Climbing up the stairs with two bags of groceries, Watson found himself both pleased that there would now be food in the flat and fearful of what experiments of Sherlock's he may find while putting away his purchases. Eyeballs in the microwave and a severed head in the fridge were bad enough but who knew what else the tall, pale eyed deduction genius had hidden within the confines of the flat. Nudging open the door and turning the corner to the kitchen, Watson dropped the brown paper bags at the sight before him. The counter and table were spotless, every bottle, paper scrap, and empty food container gone as it smelt faintly of house cleaner. The floor and windows reflected the light from the freshly dusted bulbs and even the smears on the fridge had been removed. Moving forward and opening said fridge, he found the shelves had been cleaned and that thankfully there were no more body parts stored inside of it, smelling faintly of lemon. Whistling from the stove startled him as he turned to find a kettle spewing out steam and screaming at him. Just as he went to turn off the stove a figure turned the corner into the kitchen, startling him even more than the kettle.
The clean kitchen had been nearly enough to make Watson faint from forgetting to breath but the young girl in front of him just about gave him a heart attack. Her eyes, blue he noted, landed on him immediately and she gave an easy smile while crossing to switch off the stove and pour the water into a waiting tea cup, two he noticed on further inspection (all this time around Sherlock really was rubbing off on him).
"Ello there," she said in a horrible British accent, laughing lightly to herself. "Sorry, I'm horrid at trying to impersonate the way you all speak," she added in what was definitely an American intonation.
"Uh, who are you?" he asked as she set the kettle back down, practically dancing across the kitchen to pull milk from the fridge and pour a bit into each cup and then commence in stirring them.
"Ellie," she answered brightly. "You must be John. It's very nice to meet you." Stunned, he took her small hand with dainty little fingers and shook it.
"How do you know me?" he asked. "More importantly, how did you get in here?" Watson asked, releasing her hand so she could scoop sugar into the tea, still stirring.
"Oh, I've been told all about you…this doesn't look right," she mused, leaning over the two cups with a puzzled frown between her brows.
"You didn't let the tea steep before adding milk and sugar," he said reflexively.
"Oh, of course!" she exclaimed, shaking her head and throwing a casual smile back at him over her shoulder. "I'm completely helpless when it comes to making tea. Sherly is much better at it than I am. Perhaps it has something to do with being British," she said, speaking the last sentence wistfully as she looked off into the distance.
"I'm sorry, Elle, but-."
"Ellie," she corrected with yet another bright smile, squeezing out the tea bags and the tossing them.
"Yes, Ellie. You never said why you were here," Watson reminded her.
"My bad. I know Sherly," she answered, sipping at what could never be related to as being tea.
"Sherly?" he asked.
"You know, Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes? The man you blog for," she went on, her tone teasing.
"And how do you know him?"
"I'm his girlfriend," she answered cheerfully. Before the doctor could say anything else her phone rang and with a quick glance at it she set down her tea and reached for the white pea coat that was slung over the back of one of the chairs in the living room, flipping her blonde curls out from under the collar before buttoning it. "Sorry to dash but I've got to go," she said, picking up her tea cup again and lifting it in a salute with yet another smile. "It was nice meeting you, John." Before he knew it, Watson was alone again, in the incredibly clean kitchen, much more dazed and confused than he ever had been before, even considering the time he spent with his odd flat mate.
It was in this state that Sherlock returned, shrugging off his coat and hanging it before walking with lengthy strides into the kitchen, noting the groceries on the ground.
"I believe you dropped something, Watson," he said, spotting the tea on the counter. "Ah, just what I could use, a spot of tea." Just as Watson went to speak, Sherlock picked up the cup and drank some of it, pulling back and scrunching up his nose at the taste. "Really, John, this is a dreadful brew. I thought you knew how to make tea." Despite what he had just said, Sherlock finished the cup and left it on the counter, walking off to the living room and for his violin as he said something about a recently closed case that Watson had not even been aware off.
"Aren't you curious?" Watson called, gaze flickering from the cup to the spilled groceries and then the table.
"About what?" Holmes called back, the abused chords of his instrument already being plucked mercilessly.
"The kitchen. It's clean."
"No, not really. Had I been I would have asked."
"Sherlock," Watson started, walking out of the kitchen to see his flat mate on the couch, "Are you currently…in a relationship with anyone?"
"Of course, I am in relationships with everyone I know. That is a silly question," he answered rapidly.
"Yes, but I mean…intimately…with a girl." The plucking stopped and a pair of strikingly pale eyes landed on him.
"What a peculiar question? Are you feeling ill?" Sherlock asked.
"No, why?"
"You are not yourself and your ability to hold groceries as well as make proper tea has declined. Perhaps you should see a doctor, other than yourself of course, I don't suggest self-diagnosis in this instance," he prattled before abruptly standing and turning. "I'm off to bathe." Again, Watson was left stunned and with many more questions than he had received any answers to. It was only as he set about putting away the groceries and placing the tea cup in the sink that he realized the girl, Ellie, had taken its twin with her.
Hello! I've just been recently catching up on Sherlock via the wonderful creation that is Netflix and had this idea pop up in my head. I love Sherlock's character but he is probably the most intimidating guy I've ever taken on. I mean, it's freaking Sherlock Holmes. Every time he finishes a sentence I want to hug the screenwriter that wrote it.
Usually I write in first person but for this story I felt Watson needed to start it off and it was easier in third. I haven't written third person since grade school it's been so long. I've decided that Ellie will always be first person but blips by Watson will be third and as for Sherlock, I'm not sure if his point of view will pop up. He scares me when I think of having to write his thoughts.
There will be a case with this story. I just couldn't fit it in the description.
Please leave a review to let me now if you are interested in the continuation of this story, even if it's only the slightest hint of "That's interesting". I'm not looking for you to be floored yet, as it is only the prologue, but I would like to know of it peaks someones curiosity so I know whether to spend a lot of time developing the story I have laid out or if I should focus more heavily on other things. Let me know!
Thank you for reading and please review! It makes me squeal each time I receive an e-mail telling me I have one (literally, I've had to do a lot of awkward explanations to people). Thank you for reading The Stained Satin!
EDIT: Thanks to a guest who very kindly pointed out mistakes in this chapter, a small bit where I switched over to first person has been corrected. Feel free to give me advice and corrections as you wish, I am always attempting to improve my writing.