Okay, I know this is kind of short and a little out of my writing style, but it's the first time that I have attempted to include a real-life person into a story (at least one that's not a celebrity) and I wasn't quite sure how to go about it.
And to Tamuril2, who is featured in this story, I hope this lives up to what you were looking for. I apologise that's not as long as I had initially hoped it would be, but it seemed to naturally end there.
I know that Sherlock can be argued to be slightly out of character, so I'm placing this story into the unaired-plot alternate universe.
Sorry for any mistakes.
Tam
Her attention suddenly torn away from the thick book currently resting in her lap by the echo of the front door slamming closed, Tam's gaze danced towards the entrance that led into apartment 221B as she listened to the consulting detective's footsteps ascending the stairs. She could hear as the toes of his dress shoes scraped against the corner of each step, seeming as though he was struggling to drag his feet up the familiar staircase.
"Sherlock? What is it?" Tam questioned as the door opened and the man in question almost fell through it. Noting the wounded expression on Sherlock Holmes' usually emotionless face as he shrugged off his large Belstaff and tossed it in the general direction of where it was typically hung heightened her already alerted sense of concern for her friend. Without removing his shoes, the unquestionably distressed detective sauntered towards the sofa, his lanky frame hunched slightly, as though he was exhausted and the action of walking whilst standing under his own steam was too much of a chore for him. Placing her bookmark into the classic novel she was halfway through, the world's only consulting detective's new flatmate rose from her seat, placing the book on the arm of what was John Watson's chair.
Straightening the flowing skirt that ended just above her ankles, Tam made her way over to where her friend had flopped gracelessly onto the sofa.
Briefly straightening up Sherlock's unorganised, scribbled notes and case files, Tam perched on the edge of the coffee table in the space she had created and waited patiently for the graduate chemist to speak. Initially, it appeared as though he was going to simply ignore her inquiry and shrug off her attempt to comfort him. But then he shifted slightly, his, admittedly wetter than usual, eyes meeting hers before he raised a hand up, resting the index finger of his right hand against his bottom lip, bent at the middle knuckle, as though he was attempting lazily to make the universal 'shush' sign.
"Sherlock?" Tam prompted softly as she witnessed him blink in that too-slow way once more, his features, once displaying hurt, adopting a childlike expression, one she had only seen before when the detective perceived that he was in some kind of trouble.
In actuality, the last thing that Tam had expected to happen when she had made the step towards soothing the man was for him to accept her comfort. She was completely prepared for the self-assured detective to erect a figurative wall around himself and scoff at her attempts, claiming that he was fine and stating that he didn't require consolation.
Which is why it came as such a surprise to Tam when her flatmate surged forwards with a suddenness that made her jump.
"Tamuril," Sherlock spoke her name, not really one for nicknames, in what could only be described as a whine as he stretched his gangly arms outwards, clearly attempting to initiate an embrace. Sliding from her position on the uncomfortable coffee table, she joined him on the sofa, following through with the unanticipated hug as Sherlock laid his forehead against her shoulder.
Refraining from speaking as she was aware that the detective didn't require meaningless chatter or sweet nothings, Tam simply tightened her embrace on his thin frame, allowing him to remain leaning against as he sniffled slightly.
Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.
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