Hey all! This is my first Sherlock fic. This fic forms the prologue of my upcoming story. It's gonna be an AU fic...for now, please enjoy this oneshot...
A Photograph
It was a normal morning in 221B Baker Street...or well, not as normal as we might come to believe. For one, our dearest doctor and the ever tolerant flatmate Dr. John H. Watson was positively livid! For the other, the world's only consultant detective, the man whose face always has a condescending smirk or a breathtaking smile...was SULKING! Yes, the great Sherlock Holmes was positively sulking! And what caused this change from the routine? Let's find out...
Flashback-
"Sherlock...are these...are these fingers in my toast!" asked John, horrified.
"Well John, judging from the obvious skin tone and the texture, this is definitely not bacon..." Sherlock's ever condescending tone did nothing to alleviate John's distress.
"Sherlock...WHY on earth are there fingers in my toast!" John's anger was rising every second.
"Hmmm...it seems you made an error, John...you mistook the fingers placed in our fridge as bacon for your toast and thereby managed to spoil my wonderfully progressing experiment on..."
"I don't want to hear about your bloody experiment!" John rose from the breakfast table and stood infront of Sherlock, his face and his clenched fists clearly showing his emotional state. "That's it, Sherlock! I am not tolerating this anymore!"
"But John...listen to me..." Sherlock was clearly not used to this "soldier" John.
"No...now YOU listen to me great consulting detective Sherlock Holmes..." John's anger was at its peak. "Either you clear our fridge and the entire mess in this house...including all those unopened cardboard boxes by the way...or else i am leaving this flat right away!"
"But John!"
"No buts Sherlock...do as I say or I'm leaving!"
flashback ends
And that was how we ended up with a furious doctor and a sulking detective! "Now Sherlock..." said John in a tone that is used with a difficult child, "I'm leaving the flat...i'm going to meet Mike...I'll return by the evening, okay! By the time I return, I want this place spotlessly clean, alright Sherlock?"
"Yes mother!" said a sulking Sherlock.
"Wonderful! I'll be leaving then. Good luck!" and with that and a slight chuckle, John left the flat.
For sometime, Sherlock sat absolutely still, as if trying to analyse his current situation and formulate a logical course of action. Of course he knew that the chances of John carrying out his threat were extremely small, but for once his long-suffering flatmate had made a genuine demand, and not fulfilling it..."Well, it is the least I can do..." thought Sherlock.
And so our great consulting detective began cleaning out the mess he had made of 221 B, Baker street. He rid the fridge of all its human contents and stocked it with some things more edible. He sorted out his documents and got rid of the junk. The skull, of course, was not disposed off, but instead placed in his own room, away from the eyes of the long-suffering doctor and Mrs. Hudson.
Finally, Sherlock's lanky figure made its way to the unopened cardboard boxes- the things that he had either clean forgotten or deemed unnecessary for his work. He opened each box one by one. One of it had his old case records."John would definitely like a look at them," thought Sherlock. These were meticulously sorted and placed in the box to share with his flatmate later.
However, when he reached the second box, his hands stopped. It contained some of his old photo albums. "Definitely Mycroft's job!" mumbled Sherlock. Nevertheless, he decided to skim through them and remove all "unnecessary memories". He opened the first album, and was at once flooded with memories- his childhood, his ever-doting mother, his stern but caring father, his arrogant and overbearing brother, their country house, the wonderful smell of Mummy's cooking, the Christmas dinners, his "childish feud" with Mycroft...Sherlock's blue-green eyes expressed a myriad of emotions.
As Sherlock was lost in thoughts, a photograph fell out of one of the albums. Sherlock picked it up carefully...and froze...
It was quite an old photograph. Nothing exceptional, and quite spoiled due to water having fallen on it at some point of time. It showed three children, about 8 or 9 years old, outside a country house. Even through the blur, Sherlock could recognize himself, Mycroft and their old country house. As for the third figure...
Suddenly, an old dusty room opened up in his Mind's Palace. He could remember...
his old country house...
his old school...
meeting that person on a lonely country road...
those black, piercing eyes...
that beautiful, albeit childish voice...
and that one word that could make him smile every time...
Sherry.
"Hey Sherry!"
"Friends, Sherry?"
"You know you're incredible, don't you Sherry!"
"I'm here, Sherry"
"It'll be fine, Sherry!"
"Oh Sherry!"
"Please don't stop Sherry!"
"Goodbye Sherry"
The sound of the door opening brought Sherlock out of his thoughts. Mrs. Hudson entered and was instantly amazed. "Oh Sherlock! You've finally decided to clean up, have you! The good doctor has really turned you a new leaf! Should I help you dear?"
"No Mrs. Hudson, I'll manage, thank you." said Sherlock, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
When John returned in the evening, he was welcomed by a clean flat and a pensive looking flatmate sitting by the barely used fireplace with a beautiful bottle of wine. The photograph, thankfully, did not meet the fate of the other "unnecessary" memories. Instead, it was now placed safely in his left coat pocket, close to his heart.
"Sherlock..."
"Ah, John!" said Sherlock, his voice lacking his usual cheer. "Would you care for a glass of sherry?"
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