Hello! So this is my first ever Sherlock Fanfiction, so please be supportive!
The story that I have recently been writing has come to a sudden stop, as I've got a bit of Writer's Block, so I thought I'd try something new to refresh my memory. My love for BBC's Sherlock came about when the 3rd series started, and since then I can't get enough of it. I've nearly finished the second series, and I'm buzzing!
I'm afraid, as much as I love Johnlock, the most Johnlock-y-ness you will get in this story is their friendship; I love Mary too much, so I can't get rid of her! There will be a couple of my own OC's on the way, and once I get into this story I'll start drawing some fan art for it, and I'll put the link to my Deviantart in my Bio when all of that is sorted.. unless it's already there, I'm not sure...
Anyway, enough bable, enjoy!
February 2014
"John?"
221b Baker Street remained completely silent. The sun shone through the dull paned windows, bringing to view the billions of dust and skin particles that floated through the air.
"John!"
There was a musky smell about the place, pleasant, but unwanted. It was a mixture of herbal tea and and chemicals; the chemical scent coming from the range of test tubes and beakers laid out on the breakfast bar and kitchen counter.
"John?!"
The living room had become increasingly messy; it hadn't seen a hoover in over a month. Discarded newspapers piled up beside the larger arm chair of the two that occupied most of the space in the room, books stacked up on the side desk.
"JOHN?!"
Sherlock lost his patience, striding from his room through the kitchen and into the living area. His eyes darted around with frustration. He'd asked John to bring him a pen almost an hour ago, and didn't enjoy being ignored.
"John, where are you?" The world's only consulting detective called up the stairs to his friend's old room. Old room. Ah yes, now he remembered. Sherlock felt a wave of both annoyance and hurt wash over him. John was now living with Mary, their baby due any day now. The detective often forgot that his ex-flat mate didn't live with him anymore, which he found rather frustrating as he hadn't been for quite some time now.
Sherlock sighed as he dropped roughly into his favourite arm chair, rubbing a hand down his face. He didn't often get tired, but recently he'd become increasingly so. The detective hadn't had a case, a good case, in weeks, and found himself on the brink of getting a proper job just to take his mind off of things. Things such as his best friend moving out. Things such as him often finding himself completely alone.
Sherlock reached over to his desk and grabbed his phone. Still no word from Lestrade about a new case. He thought about texting John, but decided against it. He had his hands full taking care of Mary. Though, despite making her his priority, and while keeping his job, John still managed to find some time for Sherlock. He knew Sherlock couldn't cope without him. He'd be lost without his blogger. They'd go for some cheap Chinese, or John would drown himself in a pint of beer while Sherlock talked and kept a close eye on him, and on the rare occasion, John would allow himself to become involved in one of Sherlock's cases, then blog about it.
John still blogged about the time he spent with Sherlock. Each of his blogs became more meaningful and sensitive, the less time he actually spent with the man. He'd been voted by a reading company for 'Best Blogger of the Year, 2014', the award ceremony to take place at a yet-to-be-decided location in July.
Just when he thought he'd have to take his boredom out on the wall once more, Sherlock's phone stopped him. He looked down at the screen to see that he'd received a text from John.
How convenient, he thought with a sarcastic roll of his eyes as he unlocked his phone to take a proper look at the message.
HOSPITAL - NOW
JW
The consulting detective had to read the message through a couple of times before he could properly deduce it. In his own defence, text messages were a lot harder to deduce than an actual person.
The text was clearly from John, or else it wouldn't have been signed off with 'JW', that much was obvious. Also, John only used capitals if the situation was urgent, and would type out his messages fully without using short cuts. Sherlock racked his brain. Why would John be at the hospital?
He suddenly shot up from his chair and grabbed his coat, charging down the stairs and out of the door without a single word of explanation to Mrs Hudson as he ran to the side of the road and signalled for a taxi. He climbed in the back and practically yelled at the cabbie.
'St. Bart's hospital, and step on it, damn you!'
The baby was coming.
Author's Note
Ta dahhhh! What did you all think? Feedback (constructive criticism included!) is very welcome! Sorry it was a bit short, but it's just to get you into the story. I'm already working on the next chapter, so it should be up in the next week, maybe even a couple of days. See you then!