Just a little note to say; this is my first Sherlock Fanfic and I'm hoping I've done an all right job. Please leave feedback, it'd be great to hear what people think. :)
A palace. This is where he retreats in times of need. Roaming darkened halls and wooden corridors; searching for information. Extensive rooms containing the facts which are always relevant. Some rooms house people. Figures, metaphorical in his mind and so integral they stand as if real. Molly Hooper, the one who mattered the most, his scientific aid. Anderson, the believer, the one who kept his seemingly dead being alive. Mycroft, sworn arch enemy and voice of cold reason. Some are welcome. The soothing russet fur of a childhood friend. Others are locked away, unable to freely roam and voice opinion unless required. Locked in a grimy padded room with chains and locks for precaution. Because one can't be too careful when dealing with madness. Without precautions madness runs free, spreading disease through brilliant minds. And in this place there is no physical embodiment for a certain Doctor Watson. No knight, dressed in a woolen jumper, lighting the way. Because John Hamish Watson, savior of lives doesn't need to be cataloged; He's there in the flesh. They're a duo. Hatman and Robin, front page news. But we're not dealing with news anymore, we're dealing with facts. And it's a fact that Sherlock Holmes would be lost without his blogger.
I know it's short. :') If people like it, I think I'll try and write some longer and more in depth pieces. :) Anyways please review... I'll make some Sydney Opera House napkins. ;)