Sherlock had purchased a phone. Well, one of his people from the homeless network did, but it lying on his table was the real problem. He was still questioning his decision, with his chin resting in the palm of his hands. Everything laid still and quiet with nothing but the specks of dust floating in the air, reflecting in the rays of sun. Sherlock hadn't moved a muscle for minutes now, eyes locked on the communicating device of a considerately new model. The detective didn't know why he had got one and for what reason. He had no one to call, due to the fact, the closest people taught of him as a dead man. The silence and loneliness had become surprisingly nerve-wrecking. Countless nights of wandering around London, always led him closer and closer to the doors of 221B and its inhabitants, but something always stopped his temptation in time. Becoming present was as tempting as lighting a cigarette between his teeth, but if he would do so, hell would break loose, if it hadn't already.
The first few digits of Molly's number appeared on the screen, but we're erased just as quickly.
What would he say, "I'm bored"?
That was another problem; he'd have to wreck his mind over. His first words he would say, if anyone ever saw him, we're still a clue to be solved.
The walls of his hide away we're a sickly white colour and the room itself was quite empty. His favourite belongings, including his neatly folded coat, lay in the closet, and his current clothes, which made his nose cringe in dislike, laid scattered on the mattress. Whenever he had to go out into the world, he wasn't going as detective Holmes, or as some would say 'the fraud', but he went as the loner Sherlock, who got rarely looked twice at.
The sun was setting and so was the shadow of Sherlock pacing the room. The silver of the moonlit night shone in through the small, opened window. A light, chilly breeze was making its way inside, making multiple scattered papers fly off the table. The always busy detective would've left them there, probably let John or Mrs Hudson, not his house-keeper, come and pick them up. If only he was back in Baker Street, but it wasn't the case anymore, what was left of the consulting detective was hid and locked away somewhere far away in his mind. Once Sherlock bent down to pick up the mess, his eyes went over a newspaper article with a name he'd seen before.
Richard Brook spills the dirt about his 'co-star' Sherlock Holmes. The storyteller, for the last time, goes over what happened a year ago, in an interview with Kitty Riley-
The detective got sick to his stomach as he re-read the words over and over again. The rest of it was ripped off, probably used to clean up a recent tea spill.
Sherlock crumbled the rest of the article and threw it over his shoulder. Walking over to the door with a coat clutched in his hand, he managed to breathe properly for his brain not to shut down. Stumbling down the stairs, he mumbled and cursed. Sherlock wished he had gun to let all the emotions out with. Feelings weren't something Holmes would ever confirm, but bundles of frustration and anger had built up inside of him. Walking over the deserted street, he let his mind race. No matter what, it seemed as if the man was still on his tracks, following his every step. Being dead didn't seem to be a burden for him- Wait, no, this couldn't be right. He remembered correctly that it said, what happened almost a year ago, so the article must be not older than a week or two.
"John, we have a case to solve. Moriarty is still alive." Sherlock wished he could say whilst walking in his old flat, but he didn't dare to risk of pulling John back into this and Sherlock was practically Patrick Swayze in his best friend's eyes.
The detective's thoughts drifted back to the newspaper. It didn't really prove Moriarty's existence, it may be just Kitty Riley filling up the story for her own good, but if it was Jim after all, what was the use of it.
Had he really known Sherlock was alive all this time and he'd come back to torment him? He hadn't really messed with Jim's perfect ending, everyone still thought that Holmes wasn't who he'd claimed he was, but it seemed as if Moriarty had other plans in mind.
The screeching sound of tires and a loud car honk sent him out of his mind palace just in time before colliding with the bumper of a black van. Sherlock held his hands out as an apology and got out of the way of the vehicle, but just before walking away with no witnesses on the late night streets of London, he tried to make out the plate of the car. If his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, he would've swore it said "ICU" but it was too late to check, the van was far off into the distance.
Rushing back into his small, one roomed apartment, Sherlock dropped his coat and paced around the room. For once in his life, he didn't know what to do. Staying clam was not so easy if he was being chased again, not even sure if in reality or in his delusional mind, by a psychotic, evil mastermind with an unhealthy obsession with the detective.
But for a second he stopped and let it all settle in. A hoarse, mad laugh escaped his lips, his palms put together as if Sherlock was about to applaud for the consulting criminal. Oh, Moriarty, clever-clever Moriarty. It was his plan all along. Make the poor detective think he's gone mad, drain his sanity to the last core. Holmes let his true colors show through the cracks for a second, letting the mask slip. The quiet, 'dead' Sherlock, he'd been playing for months now faded and the high functioning sociopath reappeared in his place. Very well, Jim. Two could play that game.
Authors little cute note: Oh, hi. Still here? Good.
Yes, it is I, the writer of this teeny tiny story. I just came by to tell you that I have decided to write a long lasting, multiple chaptered story based on the amazing show called Sherlock. Anywho, I hope you decide to stick around and read my little masterpiece. I post these stories for experience and I would LOVE to hear from you what you think about them, because it helps me grow and learn. c:
Anyway, once again thank you for reading and maybe even taking your time to read this and mayyyyyyyybe leaving a review! See you next week!
*smooches from shoulder-Jim and shoulder-Dean* (Inside joke, sorry)