Chapter one: a strange light
It was a cold night, John and Sherlock were walking through the streets of London after solving their most recent case. Sherlock was in a good mood, he even still had his collar up. John was talking about how he took Mary out to dinner last week but Sherlock just stares out into the distance like he usually does. Suddenly he notices a glimpse of light in the corner of his eye. Curiously he turns his head to see what he expected, nothing. They continue their walk to 221B Baker street and John keeps on talking but Sherlock really didn't care. This caused the walk to baker street to seem like forever. But as they crossed the street to their home Sherlock saw the glimpse of light again and quickly turned around, only to find a small, flying creature about five centimetres away from him. He didn't exactly know what to think of this creature because it was so illogical yet it was there. He took a step back and started walking around the creature, studying it. "how interesting" he said, "John, what do you think?" John stared at Sherlock with an empty stare before asking "about what?" Sherlock was too busy studying the creature and john had to repeat himself before receiving an emotionless "about whatever this is". John's face didn't change while he said "I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, there is nothing there." For the first time since he started circling, he stopped. He almost flew to where John was standing only to end up ten centimetres away from his face. "about the small flying projectile of course." John took a step back to create some space and looked at the blank air Sherlock was staring at, searching for a sign of pretty much anything, but there was nothing. "let's just get you inside, you've had a long day" John said. "how about I ask Miss Hudson to make you a cup of tea." He moved behind Sherlock, slightly pushing him to the front door. Sherlock reached for the creature and caught it within his hands and held on as well as he could before finally giving in and walking the rest of the way. As soon as John closed the door he ran upstairs to his bedroom and locked the door. John knew this wasn't the first time he had done this exact thing and decided to leave him alone and watch some television.
Around midnight John awoke from his sleep, realising he was still sitting in his chair in front of the television. He looked at Sherlock's door only to see it still closed. He had gotten quite worried since he was acting so strange. It could just have been him being strange but he could also be using again. But John decided to trust Sherlock. He turned off the television and walked up to his room and laid down on his bed where he almost immediately fell asleep.
Sherlock heard John going upstairs and quickly moved to the kitchen, searching for a glass jar. His large hands still holding on to the creature. Just for a second he thought about what he could be holding. But he couldn't stop, he was Sherlock Holmes, the only Consulting Detective in the world. After standing still while thinking about this for about five seconds he continued searching for the jar only to find one under the sink. He reached for it with his empty hand and struggled to open the lid without releasing the creature. After what seemed like forever he managed to get it open and quickly put it in. he put the lid on as tight as he could and reached for a knife. He held on to it with his strong and steady hand and made a strong move creating a small hole in the lid. The creature could breath, if it even had to, but the consulting detective simply couldn't. It was too much of a mess around him. He turned around and looked at the kitchen table full of glass bottles with various liquids in them. In an attempt to clear his mind he shoved them all to the ground causing a loud sound. He felt a sharp pain in his arm but he was more worried that it would wake John and this caused him to freeze for a minute. After not hearing any sound from the upstairs bedroom he finally looked at his arm. He acted out of such impulse that he had forgotten that there was a broken bottle on the table. There was now a large cut on his arm with several small pieces of glass in them. The glass had a strange colour from the liquid that had been in the bottle. He quickly removed his shirt, revealing his pale torso, and reached for a pair of tweezers in the drawer. He aimed the light he used to study objects at his arm and removed the glass that had gotten into his arm and threw them on the floor. He hurried while doing this but his steady hands never failed him. When the glass had left his pale and bloody arm he reached for the towel that hung half in the sink and tied it around his arm. When he had done this he turned to the strange creature in the jar. He picked it up and started moving it around. Turning it left and right, looking at it from every angle. But he still had no idea what it was. It took him a moment to realise that this strange, glowing creature was in fact a she. It looked like a girl, only she was about the size of his little finger. Her lilac hair in a messy bun and a fringe just above her eyes. She seemed to be wearing a black dress that was just above her tiny knees, also for some reason she was not wearing shoes. He also noticed that she gave off a slight lilac glow. He thought he was imagining it all and moved to the sink to splash some water in his face, hoping he would either wake up or stop imagining the small female creature. While he was bending over the sink with his wet hair that stuck to his dripping face he thought he heard something. It sounded almost like a small ringing, almost too soft to hear. He raised his head and started searching for the source of the sound before finding out the sound came from the jar. He fell on his knees in front of the kitchen table. He lifted up the jar and moved it up, placing his left ear right on the holes in the lid. He sat like that, completely still, for about five minutes after which he decided to put the jar back down. But at that moment he heard it, the sound that would end up changing his life
"Hello William, my old friend."
