Summary
Sequel to "A Smokey Silence"
A rocky start could lead to an unexpected result for the Consulting Detective and his Assistant. John got them to quit smoking but is he prepared for what he's unleashed in turn?
The Hounds of Silence
Not So Silent Tempers
It was rare quiet day on Baker Street as Doctor John Watson sat in his usual chair as he read one of their many books, enjoying the peace and quiet that was so far and few between for the man.
It was quiet - though he doubted for very long - due to the fact that his other two flatmates were on a case. When asked if he wanted to tag along, he'd declined, wanting some down time to relax and sit back for a while before something predictably dramatic happened yet again.
Deciding on a cup of tea, John put down his book, making sure he knew what page he was on and went to put the kettle on. Just as he'd sat down again with his fresh cuppa, his phone went off, alerting him to the message he'd just received. Reading it, he frowned. That can't be good.
On our way home again,
case solved. Might be a
while though, had to
take the tube.
RS
The doctor took a deep breath to calm his nerves, thinking he was probably worrying too much about his friends. Going back to his book, he took a sip of his hot drink, waiting for their return.
It was about twenty minuets later that John heard the front door open, footsteps on the stairs leading up to the flat. Looking up he did a double take as he took in the sight of the more insane of his two flatmates.
Sherlock had come in, apparently as proud as could be, one hand on his waist, the other supporting a bloody harpoon, which he'd smacked on the floor to announce his arrival. He had no coat, showing the expensive shirt he had on, though the light blue of the fabric was heavily tainted by what could only be blood, which covered the man's shirt and face, dripping down his hands and through his hair.
Breathing heavily, Sherlock looked around. "Well, that was tedious."
"Jesus!" John exclaimed in shock. "You went on the tube like that?!"
"None of the cabs would take him." Rose said, pushing past the dramatic bloody man to sit on the sofa, throwing his coat on a chair she passed. "Can't imagine why!" She added sarcastically, annoyed that she had to go with the man on the tube rather than get a cab by herself.
Rose Spencer had been getting annoyed a fair bit lately; it had been a week and a half since their bet had started and she felt herself getting more and more short tempered each day. Even if she did have a short fuse though, she did her best not to take it out on her flatmates, aiming any annoyance at Sherlock more than John - mainly because the man deserved it more than the good doctor - and just trying to focus on their cases, as Sherlock himself had been doing. Mostly though, John thought she was doing rather well, the main venting coming out in a big spike in sarcasm.
Sherlock gave her his usual cold look, getting a blank stare in return. Humming briefly, he went to clean up, taking his harpoon with him.
John frowned at the retreating man, blinking before looking at Rose. He was about to say something but Rose, knowing what was coming, cut him off.
"I know what you're going to say John." She started, sighing heavily. "I shouldn't have bought him that harpoon."
A few hours later they were all in the living room again; John and Rose each looking through a newspaper for a case while Sherlock paced back and forth, dressing gown flowing behind him as he swung the - now clean - harpoon round in front of him.
"Nothing?" Sherlock asked them.
"Military coup in Uganda…" John read out read out, knowing he wouldn't be interested.
"Another photo of you with the hat." Rose added, smirking slightly at his annoyed grunt.
John sounded interested though. "Oh, cabinet re-shuffle…"
"Nothing of importance! Oh, god!" Sherlock shouted, slamming the harpoon on the floor with a resounding bang. He seemed to calm then, turning to the doctor. "John, I need some. Get me some!" He demanded.
John just looked at him though, blinked and replied shortly. "No."
"Get me some!" Sherlock argued, raising his voice, Rose closing her eyes at the throb that started in her head at the shouting; she hated it when people shouted.
"No!" John just replied, voice calmer but determined. "Cold turkey, we agreed. Want to let her win?" This just got a dark chuckle from the young woman who was determined to win their bet.
"Besides, you've paid everyone off, remember?" Rose reminded him, relying on her own determination to get through rather than paying off the shop keepers. "No one in a two mile radius will sell you any."
"Stupid idea!" Sherlock snapped, having put down his harpoon. "Whose idea was that?" Getting an obvious look from the both of them, he cleared his throat and tried a different approach; this was apparently to look for them, making a complete mess of the flat, throwing papers and random little things everywhere.
"Look Sherlock, you're doing really well." John encouraged. "Don't give up now."
"Tell me where they are." He asked, an odd emotion in his voice and he carried on searching. "Please, tell me." Turing to back to them, he just looked at John sadly; exaggerated, but still sad. "Please…"
John just looked at him, knowing his tricks. "Can't help. Sorry."
"I'll let you know next weeks lottery numbers." Sherlock told them, getting a snort from Rose and a chuckle from John. "Oh, it was worth a try."
He threw himself onto his chair, hands twitching, feet patting against the floor as he constantly looked around, never stopping even for a moment. Rose however was sat quite still and the man's constant twitching and moving was starting to irritate her a bit. Standing up, she stopped by John's chair. "Tea, John?"
Seeing she was getting a little wound up, he just agreed. "Yeah, go on then, if you're making one."
The mistake however, was asking Sherlock. "Coffee, Sherlock?"
He looked up, freezing for a second before giving her a patronising look. "Oh, I envy you Rose."
Chewing her lip, she crossed her arms and fully faced the craving man. "You envy me?" She asked quietly, ignoring the worried glance John gave her; she seemed too calm to him, too collected for a craving smoker - Sherlock was proof of that.
"Your mind, it's so placid. So straight forward." He started, not seeing the slight tension in her jaw. "Barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself apart, trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!" He shouted.
However he was not expecting the shout that he got in return, fire dancing in the woman's eyes as she argued back at him. "You've just solved one!" She exclaimed, making John jump as her hands came up to wave in the air; they hadn't heard her shout like this before. "By harpooning a dead pig! God only knows why!"
Sherlock looked up at the sudden out burst that didn't come from himself, seeing things he didn't before. Frowning, he decided he now had something to do. "You went out last night."
"Congratulations Sherlock." She replied sarcastically. "You noticed I'd left, nearly a whole day later."
"But you wore make up, didn't take it all off; traces of eyeliner." He deduced, literally pointing it out.
"Oh for…" She said, letting out a frustrated sigh. "All I asked was if you wanted coffee."
He carried on though, seeing more and more in his determination for something to do. "You changed you clothes though, wore make up; says effort. Maybe hoping to meet a man?"
"Sherlock." John warned, empathising with Rose for when the man didn't listen to her warnings. John saw that Rose was starting to get more than just annoyed though, the emotion building up, getting ready to lash out again.
"Stayed out late though, didn't come back until I was asleep, so very late." He continued at his fast pace, not seeing the most obvious fact; he was pissing her off. "Greasy ketchup stain on your boot says you had chips before you got in, most likely to distract from you need of a cigarette, I sympathise entirely! But out that late, wanting a cigarette, and the fact your purse is thinner than it was this time yesterday, I think it's safe to assume you were drinking, and we all know where that leads, now don't we? What was it; rum and coke again?"
"You smart arse sod!" She shouted at him, surprising them both with her anger - even if John was waiting for it. "Yes, I went out - but I didn't know I had to explain that to you, Sherlock! I went out for a drink with an old friend; female friend, if you must know. We had a laugh then went to get food; it's called hunger! I'm allowed to have a night out once in a while! So tell me, oh great one, anything more to add, while you're at it?!" She stared at him, breathing heavy, hands balled into fists and eyes wild with an anger she hadn't released on either of them before.
John just looked at her, wide eyed before looking to Sherlock, who seemed to be stunned into silence.
When she didn't get a reply from him she let out a steadying breath, but the tension never left her posture. She just said, "You can get your own coffee." in a normal, calm voice before turning around and heading down to her room, the only indicator that she was angry at all - apart from her stride - being the loud slam of the living room door that echoed behind her.
John rounded on Sherlock. "What the bloody hell was that all about?"
Sherlock just huffed. "You don't understand."
"Go after her and apologise." John told him, thumb jabbing in the direction of the closed door.
Sherlock frowned in confusion. "Apologise?"
John just nodded, humming an agreement.
Sherlock just frowned deeper, thinking about what that would actually do; probably just result in violence, he thought, seeing now how angry she really was. "Yeah, I don't think that'll work."
"What?" John asked, not understanding.
"She needs to calm down." Sherlock told him before getting back to his first point of interest. "And I need a case!"
John sighed, seeing he was getting no where with an apology. Probably is best to let her calm down a bit too, he thought, not really knowing how to deal with an angry Rose; angry women were not his forte - though Rose was hardly the typical woman. "Nothing on the website?"
Sherlock got up and went to the laptop, pulling up the blog in question before handing the devise to John for him to see. "Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes, I can't fine Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?" He said from memory, waddling slightly with every please.
"Bluebell…?" John asked.
Sherlock rounded on his remaining flatmate. "A rabbit, John!"
"Oh…" John said, wondering if they really could even consider taking this case.
"Ah, but there's more!" Sherlock said, John looking up to him from his chair. "Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous. Like a fairy, according to little Kirsty. Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still shut, no sign of a forced entry!" He said mockingly before realisation dawned on his face, hands waving about. "Ah, what am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade, tell him there's an escaped rabbit."
John just looked at the laptop again before back to his mad friend. "Are you serious?" With the amount of ridiculous cases they'd taken, he didn't quite know anymore.
"It's this…" Sherlock told him, "…or Cluedo."
"Ah, no!" John countered, putting the laptop of the table again. "We are never playing that again!"
"What?" Sherlock said, in confusion; Rose had always said no too, but they'd never actually explained why. "Why not?"
"Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock. That's why." John explained. He'd thought it would be fun to play a nice game of catch the killer - literally, just a normal game, no bombs or actual death - on Christmas day, but he'd soon regretted it, as had everyone else involved. A secret and unsaid agreement passed between them all; they'd never play Cluedo with Sherlock again.
"It was the only possible solution." Sherlock argued.
"Not in the rules!" John countered, knowing it wouldn't make any difference.
"Well, then the rules are wrong!" Sherlock shouted at him.
Ring…
The sound of the door bell ringing - for once fully operational - cut their debate short.
Listening for a few more seconds, John spoke up. "Single ring."
"Maximum pressure, just under the half second." Sherlock noted.
They looked at each other, both knowing what it all meant. "Client."