Hide and Seek
Author's Note: This is my first publication for the Sherlock category, not attempt mind you - I've tried multiple times to write a story for Sherlock, but it has never worked out. I hope it's different for this publication because I adore this story line that I've created over weeks and weeks. Please! Enjoy.
1. Red Poppies
Whenever John Watson went to the market, he always ended up forgetting something. Last week was the sugar, and the week before that was the packaged biscuits he had taken a liking to; however, this week (to his astonishment,) was the one week he did not forget a single thing on his list. He had gotten the milk, the eggs, the sugar, the biscuits, bread, and even some jam. Walking up the steps of 221B were never really an issue, even with the four paper bags being balanced in his hands. He used his foot to open the door, still balancing the bags, and managed to wedge the door open.
Once through the small opening, he kicked the door back into it's original position before pacing towards the kitchen. It was unusually quiet today, no sounds of gun shots, or violin - just the noise coming in through the open window.
"Sherlock?" John voiced down the hallway, looking at the closed door of his flatmate's room, and when he didn't hear a reply thought nothing of it. More often than not, Sherlock was in his "mind palace" as he liked calling it, or had heard him and never bothered to answer back; half the time Sherlock never even noticed that John had left at all! Grunting, John placed the bags down on the table and sorted out everything (carefully especially around all of Sherlock's "experiments".) John made his way out to the sitting room, his newspaper and his chair calling to him. Before John could even open his paper, out of his peripheral vision he saw Sherlock laying on the sofa in his signature pose; eyes closed, finger tips touching his lips in a prayer manner (if Sherlock was religious, John would've described it like that,) and his body stretched out along the length of the sofa. Deep thought, John remarked and as he went to open his newspaper saw a postcard, or some kind of letter, sitting on top of Sherlock's chest which was steadily rising and falling.
Now, John was never a nosy person by trade, but who on earth would send Sherlock - his arrogant, self-invovled flatmate - a letter? Curiosity got the best of him. He folded the paper down, laid it on the end table, and carefully stepped over to where Sherlock lay. Would he wake up? Certainly not. I've yelled at him before when he was in his "mind palace" and there wasn't so much as a flinch. John felt the palms of his hands begin to clam up, and he quickly picked up the piece of paper off of Sherlock's chest, flipped it over, and looked at the picture on the front. So it is a postcard.
A young girl, she couldn't even be in her thirties yet, stood in front of what tourists called Big Ben, both of her hands held up in peace signs and her pink tongue darted between her lips. A backwards hat was situated on her head, honey-brown curls sticking out from underneath and the rest in a messy ponytail (or what looked like it?) and what John could see as green eyes staring back at him.
He flipped it over again, his eyes scanning over the cursive on the back.
Still couldn't find me… I'm disappointed Sherlock, hopefully you remember that field of poppies. I'll be waiting ~Laurel (or do you remember me as Duckie?)
"John," John nearly jumped out of his own skin at Sherlock's sharp voice, and he almost looked at Sherlock with a meek look that read 'you caught me'. Sherlock had his hand out, palm up and open, and John promptly put the postcard back in his clutches. Gingerly, Sherlock took it back and opened his eyes, sat up, and flipped it over to look at the picture, "poppies huh?" He mumbled under his breath before ruffling his dark curls and groaning, an almost hissing noise before flopping back, "she really expects me to remember a field of insignificant poppies?" His voice much louder this time.
John hopped back and forth from his right foot to his left foot before asking what had been on his mind: "Who is she?"
"An… acquaintance, and I use the term loosely." John's eyebrows rose and the lines on his forehead showed, "you'll get premature wrinkles if you keep that up John." John didn't even bat an eyelash at the retort, instead laughed (admittedly, probably a little louder than was appropriate.)
"A female acquaintance? An acquaintance at all!"
"I knew her in college, and she has a habit of reappearing when least expected, or wanted. Both. Yes, both." Sherlock brought his fingers up to his lips once again, but didn't close his eyes.
"What did she mean "couldn't find me"?" John questioned, more curious now finding a common link between his flatmate and the girl, "you've been looking for her?"
Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before reopening them, "of course not. She likes playing games, and one of her favorite games has always been hide and seek. This is a … pass time between the two of us, something interesting unlike a letter describing every detail of her abroad experience, and over used sentimentalities such as how much she missies me, or how much she wants to see me. This … this keeps me from getting too bored."
"So … it's a giant game of hide and seek?"
"To put it simply. She goes to a country, sends me a postcard, and I try to find her. It's been two years since the last one."
"So, it's been out of the blue?"
"Quite. A field of poppies… where would poppies grow? For market? Personal? There are so many things that could…" Sherlock hopped up from the sofa, his eyes almost bright, "Yes! Oh, very clever Duckie, but almost too obvious, could she want to give up already?" A victorious smile spread over his features before he turned towards John, which had a very confused look on his face, "the wrinkles John." Immediately, John relaxed his face and gave Sherlock an almost bored look. Sherlock rushed around the coffee table, grabbing his coat and slipped it on, grabbed his scarf, and looked as if he was contemplating something.
"Sherlock? You going somewhere?"
Turning, he wrapped the scarf around his neck and faked a wide smile, "Yes, fancy a car ride to Suffolk John?"
"I can't believe you're back! And staying no less?" A man in his early thirties wrapped his arms around Laurel's shoulders, bringing her close to him and she patted his back almost sympathetically, "hopefully for good?"
"Until I get bored again, and it happens often enough." She said quietly, smiling up at her brother as he pat her head and ruffled her honey curls. She pouted, patting her hair back down before kicking his shin playfully, "how's the ye olden estate?" She joked, looking up at the victorian pillars that stood at the entryway of the vanilla house; her eyes darted between the windows and finally on her brother's worried gaze, "everything still in order?" Her voice was strained and hoarse as she asked the latter question.
"Everything is still in it's place, just how they left it. Just how you left it," Colum scratched the back of his head before looking up at the morning lit sky, "you didn't have to force yourself back here you know? I know there are a lot of memories -"
"So do you, but you found a way to handle it, didn't you? Besides, I can't spend all of my money traveling."
"And having Sherlock chase after you."
She shrugged, playfully smiling before grasping her backpack tighter, "it was fun for a while, dangerous too. Almost got caught a few times."
"You know the last two years when you were -"
"In the past," she waved off both metaphorically and physically, "I really don't want to talk about it."
"But -"
"Seriously Colum, just don't." Her voice was cold, no longer honey covered, and Colum shivered at it, "let's see my old room shall we?" The happy tone back in her voice, and the small smile placed on her lips.
"Still looks the same, a little more dusty than when I was last here." Sliding her finger over the mantle above her toy trove, she gathered the dust that settled there and rubbed it between her fingers. She smiled sadly as she looked around at her childhood room, the pink and lavender bedsheets still made up nicely and the twinkle lights still strung up along the wall. Her stuffed animals littered the book shelves that her father built into the wall, and the pile upon piles of books in the right corner of the room, "smells different though."
"That's what usually happens when someone doesn't use it for over ten years." Colum joked, rubbing his forearm as he leaned against the door frame, "but everything is still here." Laurel kicked off her shoes, and shimmied out of her tight teeshirt, pulled out a baggy shirt with the words The Offspring sprawled across it in red letters and pulled it over her head. She pulled her hair in a messy bun before turning around, "well I better get to work if I want to sleep in here tonight, huh?" Her brother smiled, an almost grimace before nodding his head.
"I'll let you get to it."
"Wait, what makes you think you're not helping?"
"I have tests to grade Dap-"
"Laurel please, I hate my first name. In America everyone kept asking if I was named after the Scooby-Doo character." Colum laughed, and coughed suddenly when he saw his sister's glare. He looked around awkwardly, or what seemed to be, and sighed before walking over to her bay window and opening them. Laurel smiled to herself, knowing she had gotten her way.
"I'm only helping for a few hours! Then I really need to grade papers." Laurel smiled, nodded, and stripped her bed, taking the sheets down to the wash.
The sun hung high in the sky, the rays beating down Laurel's back as she hung up the sheets on the clothing line. A breeze blew in from the east and with it, the smell of salt water and the sound of sea birds. Even in all her travels Laurel had always missed this; the little things that she could enjoy, like hanging up the laundry to dry or the feeling of the grass and dirt between her toes.
"Laurel!"
She ignored him. She closed her eyes, hugging the basket to her abdomen, and took in the smell, even the touch of the wind against her face. She missed in. In all her adventures, negative and positive, she absolutely missed being back home. It was lonely now - it was missing the sounds of her mother running around to get her lecture together, and even the sounds of her father's laughter (on the rare occasions that he did laugh,) - even the neighbors were quiet.
"Laurel!" Colum called again, but this time she turned around and looked at him with an unreadable expression, "uh, I'm going into town to get something for dinner - any suggestions?"
"Anything sweet please." Nodding his head, he left. She set the basket down, clipping the sheets to the line before stepping away from it. Mumbling under her breath, "I wonder if he'll come this time." Her eyes softened as she looked at the field behind her house, weeds and dead flowers grew; however, red poppies lay there, blowing softly in the coming breeze.