It was midnight, and my boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, was not home yet.
He went out about eight hours ago, telling me that he would not be long. Obviously, he didn't keep to his promise. I was used to Sherlock going off for long periods of time, but he would at least send me a text message to let me know that he was alive. Nervously, I pulled out my phone and reread the messaged from earlier today.
Sherlock: I'm going out.
Me: How long will you be?
Sherlock: Not too long. I just have to finish up with a case, talk to Lestrade, all that jazz. I'll be back home with you ASAP.
Me: Okay. See you then. xx
And that was the last thing he said to me before losing all contact.
Me: Sherlock, where are you? I miss you.
After pressing send, I walked into our bedroom. I threw my phone onto the folded sheets of our neatly made bed (my job) and began to pick clothes up from Sherlock's side of the bed. For a man who always ended up wearing the same suit for days in a row, he went through a lot of clothes. None of the clothes were dirty, and were probably pulled out of the closet when he was looking for a specific shoe, or a special tie. Sighing, I began to pile them onto the bed and fold the outfits together. While bending over to grab a pair of Sherlock's bright orange briefs, I heard my phone go off with a text from him. Quickly, I grabbed the device and opened the message.
Sherlock: I'm at St. Bart's. Do you want to meet me for dinner in a few minutes?
Sherlock: And by dinner, I mean that you'll be eating and I'll be observing our surroundings.
Me: Thank God. I'll be there.
Although it was late, and I had already eaten dinner, I would go. Sherlock and I barely got a chance to sit down and eat together, even though he would never do the eating. There was barely anyone on the streets, but a cab was just driving down Baker Street, and I flagged it down. Of course, it stopped, and I pulled the door open. "Giltspur Street, please," I instructed the driver, and sat down for the drive.
When we reached the hospital, I handed the driver the fare, telling him to keep the change as a tip. Upon opening the door, I saw Sherlock waiting for me, leaning against the wall next to the revolving door on his phone. I felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket, and pulled it out to see a message from Sherlock.
Sherlock: I can see you…
I leaned against the wall next to the adorable idiot and planted a light kiss on his cheek to get his attention. Still smirking at his phone, and fully absorbed in the text that he had just sent me, he jumped at my touch. On the dark street, it was almost as if we were in a spotlight under the streetlight near the hospital. We were the only people outside, and though some lights shone from inside several buildings, the street was silent. Without saying a word, he took my hand and began to lead me to a small café with a few tables sitting outside of it. I hadn't been to it before, but it looked nice, and I assumed that as Sherlock probably had some sort of connection inside, we wouldn't be paying much for dinner.
When we entered the café, a small man approached us, and, confirming my suspicions, embraced Sherlock tightly, exclaiming his name. "Sherlock! How are you, old friend? You know, I'm still not over those… favors you did me all those years ago. I was just closing up, but I'll stick around for you. And who's this? Did you find yourself a boyfriend?" He winked at me. I could feel myself blushing. Although Sherlock and I had been a couple for a while, I was not used to people bringing it to attention.
With a small smile on his face, Sherlock replied, in a mocking tone, "Ah yes! This is John, my partner. He's rather nice, isn't he? I don't believe you've met…" He trailed off upon seeing the stern gave that I was giving him. Now, visibly conscious of what he was saying, he continued, "Uhm, yes, this is John. There's no need to stay open. We- he'll just take some food and an outside table, and then you can be on your lonely way. I need to keep an eye on the area; could be some trouble tomorrow. How's the wife, by the way? I see she's keeping up the tradition of big Sunday lunches." He stressed the word "big", and looked the man up and down, inspecting his body.
Clearing my throat, I joined the conversation by offering my hand to the man. He introduced himself as Alex, while vigorously shaking my hand. "I… well, I'm John, I guess you know that by now, I… nice to meet you." Alex gave me a small smile, and turned to enter the kitchen, presumably to make what ever food I would be eating that night. Sherlock led me outside, leaving the door open. "Do you care to explain where you've been all day?" I gave him a questioning look. I had to be at work all day, and couldn't go off and help him with the latest case, but I still wanted to know what he got up to, both for my blog and myself. He sighed deeply, and began to explain the case to me. After about ten minutes, Alex came back out of the now darkened café and handed me a plate with some pasta on it. I thanked him with a nod of my head, as Sherlock was still talking, and it was not a good idea to interrupt him. Sherlock could talk for hours on end, and then go days only acknowledging anyone when they made him tea. It seemed that today he was going with the former option, giving me and overly descriptive narrative of his day's work. I started to eat my meal, and waved to Alex as he left down the empty street. He gave me and wink and was gone.
Turning back to Sherlock, who was still demanding my attention with his story, I finished the rest of the food in silence, just taking in what he was saying. He reached the end of a rather long sentence and paused, thinking. "…And that's where I'm stuck. How can he have died, and I know he died, I inspected the body, and yet have been at his own funeral the next month where was then killed again. I've come up with every way that he could have not-died, but none of them fit the situation." He looked at me expectantly, as if I somehow knew the answer to his problems.
Laughing, I shook my head, asking, "I don't know, how?"
Suddenly, his gave locked onto something behind my head, and I began to turn and look, stopped by his deep voice whispering, "John, don't look now, but there is a man behind you, and if he's the man that I'm looking for, he'll follow us… come on, we have to go." He rose from his seat and grabbed a hold of my hand. Feeling my heart rate increase, both because of his touch and the situation that I was now in, I followed him down the dark street, not looking behind me.
/ A/N: Hey! Starting something new here (: I'm not sure how long his is going to end up being, but I have a kind-of idea about where it's going in terms of plot. I'll try and update ASAP, but it takes a while to finish a good length chapter. Current word count: 1,270