A/N: Hello everyone! So, now this plot bunny hopped into my head and gave birth to this Sherlock thingie. This is my first time writing Sherlock so I apologize if he or Watson or any other characters are a bit OOC. Anyway, I hope you like this story and, for all stories' sake, I'll try to update this regularly, for once, like a normal person :P
Enough me, now to the story! :)
John Watson groaned for the umpteenth time of the day as he and Sherlock Holmes walked along the avenue, and as Sherlock looked around with his brows furrowed, as if trying to decipher an enigma.
"Remind, John, what are we doing?" said detective asked. John sighed as he answered.
"We are strolling. Walking around with no specific destination."
Sherlock nodded, thoughtful.
They crossed the avenue and continued along a slightly crowded street, passing in front of a park and a school.
"You say people do this for leisure?" Sherlock spoke after several minutes of silence.
"Yes," John answered, and then added in a low voice, "normal people."
"Oh sorry, did you say something?"
"Nothing at all," John pretended to fix his shirt as he walked faster.
It was a sunny spring day-a rather rare occurrence. Windy and slightly chilly, but sunny all the same. It was John's day off and there weren't any clients in need of a consultant detective, so he thought it was the perfect day to take a stroll and proposed the idea to Sherlock. Of course, he should've known, the detective had no idea of what the word 'stroll' even meant, for he assumed that the only objective of going to walk (of going outside at all) was to reach a destination that served an specific purpose or to run an errand that, also, contributed in some way to one's daily or not-so-daily occupations. So, he had to spend the next thirty minutes explaining that it wasn't always like that necessarily, that sometimes when people disposed of free time or suffered of boredom (something his friend suffered of quite constantly) they went out and walked just for the pleasure of walking and enjoying the weather.
At the end, he'd had to practically dress him (since he was folded in his blanket) and drag him out of the flat.
Sherlock was quick to catch up. "And is it a common practice?"
"You mean if many people do it?" John asked. Sherlock nodded. "Yes, quite a lot. Actually, what do you think half the people here are doing?" he gestured around. Some people walked dogs in the park, others walked in small groups, chatting animatedly and some others sat at the benches, just enjoying the sun. A few teens were rushing out of the school, probably after a Saturday class.
"I don't know," Sherlock answered, "maybe they do have an errand to run somewhere but it's not all that urgent and so they take their time to get there." John rolled his eyes. When he'd explained the 'art' of strolling to his friend he'd only nodded, thoughtfully like a minute ago, but John knew his rational and practical mind didn't quite grasp it.
"You would know if they did," was all he said.
"True," Sherlock agreed.
John shook his head. "Right then. Now, how about we stop at that café over there for…"
He was interrupted when something hard slammed against his chest, making him lose his balance and almost fall, if Sherlock had not caught his arm.
"Oh, I am so sorry sir!" a female voice exclaimed.
"Are you alright?" Sherlock inquired. He had ignored the voice and was instead helping John properly back on his feet.
"Yes, I'm alright," he assured him, then turned to the girl. "It's alright, don't worry," he smiled.
"Are you sure? Oh, please forgive me sir."
Sherlock sighed in annoyance and began to turn around. "Did you not hear? He's perfectly fi…" He stopped short. John finished readjusting his sweater and looked at her again. She was a tall, young girl, maybe his height or taller. She carried a colorful book bag over her shoulder so he assumed she was one of the students coming out of the school. In her hands she held a thick, hard-cover book, probably what he had impacted with.
He was about to reassure her again that he was fine when he glanced over at Sherlock and frowned. His friend stood frozen next to him, staring at the girl with wide eyes.
"Uh, Sherlock, you okay?" he chided but his friend ignored him. The girl shifted uncomfortably.
"Well," she turned to John. "I'm really sorry sir. I did not look where I was going," she apologized.
"It's okay, really. I'm not hurt, am I?"
She smiled a bit.
"I guess not," she said.
John noticed Sherlock stood petrified still, staring at her, and he nudged him discretely. The detective shook his head and cleared his throat, immediately looking away.
"Sorry again," she smiled regretfully and then looked at Sherlock. "Uh, good day sir."
Sherlock nodded. She smiled one last time at Watson and hurried past them.
John hit his friend's arm. "What the hell was that?"
Sherlock didn't answer immediately, but followed the girl with his eyes.
"Nothing," he finally said and spun on his heel. "You were saying that café there?" When John turned around Sherlock was already crossing the street to the café. He ran to catch up.
Once inside they sat a booth and ordered something to drink and some pastries. Their booth was next to a window over looking the street, so Sherlock lost no time in making himself comfortable on his seat and directing his gaze outside, his eyes showing he was already lost in his thoughts.
The waiter returned shortly after with their order and then left again. John sipped his coffee and looked at his friend.
"Are you alright?"
No answer. He sighed and began eating the pastries on the plate. At length Sherlock reached for his cup and brought it to his lips, but placed it back on the table without a word.
"You know staring like that could be considered harassment? Especially, you know," he swallowed, "a grown man staring at a girl." That got his attention and he looked at him.
"What are you talking about?"
"I think you know perfectly well what I talk about."
"It's nothing of the sort, John." He snorted, returning his eyes to the street. "A sixteen-year-old, high school honor student with a single father, obsession for reading and teenager fanaticism with contemporary 'music' bands it's not exactly the type of woman I would gamble for, if at all." John knew better than to ask. Instead, he tried to remember what traits about the girl could've given him that information.
As if reading his mind Sherlock spoke. "The fact that she looked like a student and was near a school is obvious to us both, I should think. But she carried a heavy volume of what, by the plain cover and straight typography seemed to be world history, professional world history…."
"How can you tell that?"
"It is obvious enough isn't it?" John stared blankly at him and Sherlock sighed. "Alright, when she knocked you it opened a bit and I read the first page." John smiled pleased. "Anyway, not a subject that you take on regularization and certainly not with that type of book, which indicates that she wasn't at the school for regularization but for a more academic purpose, something only an honor student would willingly do, on Saturday. The way she wears her collar neatly down and ties her scarf (and by the marks of fingers in both of them it is habit) indicates a protective parent…"
"I wear my collar down," John said. Sherlock ignored him.
"…and also her short, star-shaped earrings are an evident masculine touch, at least fatherly, and suggest a single father or a working mother and a stay-at-home father. The edges of the book were worn out which indicates either antiquity or frequent use or both, but there was also a bookmark. You don't put bookmarks on school text books…"
"I did."
"…so she must read it for leisure as well. Besides, in her coat pocket there was one of those reading lamps you clip on the page. Only those who read frequently have one, even more if they carry it around. A cable was intertwined with her scarf, the headphone just close enough for her to listen to a loud, drum-beating music but also to the sounds of the environment. The simplicity and yet functionality of the arrangement means it has been tested and it worked so now she always does it." He drank again from his cup and resumed his studying the street in silence.
John, too, stayed in silence for some moments.
"And…how do you know she was sixteen?"
"Oh that was just supposition."
John chuckled.
"Okay, she is not of your interest, then why were you staring at her so…..staringly?"
After a long silence, in which John feared Sherlock might not talk more of it, he answered. "She resembles someone I met long ago," he said, not looking at him.
John was content, partially content, with the answer, but then he heard Sherlock's whisper, barely audible, as if he was talking to himself: "and never expected to see again."
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