Chapter 1. A Sweet Scent
He had always been neat with his things.
John may disagree with that statement given the haphazardly stacked papers in his desk, overturned beakers in their kitchen and the occasional head beside their milk, but again -
Sherlock Holmes had always been neat with his things.
He has to - impeccable organization skills is vital in keeping an enormous mind palace such as his. Each information had to be properly categorized and neatly stored in their individual rooms. As is, his mind palace - a perfect replica of the Holmes estate - already have 24 rooms brimming with stored information and strategically placed memories, but it is still in dire need of renovation. It seems that the appearance of John Watson combined with the onslaught of cases he'd received had opened a floodgate of new data.
Now, a whole room in the east wing is dedicated to the good doctor while the dilapidated orrery in the library needs fixing - who knew that knowing that the Earth revolves around the sun could actually be helpful? He probably shouldn't have deleted that, it could have saved him a lot of trouble and teasing from John and Lestrade.
He had always kept his mind palace pristine and had made a habit of immediately sorting through his newly acquired data, thus his visits in the otherwise unreachable place had exponentially increased the past few years.
The ground floor had always been dedicated to his family and to his childhood memories that were retained, not out of sentiment 'god forbid they are!' but because they were the oldest memories. They were the ones he had used to build his mind palace and were so abused by the experiments he had done, while still exploring the potentials of the place, that they had been permanently retained.
For the most obvious reasons, he had always skipped this floor, unless of course he is dealing with Mycroft at which point, the kitchen becomes a gold mine of blackmails and sarcasm. He tends to avoid that place and instead go directly to the second floor west wing where his scientific research and interests have their own rooms, the biggest of which is located at the end of the hall behind brazen double doors and dedicated to forensic science.
Unlike the west wing, the northern wing was newly refurbished. With the appearance of James Moriarty and his claim to fame of being the world's only consulting criminal, Sherlock had to turn two of the rooms into Moriarty's while the rest were divided into all of his cases. Anything connected to Moriarty's crimes and his underground network were stored in the first room to the left. The one next to it, with its black lacquered door barred with heavy chains contains Moriarty himself.
Of course Moriarty is not really inside his mind, it was merely Sherlock's projection of Moriarty. Remnants of the dark character that forced Sherlock to acknowledge the one fact that he has always tried to ignore : that he was a human. A human capable of feeling; a human driven by desire for companionship; a human weakened by the want to protect others. After the Reichenbach Fall and the subsequent wild chase to bring down the network, Sherlock successfully muscled Moriarty behind the door and locked the insane genius alongside his loud taunts and mocking laughs. Occasionally, a scream would resound in the halls but Sherlock is finding it easier to just turn around and wander to a different area.
The east wing - with its six rooms lined side by side, sunlit hall decorated by equally spaced flower vases and walls dotted with famous paintings - is the most normal looking area of the second floor. The air smelled of domesticity, after all, this is the area dedicated to the people who managed to worm their way into his life. For characters like Molly Hooper or even Anderson, a shelf full of folders is situated just before the first room. However, there are people who have done remarkable things for, and with him, that it is only right for each of them to have a room.
The first room was for The Woman appropriately themed as The Red Room. Sherlock was not surprised when he was confronted by the fact that The Woman would have her own room in his mind palace. She deserved that room, for Irene Adler made him feel emotions. Of course he can't be bothered to figure out what those were, they are still probably in a box stowed somewhere in the Red Room but the important conclusion he gathered from his interaction with The Woman, was that sentiment was a dark pit he wouldn't want to fall into. The Woman is an enigma that reminded him how to feel and also why not to feel.
The next room was called The Blue Room. This was the first one to be created in this hall for it was dedicated to D.I. Lestrade. Immediately after meeting the inspector, Sherlock knew that he was one of the few from the Yard that he can actually work with. His recognition of Sherlock's brilliance and humility in accepting that they actually need his help earned him this room. Over the years, Lestrade proved himself to be a capable detective and leader - yes, he's not as brilliant as Sherlock is, but he was able to hold on to his stead despite being surrounded by mumbling idiots. For his division to still function even with the presence of people like Anderson and Donovan, is enough for Sherlock to know that Lestrade would be an important connection. That and the fact that the inspector isn't afraid to manhandle him by setting up fake drug busts whenever he feels necessary also earned him Sherlock's respect, although he'll never admit that out loud.
The following room is also themed with a different color, but what makes The Purple Room even more distinct is the aroma of freshly pressed linens that rises out of it. Without question, this is the room dedicated to their landlady-not-their-housekeeper Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock maybe a self-proclaimed sociopath but he acknowledges Mrs. Hudson as a mother-figure for him and John. The importance of this room shouldn't be discussed any further, his willingness to drop the attacker of Mrs. Hudson out of a window is enough for that.
The adjacent room, with its white-washed walls, lingering scent of musky cologne and general tidiness are telling signs that the said White Room belongs to Doctor John Watson. It is only logical that his flat-mate have his own room in Sherlock's mind palace, but the more pressing concern for the consulting detective is the alarming rate at which the room is being filled with new information. Usually, the first meeting spills all the beans that Sherlock cares to remember but each day with John Watson brings discoveries of - to Sherlock's amazement - not just about his flat-mate but about him as well. He had always deemed social interactions as petty but living with John proved to him that there are some aspects of society that is not as bad as he thinks. For one, having a friend isn't that bad after all. He prefers to keep to himself because he always viewed relationships as tedious and unnecessary. Yes, even after admitting to himself and to John that he considers the doctor as his friend, he still finds it tedious. Yet now, he finds comfort in knowing that someone believes in him.
Fully and loyally believes in him.
At first it felt like heavy boulders forced into his shoulders. It felt like a responsibility that he wasn't equipped enough to handle. The idea of people believing in him for what he is and not for what he knows is too foreign, that he tried to do away with it in the same manner that he does on things he cannot easily analyze. He tried to stow it away in the room adjacent to John's. Behind the nondescript oak door is the place he had designated for himself - the fifth room down the Eastern hall. Truth be told, the room would actually be better off with bars and chains and security comparable to Moriarty's if the number of times he want to be inside that room, is anything to go by.
The room was a dumping ground for all the things connected to him that he would not analyze. It is full of information that he knows, would lead to a dangerous path. Occasionally, he would enter the room just to check its condition but not once did he ever dare shift through it - until the events leading to The Fall. By then, the game had turned personal and Sherlock knew that his trump card is somewhere hidden in that room. Even then, he was cautious and touched only the things he knew were relevant to the situation. Since then, he restored his passivity towards that room.
His stroll through the East wing usually just ends at John's room. As far as he is concerned, he has no business going further, unless it is really necessary.
But something is happening in his mind palace. Something he can't control and can't quite explain and that something involves the furthest room down the hall.
The last room in the eastern hall, the one right next to his, is usually empty. It was the spare room, a place used to house temporary information about temporarily important people or temporarily important events. He always quickly clears that room when the information it holds are no longer of any use to him, and lately, there is a scarcity of interesting information so that room is supposedly empty.
Supposedly.
Two year ago. Mind Palace
It started out a few days after The Great Game case, with a whiff of strawberries that filled the air as he was doing his customary check-up on his room. At first he dismissed it as an olfactory memory of that day's breakfast of strawberry jam, generously spread on his toast by Mrs. Hudson. A few days after that however, the smell returned and this time, he was fairly certain he didn't have any strawberries or strawberry-flavored food. In fact, his day didn't involve anything that should have reminded him of strawberries. From then on the scent would occasionally fill the air, teasing his nose and distracting him from whatever he is doing. But whenever he is about to investigate, the smell would suddenly vanish, leaving him irritated until he was eventually driven to thoroughly search every room in his mind palace for the origin of the smell.
'It was not from one of his scientific inquiries in the west wing.'
'Definitely not Donovan's or one of John's girlfriends and Molly is always cooped up in the lab that she always smells like chemicals.'
'Not one of his cases have anything to do with that cursed fruit.'
'Probably from one of Mrs. Hudson's baked goods, but it doesn't make sense. Its... food, why would he retain anything about food? '
Desperate and frustrated that something like this could happen in his domain, he opened the last door he hadn't checked yet - the spare room - only to be overwhelmed by the sweet scent of strawberries. He stood in the middle of the empty room trying to look for a source but the smell seems to flow from the very walls.
'Strange…very very strange!'
But instead of wasting his time - something he should be dedicating to his cases - Sherlock just proceeded to reconstruct the room. Upon finishing the menial task, he was sure that the smell would not bother him any longer. However, the moment he touched the doorknob, the sweet scent hit him full force.
For a moment, everything was silent in the mind palace, until a loud bang from a slammed door resounded throughout the halls.
'Oh for god's sake!'
John watched as Sherlock suddenly jerked in his seat as he violently went back to reality. The doctor had noticed the increased frequency of Sherlock's visits to his mind palace, which is strange because their case is only a six and about to be wrapped up.
"Are you alright Sherlock?"
Upon hearing the voice of his flat-mate, the detective turned his gaze to John and stared for a few moments. John watched as the haze lifted from his friend's eyes and the awareness of reality seep through Sherlock.
"John, give me your cologne" Sherlock demanded as he extended his hand.
"Why?" John only stared at Sherlock's palm. He knew for a fact that Sherlock does not wear cologne. The detective has a personal hygiene of a cat after all - only do what's necessary or do only when it's necessary. Besides, cologne is one of his few indulgence, he can't have Sherlock waste something he had spent a few extra pounds on.
"Fine, be cheap stake then!"
Baffled by his friend's outburst, John could only watch as Sherlock rose from his seat to lay siege on their living room by rummaging and turning over their things. 'There goes my Sunday clean-up.'
"What in the world are you looking for, Sherlock?"
Instead of answering him, Sherlock continued to frantically search through their living room, even going as far as crouching down to look underneath the chairs. At last, after emerging empty handed, Sherlock turned back to John.
"I need a cigarette. Now! I need this whole place filled with cigarette smoke."
"What, no! Besides, you already have two nicotine patches!" John protested as Sherlock sternly looked at him. He wondered what could possibly be disturbing his friend, that he needs two patches and a cigarette.
But again, instead of answering him, Sherlock merely took a few deep breathes each released through a heavy sigh, but on his third time he suddenly stopped before he could exhale.
"FORMALDEHYDE!" Sherlock loudly declared startling John and driving the doctor even more confused. He then scrambled to their kitchen/laboratory, noisily opening their cupboards until he found the one where John stowed his body parts. Pulling out a big jar with a preserved brain floating in yellowish liquid, Sherlock can't help the grin that spread in his face.
Before John could even register what is happening, Sherlock had already unscrewed the lid, releasing a pungent and suffocating odor.
"Sherlock! What in the bloody hell are you doing?"
"Oh, John! Isn't the smell wonderful?"
So yes, Sherlock had always been neat with his things.
Except those from the Spare Room.
a/n. I know, not much fluffy action - okay no fluffy action at all! But be assured, this is a Sherlolly fic. It was a slow build-up and actually more of Sherlock and his mind palace. I was actually trying to create a detailed mind palace since it is the main location of the story. Please bear with me :)
Please feel free to leave a review, this is after all my first fic! Thanks!