Quiet. Calm. Peaceful. Those were few of many words Sherlock Holmes would use to describe the neighborhood outside of his flat at 221B Baker Street as he sat on his sofa in his 'thinking pose'. His hands were clasped together underneath his chin. He was bored out of his wits at the moment, and his flatmate was out buying groceries making the flat even more serene. He shared the flat with Dr. John H. Watson, an army doctor who recently returning from Afghanistan. Mrs. Hudson their landlady gave him a special discount on the flat, because he had won a way into her good graces by ensuring her husband's execution for a crime he committed in Florida. Yes, of course he wouldn't work on just any case. No. He wouldn't the case for one couldn't be boring yet most of them were not worthy of his time, him being the world's only consulting detective an occupation he made up for himself.
With a sigh, he stood up from the sofa out of his 'thinking pose' unclasping his palms and separating his fingers from each other. Approaching the window he picked up his violin from his stand, placing his chin on chinrest, he began playing striking the bow onto the stings strumming a tune. If only something exciting would occur so that could put an end to this hateful tedious era of peace. He needed work. The work was all that mattered to him, without it his brain would rot. If only somebody out there could just commit a bloody crime that was worth his time already. Placing back down his violin he grabbed his phone which was sitting on the stand, smirking slightly. Things weren't going to be quiet and dull for long with or without a case.
BEEP! John Watson placed the loaf of bread he was holding back onto the shelf, heaving a deep sigh. He reached into his jacket pocket it was obvious who that text was from, he had spent the past two months at 221B Baker Street with nobody none other than Sherlock Holmes as his flatmate. Sherlock Holmes the world's only consulting detective rarely seemed to find enough cases that were interesting enough to pique his interest, nineteen out of twenty cases were just too boring for him. It only took him a moment to read the text Sherlock had recently sent to him. John hand me, my revolver (12:00PM) SH
He wanted to scream out loud in frustration, but that would only make him seem mad if he did so in the middle of a grocery store. Sherlock…was well being Sherlock as usual when he was bored he would take it out on random things such as the wall or start hazardous experiments. John knew he had to get back to the flat….and fast before he could do too much damage and demolish it all together. Not even bothering to answer the text, he pushed his cart quickly stepping onto the express line where the machines checked them out. He watched as the customers scanned each item, before the machine spit out their receipt, tapping his foot impatiently. BEEP! John groaned, before fumbling with his jacket pocket pulling out his phone. Don't forget the milk (12:10PM) SH
One of these days he was going to force the great consulting detective Sherlock Holmes to shop for his own groceries. "Would you please hurry up? It's your turn," growled the man with his basket of groceries behind him. "Alright, alright," replied John hastily. He scanned his items quickly; he had two more items left as he scanned the milk. The machine blinked flashing red light, before speaking in a mechanic monotone. "Unexpected item in bagging area. Please try again." John rolled his eyes, before scanning the item once more. "Item not scanned. Please try again." "Do you think you can keep your voice down," snapped John angrily. Over his shoulder he could see that the line had indeed grown, and the man behind him was glancing at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently.
After what seemed like an eternity all of the groceries were bagged, and John slid his card afterwards he entered his pin. Much to his annoyance the machine blinked red, before speaking loudly and clearly in its mechanic monotone once more. "Card not authorized. Please use alternative method of payment." "Yes! Alright! I've got it!" "Card not authorized. Please use alternative method of payment." Throwing his hands up in the air he loathed these insufferable machines, roughly searching through his pockets he threw the exact amount onto the counter of the machine. "There keep it!" John grabbed the groceries…hoping he could make it back in time.
The door slammed shut. Sherlock did not bother to look up from his book. It had to be John. He listened quietly for a moment, but did not hear John's heavy dragging footsteps and cane. "Mrs. Hudson? Is that you! Have you brought lunch," he called, recognizing the clicking high heels of the landlady. Mrs. Hudson entered the room flustered as ever. "I'm not your housekeeper, dear! I'm your landlady," she shrieked shrilly. He peered up from his book, revealing a pair of vivid blue eyes. Using his skills of deduction he observed Mrs. Hudson using his keen senses, not leaving the tinniest detail unnoticed from her mousy brown to the purple heels she had on.
Freshly laundered purples dress. Matching shoes. Hair combed neatly. No chemical fumes from cleaning supplies. Hands washed recently. No jewelry. Recently brewed tea. "Expecting someone Mrs. Hudson? Did you get somebody interested in 221C," he asked casually, as if anybody could deduce this by merely glancing at her. "Sherlock! I don't have time for this! I'm expecting her any minute now," she huffed. "Ah yes of course we're expecting a female…you have no jewelry on," he stated plainly, before returning to his book. As he suspected the door bell rang. "Now, Sherlock don't scare the girl. She seems so nice, and it would be so nice to have another lady in the house," she reprimanded him. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes, crossing his legs. He certainly hoped she wasn't boring it would certainly make things even duller around here when he had no ongoing cases.
Sherlock sat back in his favorite chair, closing his eyes resuming back to his 'thinking pose'. "Here let me help you with those," said a soft calm voice, which echoed through the hallway…it reminded him of wind chimes. "Thank you….thank you very much," came John's voice, sounding very much relieved. Sherlock smirked as he heard the rustling of bags, no doubt he was transferring some to the 'guest's' hand. "Lavinia, what about the flat," asked Mrs. Hudson, her footsteps following from behind. His mind raced for awhile going through his 'hard drive' processing the newly obtained information. Lavinia pronounced la- VIN- e -ah. Latin origin. The name means mother of Romans. Perhaps…she wasn't so boring after all, but this was only a mere speculation from her name which wasn't a very common one. "Oh yes, the flat. I'm still very interested Mrs. Hudson, I don't mind the damp," replied Lavinia in the same calm quiet manner.
"Just set the bags right there Lavinia, again thank you. If only someone could have helped me with the groceries," said John, raising his voice an octave as he got to the word 'someone', that 'someone' meaning Sherlock. "John be quiet….I'm busy," he murmured, ignoring the irritable tone in John's voice. "Busy? You, Sherlock Holmes busy? You haven't moved an inch since I left two hours ago for groceries," criticized John, who in Sherlock imagined was throwing his hands up in the air…no wait he didn't have to imagine he knew. "Will you boys please settle down," urged Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock smirked, and shifted his weight against the sofa, uncrossing his left leg changing it to his right. "You sure took you time," he said acknowledging John. "I had a row with the machine!"
Sherlock smirked, no doubt amused. "You had a row with the machine?" John rolled his eyes. "Yes it sat there and I yelled abusive things at it!" Mrs. Hudson returned, with a tray of tea setting it down on the coffee table. "Ah tea, wonderful Mrs. Hudson," said Sherlock, which was the best way he could phrase 'thank you'. "Young man when are you ever going to understand that I'm your landlady and not your housekeeper," sighed Mrs. Hudson, seating herself across from Lavinia. Opening his eyes, he could finally study their 'guest' to gain more information rather than having just a name. Lavinia was seated across from looking at him curiously no doubt wondering what was behind the scrutinizing gaze he was giving her.
She parted her lips slightly to speak, but he held a hand to stop her. "Yes, Lavinia I know…no need for tedious banalities." Cold blue eyes meet her hazel ones once more, which seemed to send an electric current through her body. John held his cup closely towards his mouth, preventing the hazard of spluttering tea all over the place. Closing his eyes he wished he could just telepathically tell the girl what he was itching to say. Oh don't mind him Lavinia. Sherlock is just….being Sherlock. He's not a psychopath…if you told him that he would probably tell you to 'do your research'. It's not his fault he's a sociopath. Oi! It sounds just as terrible in my head as it would if I said it out loud.
Sherlock offered John a sidelong glance, unclasping his hands out of his 'thinking pose'. He breathed deeply, still barely even acknowledging the presence of their guest. He turns over towards Mrs. Hudson, taking a muffin off of the platter. Gingerly taking a bite out of it, he places it back down. "Well, Mrs. Hudson I see no reason not to take her interest in the flat seriously," states Sherlock finally. John allowed himself to breathe again, the tension in the room easing. Impossible! He did not even spew a single comment that was awful…well as Molly would put it. Nervously he glances over towards Lavinia, her composure still calm, her attention focused curiously on Sherlock. He swallowed hard, gulping down his tea so he wouldn't choke on it.
BEEP! John glares at Sherlock the sudden piercing noise accelerating his heart, biting down his tongue to refrain himself from swearing. Honestly Sherlock you are a man of many talents, but texting without being seen! Ugh! This better be appropriate. He reaches into his pocket his phone midway exposed, but Sherlock extends his hand to stop him. "That's my phone John not yours," he smirks, no doubt still amused by the texts he sent to John earlier. Reaching into his own pocket, he procures a sleek jet black phone nearly identical John's. The bright screen radiates onto his face, his eyes moving quickly back and forth reading the text intently.
"Oh this is wonderful….brilliant! John we have a case!" Mrs. Hudson stands up, smiling tugging gently onto Lavinia's arm. Wordlessly Lavinia obliged, standing up as well. "Well dear, we better have a look at that flat. Be careful won't you Sherlock, I don't fancy having your face plastered all over the papers…for all the wrong reasons," she admonishes, but her tone gentle. Sherlock smirks, his chest no doubt puffing out with pride as his eyes dart over towards the latest headline. Psychopath Or Genius? Walking towards the door, Sherlock ties his usual purple scarf around his neck. "Clearly they should be doing their research I'm a highly functioning sociopath. In my defense, I say I made a magnificent improvement to the dull walls," he raves, slipping on his coat.
Mrs. Hudson remains speechless, her mouth partially hung open. On the wall as Sherlock so proudly hailed the way a painter would showing off their new masterpiece, was a spray painted yellow smiley face with scorched bullet holes. Letting out a hearty laugh, he closes the door behind him pulling John along. "Young man! You are still paying for that wall!" His voice still answers her, as he hollers from the stairs. "Back at six! Leftovers will do!" Lavinia struggles to stifle her laughter as Mrs. Hudson mumbled 'I'm your landlady not your housekeeper' under her breath. "Come along dear, we'll see to that flat."
Well that concludes the first chapter. Of course Sherlock and all the other related characters do not belong to me, I just own Lavinia Crawford. This is my first Sherlock fan fiction and well I'm new to as well to this website . I'm not so sure where this is going. Any suggestions or comments are welcome. Cheers. :3 ~AshMercedes23
