Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ Meeting Me.
Unfortunately, after his swift recovery Dr. John Watson has been deployed back to Afghanistan, leaving Sherlock alone and breathing in his ignorance. Obviously, he was alone again in his flat, and Ms. Hudson called upon me to give Sherlock a little "female company". We all know Sherlock… "bats for the other side", so there's not a problem with two different sexes sharing, right? It's not as if we're dating.
So far, all Sherlock has been doing is lying on the couch in his dressing gown (again), and applying nicotine patches whilst pounding the poor material being out of the sofa. And why should he? "Bored," he tells me. "Bored, with no jobs to keep me company." I told him he should go and look for cases, instead of waiting for the cases to come to him. The look I got was astounding.
That was a no, then. Ever since he got out of that ruddy gym with the swimming pool he's been acting distant, bless him. I think something went on in the changing rooms, but who knows? хѼѮ҂ѴѥҖ Ҧ seemed to like him, perhaps more than he should? He definitely took interest in SH.
And why am I telling this to the world on a website that internationally used? Easy! I currently do not have time to run my own website. Too much trouble. What with the 2 cleaning jobs and the supermarket work.
Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ Meeting Sherlock Holmes.
Honestly, meeting Sherlock was a blast. After John left, Sherlock was forced to do his own shopping after Molly realized how much of a mug she was being. I was his checkout girl, and, noticing his shopping must be for a man living on his own, (it was obvious, except for the mass of nicotine patches. What was that?) He looked at me with this odd look on his face and asked me if I'd help him carry his shopping to his taxi for a big tip.
"You need money," he told me, looking at me with those icy blue eyes, not waiting for a reply. He grabbed a single bag, leaving me with the heavier two, and left the supermarket with a slight grin on his face. I clung to the bags, quickly looking in the direction of the supermarket manager. He nodded in agreement, and I hurried after Sherlock with what I can only suggest was a look of admiration and confusion, mixed in with a hint of "What-the-hell-was-that?"
Since that day, I've learnt Sherlock is very, very impulsive. Like the fact that he pushed me into the taxi, jumped in next to me and said in a very deep British accent, "221B Baker Street."
And so the taxi drove off, taking me with it. When we arrived, Sherlock gave me the two bags I'd taken with me and took the other one, again for himself. He looked left and right and the black door of the building after paying the taxi driver his £15.60 fare, plus a small (very small) tip. After unlocking the door and stepping through, he snatched my forearm and pulled me into the house. "Come and see the room." Again, he didn't leave me time to reply. Things were getting repetitive, but they never tired of interesting. "What room?" I replied, wondering what this tall, dark-haired skinny man was talking about.
He took the shopping bags from me with ease, which made me wonder why he hadn't taken them from me in the first place. Sherlock led the way upstairs, and he intrigued me. I followed him up the two flights of stairs to a room that was brown in overall colour, with brown and musty green furniture. The room had a dusty feel to it, but an energy swirled around the room, telling me that the room was very lived in.
"It's… interesting," I told the man, for at the time I didn't know who he was.
"You like it?" he asked me, a slight smile on his face.
"Yes."
"You can move in on Monday."
"I…" Did I want to move in? Yes I did. It was nice here, but I didn't even know the man's name. I said no. I left him with his shopping and returned to my job, wondering if I'd made the right choice.
The night before last, a good week after I'd first met the odd man, he visited the hotel I did most of the sixth and fifth floor cleaning. "I found you." I frowned at his voice, recognising it instantly.
"How did you find me?" I asked him, trembling. Trembling because this man had found me without knowing my name. Trembling, because this man seemed to send shivers down my spine, for a reason I wasn't yet sure of. As I stood up to meet his eyes, which even then I couldn't do,I took in his smell. I stepped backwards, recognising the stench of death. I remember wondering why he smelt of the dead, why he had cold fumes coming from him and why his hands were tinged red.
"It wasn't hard to ask around," he replied, lightly. "You've changed your mind." Why does he say things without asking them as a question? Why is he so assured of himself?
I couldn't verbally answer him, because I knew these questions would come tumbling out like a waterfall. I nodded.
"Well, Alice Crompton, the name's Sherlock Holmes. It's 221B Baker Street,"he repeated, leaving my head reeling with not only the chemicals, but also the tantalizing trouble that lay visibly ahead of me, as Sherlock Holmes walked away.
Taken from Alice's blog, http:/ the-partner-of-sh .tumblr .com/ Read.