Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or any of the characters.
"What've you done to my bloody wall?" Mrs Hudson gasped, staring at the yellow smiley-face that had bullet marks in it. "I'm putting this on your rent young man!"
Sherlock admired the new addition of detail he had decorated the room with. It looked much less boring now.
Boom.
Darkness surrounded Sherlock's mind and vision.
Sherlock groaned when he snapped back to consciousness, rubbing his eyes with one hand. His other hand felt the familiar material of his bed. His eyes fluttered open properly and he sat up, looking around the room. The last thing he remembered was a loud noise, drowning his thoughts. Then there was black, and all he could think of was John. Where's John?
Sherlock flung his legs over his bed and ran out of his bedroom and into the living room. He found the room empty, and surprisingly clean. He rushed over to the windows which had been smashed during the explosion, and examined them quickly to see if there were any traces. Nothing.
"Why are you stroking the window, Sherlock?"
He spun on his heels and saw Mrs Hudson, stood with a confused look on her face in the doorway of the flat.
"When did these get repaired?" he asked.
Mrs Hudson raised an eyebrow. "They got fixed months ago, dear. You know that."
"Where's John?" Sherlock glanced past her, trying to see if his friend was with her.
Her hand raised to her mouth and she covered it, then waved her hands a bit and rushed out of the room.
Sherlock glared at the empty doorway. Then he turned to where his smiley face was. It looked exactly the same, no damage, except for the bullets he knew were there. Sherlock went back into his bedroom and picked up his phone from the small table next to his bed.
Where's John? – SH
Sherlock carried the phone close to him as he walked back to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He grinned slightly at the severed head that was still there. He remembered John shouting at him for that. Where had he gotten off to? Plus, Mycroft was taking longer than usual to reply. The phone buzzed.
I believe we've had this conversation before. I wish I knew. – MH
Sherlock stared at the screen for a second, his eyebrows joining together. He pressed the call button and waited.
"Brother."
"Mycroft."
"What is it now?" Mycroft's tone was different. He was uncharacteristically soft in his voice, tired almost.
"What did that text mean?" Sherlock asked.
"Sherlock, have you slept at all lately?" Mycroft sighed. "You've been told that you're making yourself feel worse if you don't sleep, remember."
"Mycroft, tell me where John is or I will tell mother that you haven't been dieting for the past month."
"Sherlock," for the first time, Mycroft seemed unsure of what to say next. "I don't know anything more than you do on this topic. When you were five, you asked me what happened and I told you the traditional comfort, and then when you were eight, you told me what you think really happens."
"Stop dodging my question Mycroft," Sherlock's voice shook a bit. "This has no relation to John. Did he go to get Milk or is he at... What's her name? You know who I mean, her house?"
There was a pause.
"Sherlock, John's been dead for the past two months and you know that."
Sherlock hung up the phone and stared at it in disbelief.
"That's a sick joke, Mycroft." He muttered, slamming the phone on the table and walking out of his flat to find Mrs Hudson.
He found her making a cup of tea in her own kitchen, and she turned and smiled weakly at him when he arrived.
"Tea, dear?"
"No thank you Mrs Hudson," Sherlock answered. He always tried to be polite to her, since she was always looking out for him. He'd never really had somebody like her. Sherlock stayed lingering in the doorway, watching her awkwardly as she made herself a drink.
"Is something bothering you, Sherlock?"
"What happened with the explosion?" he said bluntly.
"Well, they said it was a gas leak, remember?" Mrs Hudson was quite surprised at Sherlock's sudden mind-blank.
"I don't mean why it happened," Sherlock rolled his eyes then regretted it after seeing her expression. "What happened to me?"
"Well, you just got a bit dusty, wanted to know what happened right away." She giggled.
"And John?"
She didn't answer straight away, taking a sip of her tea in silence. Sherlock was getting impatient.
"I only know what you got told too, dear."
"Mrs Hudson, I don't remember!"
She nodded her head slowly. She'd been told he might react like this.
"Sherlock, he crossed the street after your little domestic and was hit with the explosion."
Sherlock studied her face for a few seconds, expressionless.
"John is dead?" he asked, looking away from her and at the floor.
"Yes dear."
Sherlock nodded his head once, spun on his heels and walked out of the flat calmly. He left 221B and stood looking at the building opposite, which was still looking broken and destroyed.
I'm sorry, Sherlock. –MH
Stop spying on me. –SH
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