her, who was now sitting, with a wink to John.
Slightly taken aback, he just decided to go with it and risk Sherlock insulting her for random things, simply because they did need a case. "Well, I wasn't heading anywhere special, so I can just take you to the flat. It's just around the corner," he offered.
She nodded; "yes please, if you would be so kind." John smirked and started heading back the way he had come. Laura picked up the guiding handle of the Guide Dog's harness, and the dog followed John, guiding Laura. He couldn't help but smile at it; he knew Guide Dogs did wonderful jobs - he knew a few friends who had lost their sight in the war, and they had talked about Guide Dogs before. Now here was one working.
He led Laura back to 221B and let her in. She thanked him again as he led her up the stairs. Cautiously, he looked into the main room - in case Sherlock was shooting the wall or blowing things up - but his flatmate was nowhere to be seen.
"Come on up," he called over his shoulder to Laura, who he had asked to wait on the stairs. She gestured for her dog to lead her up, which it did perfectly, and into the room. John smiled at her politely. "Just take a seat; I'll go and find Sherlock."
As Laura sat down and glanced around her at what little she could see, and the Guide Dog lay at her feet, John took a brief look around the house but couldn't find Sherlock. He sighed to himself (for - oh just forget it) and made tea, carrying it to the client and sitting opposite her.
"So... what was your case?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say that didn't include asking her about her sight and possibly offending her. Laura smiled and put down her cup.
"Well, there was a burglary at my house last week," she began. "Delfie* woke me up and barked the person away, and I thought nothing had been taken. But in the morning, when I checked, I realised that a diamond had - but a very specific diamond out of a ring. I thought it strange, and because I had read your blog recently, about the whole hairpin things and the terrorist group - or something like that - I decided that you might want to look into it." She shrugged and stopped fondling her dog's - now known at Delfie - ears, picking up her tea again.
John stared at her. "Wait... you read about that?" he asked in surprise. He didn't think his blog was that famous; but then again if Lestrade had read it, then a few other people had to have too.
Laura nodded with another smile. "Yep. I still have a little sight, you know," she added with a wink.
John quickly diverted his thoughts by pulling out his phone and sending a text to Sherlock: 'Client here. Interesting case. Sounds like terrorists burglars again. Where are you? - JW'*.
He had barely put his phone away and turning back to the expecting client when it began ringing. He glanced at it and stood up, giving the woman an apologetic smile. "Sorry, gotta take this. Be back in a minute," he told her, and then walked into the other room and answered the phone. "Hello? Sherlock?"
There was nothing on the other end of the line but heavy breathing for a moment, then someone asked suspiciously in a thick accent, "who is this?"
John immediately checked the caller ID - yep, it said Sherlock - and was on his guard. "Who is this? Where's Sherlock?" He demanded, realising, and cursing about, that he had forgotten how much trouble Sherlock could get up to in the time he was not present in the flat.
"I asked you first," the other man insisted, sounding more pissed. John squared his shoulders.
"How did you get this phone?"
"Found it in his pocket." The man now sounded rather pleased with himself.
John bristled. "What did you do to him?"
"Not much. He insisted he had no idea what we are talking about, and seeing as we got the wrong one last time, we decided to hold onto him."
John thought of what to say next, and heard a exasperated voice in the background that could only belong to Sherlock. Because only Sherlock could sound that exasperated about being kidnapped and taken away by a group of presumably terrorists in the space of 5 minutes.
"If that's John, just tell him to go and get some milk. I used the last lot to grow bacteria," Sherlock said in the background, sounding rather bored that the group of terrorists were indeed not yet doing anything to him.
John couldn't help smiling at his friend's reaction. Whatever flaws Sherlock had, fear definitely wasn't one of them. Still, he was in danger as long as he wasn't in the flat and John wasn't with him, so he needed to come back.
"You know I can just track the GPS of this call," John warned the man he was speaking to.
There was a brief silence and then the man replied dangerously, "if you come, come with the girl."
The call disconnected and John glared at the phone as if it had personally offended him. He then straightened his shirt, cleared his throat, and headed back into the main room with a reassuring smile for Laura.
The woman was standing beside the sofa, guiding handle in one hand, with Delfie standing beside her, both looking pretty excited. John blinked at them. "Er - what are you doing?"
"Coming with you of course," Laura replied, as if it was the most obvious thing. It took John a minute to realise that he had completely forgotten that they didn't have soundproof non-existent walls, because of course he was only standing in the kitchen next door, and Laura could of heard every word.
"Well... no you're not," he replied, deciding that was the most logical response. Laura shrugged.
"Well," she mimicked him, not unkindly; "if you don't take us, then we'll follow you. Dogs can track, you know." She winked again.
John, taken aback as one would be at a practically blind woman with a Guide Dog asking to go on a rescue mission to a terrorist place with one, thought about that. He did think, but the thing was that hanging around with Sherlock meant that he did have rather a small view on safety now.
Even so, as a doctor and a general normal person (or as much as he tried to be), of course he couldn't let this woman with him. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she put a finger to her lips and interrupted his ready made speech to insist; "I come with you, or you're not going. Sometimes you let your clients in on their cases, don't you? Well I'm insisting."
John scratched his hair, thought for a moment, eyed the woman and her dog, whom was now sitting and Laura was stroking the ears of with her carefully painted and manicured hand, and sighed dramatically (or, well, more dramatically than he had the rest of the morning). Although Sherlock seemed fine, he knew that taking Sherlock's word on an opinion about himself was as clever as asking a crocodile if it had brushed it's teeth before eating people. Pointless.
Although, John noted to himself, that was a rather extreme example. But extreme cases caused for extreme example and... well, whatever.
The point was, he needed to get to Sherlock, and this woman was insisting she come along. She did have a dog, which could be of help. John sighed (but not so dramatically this time) and walked to the door. He glanced back. "Come on, then."
A computer, GPS signal and a taxi later, the three - including the Guide Dog - were stood in front of some kind of big... building. That was pretty much as far as John's deducing went.
He sniffed and grimaced at the smell of things like piss and other unspeakable things, and glanced sideways at the woman, who was nonchalantly staring at the door as if she did this every day. John was starting to wonder as much.
"Come on then," she said briskly, and waved Delfie forward, following with a hand on the guiding handle harness. John, taken aback again, hurried after her and in front of her to open the door and stay in front of her.
Inside, it was dark, damp and more melancholy than creepy. John wrinkled his nose as he led the way in. Holding his phone in one hand, he speed-dialed Sherlock's number, hoping that it would give away where he was, or at least where his phone was.
A ringtone immediately went off behind them, and John turned quickly, raising his hands to either surrender or fight, or both.
However, Sherlock himself was just standing behind them, and Delfie was sniffing him and wagging his tail. Laura smiled. "You must be a good guy," she told him appreciatively. He raised his eyebrows and looked at John. John shrugged.
Apart from a bruise on her cheek, Sherlock looked pretty okay, so John cleared his throat and instead asked, "so... what the hell was that all about?"
Sherlock shrugged and began leading the way out, Delfie happily following, guiding his owner. John hurried to catch up with Sherlock. "Basically, as soon as you left, I went out to go after you, and these guys came out of a car that was stationed outside and punched me - which wasn't very nice - and pushed me into the car, and I just went with them because I was bored and it looked more interesting than being bored."
John stared at him, mouth open. "You let yourself get kidnapped because you were bored?" he asked in disbelief. Sherlock shrugged again as they arrived at the door and he opened it for Laura, who was just looking amused with the whole thing. He smirked at her as she walked past.
"Yes," he replied, turning his attention back to John, who followed him outside. John rolled his eyes and decided to give Sherlock another lecture on why we don't actually let ourselves get kidnapped for kicks, Sherlock when they got back and Laura was back home.
Said woman was just smiling at the two boys in front of her as she stroked Delfie's ears while the Guide Dog sat panting happily next to her. "Well, thank you, I believe, Mr. Holmes," she directed to Sherlock. He looked slightly surprised, and nodded slightly.
"You're welcome, I believe, Miss Wesley," he replied politely. John raised his eyebrows in disbelief at him. Sherlock actually being polite? He must definitely have had a good time with his kidnappers to render him that not bored to actually talk nicely to people.
The woman nodded back, and smiled at John too. "And thank you, Dr Watson," she added, with a wink.
John cleared his throat awkwardly and replied, "um, yeah, you're welcome," with a glare at Sherlock which clearly said you planned most of this didn't you, and you're going to tell me later.
Sherlock innocently ruffled Delfie's ears for a second, and then shook Laura's outstretched hand. "The diamond will be returned to you soon. Look after her, Delfie," he added quietly, before stepping back.
Laura smiled and raised her hand in a final farewell before letting her Guide Dog guide her to the main rode to get a taxi.
John glanced at Sherlock. "Well?" he asked expectantly.
Sherlock shrugged, but looked at John and smirked. "That was not that boring," he admitted. "Oh, and I've already called the police."
John rolled his eyes as he heard sirens getting closer towards them, and smiled to himself. No, that definitely wasn't boring... meeting a lovely Guide Dog and owner, and having Sherlock kidnapped and not even having to rescue him, all in a few hours.
That wasn't boring, and he wouldn't give in this life now for the world.
Okay, well, that sucked, but I feel a bit better now, and I'm going to bed b/c it's almost midnight. Hoped that was okay for my first story, and of course I wrote about what I love; assistance dogs. I can write a Guide Dog story now b/c it's set in Britain and we have awesome Guide Dogs here, whereas America's Guide Dogs aren't as pretty as ours. Anyways, so yeah, I tried. Review if you would be so kind. Thank you for reading.
*Delfie is a real life Guide Dog from Crufts Guide Dog display 2012. Watch it on youtube; it's awesome.