( Hello there.! I really feel honoured that people would actually read and like my writing, so thanks so much for stopping by.!
The basic plot is that my character who will remain nameless until the next chapter, calls at Baker Street in seek of some special sort of help. Not giving away any details just yet.! Based before the Reichenbach fall. Warnings for violence, possible swearing, adult situations later on, and slight chance of heartbreak. )
( Criticism is welcomed. )
( Please, remember to like and favourite my work if you want to read more of it. My new character will be introduced in full detail in the next chapter.c:
New chapters will be updated weekly. )
( Love and hugs, )
pastachann.( x )
Chapter one. - Hello, stranger.
"John. John. John, are you listening to me?" came the tired and commanding call from one infamous London Detective, bringing his clasped hands to his lips as he waited impatiently for a reply of some sorts. From across the small yet cosy room of Baker Street, an older looking blonde sat comfortably in a dark plush arm-chair, having been interrupted yet again from the seemingly important work he was doing on his laptop. With an exasperated sigh, the man slowly closed his laptop lid in defeat, shifting in the chair to put the device back down on the short oak coffee table in front.
"What is it now, Sherlock? I was a little busy." Blinking, rich hazel eyes moved to rest on said Sherlock Holmes, sitting rather calmly on the couch opposite him, showing not even the faintest signs of apology in those frosty blue eyes of his. Without warning, Sherlock practically leaped up from his seat, making a swift dash forward, swerving to barely miss the table before beginning to pace up and down, his thick charcoal curls bouncing up and down in contrast to the young male's wild and erratic movements. "I'll tell you, shall I? I am the world's only Consulting Detective. And what do I do? I solve crimes and catch criminals; at least I would, if there were any cases to solve!" replied the now not so calm Sherlock, his brows furrowing together with immense distaste as he reached the end of the flat, only to spin around and go ahead to the other end.
The newly introduced John gave another irritated sigh, gripping the bridge of his nose at his friend's childish and needy outburst for anything to quell his growing boredom. "Sherlock," he began, a little more softly this time, rising steadily to his feet and making a beeline towards the open plan kitchen a few meters away. Although, a few meters did seem a little challenging to the blonde; having earned a bit more than a medal in his time working as an Army Doctor in the Afghanistan conflicts. Because of an unfortunate bullet to his thigh, John was occasionally forced to carry around a cane for stability and to take pressure from his injury. "What about that murder case a couple of days ago? You didn't enjoy that?"
Shaking his head quickly, Sherlock turned around once more, standing to stare at the black of his kind yet growing annoyance of a flat mate's head of champagne locks, cold cerulean eyes narrowing slightly as he thought through his reply. "No," he stated plainly, shoulder slumping slowly as he returned to his seat, crossing both arms across his chest. "I worked it out in moments. Clearly, the murderer was the woman's husband. I mean, it was obvious, didn't you see the way he looked? If murderer had a stereotype, it would have been him," the tall male continued, although he didn't particularly care whether or not John was listening anymore. "Also, his alibi didn't match up to the dates, and clearly he was lying about going to the local shopping centre at the time of the murder. An easy, predictable, and utterly boring case."
True enough, the ex Solider had discontinued listening to the complaints of his raven haired friend and focused mainly on preparing two cups of tea for them both. Carefully dropping the square tea bag into the coincidentally Union Jack patterned mug of steaming water, watching with idle curiosity as the translucent liquid swirled and churned in its small confines, gradually growing darker into a more tea coloured shade. After a moments waiting, John removed the now drained tea bag and discarded it into the bin, fumbling around in the cupboards until his hands reached up to grip around the circular jar he was hoping for. Did Sherlock like two sugars, or just one in his tea? pondered the blonde, oak coloured eyes darting from left to right as his mind pondered strongly. Desiding that it was better to choose a single sugar over two, the older male gave the tea cups a last stir, before turning and carrying them back into the occupied living room.
Sherlock, who had complained to himself about various things for the past couple of minutes was seated back on the dark patterned plush couch, his slender fingers brushing gently against rose-pink lips. He was thinking; quite deeply, from the looks of things. Judging it fit not to disturb his friend, John came around to sit down opposite the dark-haired Detective, placing both hot mugs down on the oval-shaped decorative drink mats. Mrs Hudson would be livid if she found tea rings obscuring on her fine oak table.
"Sherlock-" called John, although he was unable to finish whatever he was going to say, turned his head to the side in reply to a loud chime ringing about Baker Street. The doorbell. Strange, thought the platinum blonde, we don't usually have visitors. Actually, we never have visitors. Careful not to knock over the still red-hot drinks, the Doctor made a movement to get up, but was stopped by the clearly noticable form of Sherlock striding across the room in direction of the apartment's front door. He, too, must have found it even a little suprising that someone would come knocking at their door. Maybe it was the chance at a new case that had excited the young Holmes. Or possibly the aspect of making a new friend, or enemy. The second option seemed to make more sense, anyway.
"Hello?" answered Sherlock, turning the shiny brass door handle and gently pulling it back to fully see just who was calling at this hour. Strangely, the sight that appeared before him seemed to make the charcoal haired Detective's sapphire eyes widen with shock. With the tall Sherlock and his frame obscuring his view of the door, John could only hear just who his flat mate had greeted moments before.
"Ah, hello. I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes? I believe that I have the address right; 221B Baker Street. Do you know where I can find Mister Holmes?"