Sherlock Holmes, commonly known to her friends – not that she had many. In fact she only had one – as Sherly, was not happy. They had run out of milk yet again! Sherly sighed, rubbing her temples she flopped onto the sofa, rather ungraciously. Her blue striped satin dressing gown flew around her legs as she did. Pulling her phone from the pocket, she opened her inbox. Her thumbs moved quickly on the QWERTY keypad.
Joan. We need more milk – SH.
Sherly clicked send, placed the phone on the table, then rolled over onto her side. In that rather sulky fashion. Without milk her latest experiment was going to go to waste. She could not have that. This experiment could help solve a particularly tricky case. The sound of her phone vibrating on the wooden coffee table, brought her up into a sitting position. Picking the phone up again, she opened the text message.
What on earth did you do with the pint I brought yesterday? -Joan
Sherlock smirked. Joan would not like to know that Sherly had thought it the wrong kind of milk and had tipped it down the sink. So she lied.
Drank it already.
This time buy SEMI-SKIMMED -SH.
Looking around idly, now that she had dealt with that, she had no idea what to do. She was bored. Her phone vibrated in her hand once more, and she looked down.
Fine. If I must Sherlock.
I'll bring it after I finish my shift -Joan
Sherly groaned. That long? She was so bored already. Turning around, a rather sinister smirk graced her facial features. She had spotted that old smiley face she had once spray painted on the wall. They hadn't gotten around to replacing the paper yet, a job which seemed long overdue. "I wonder if Joan's hidden her gun yet" she muttered to herself. Joan had at one time threatened to hide the gun. But it seemed that Joan had either not bothered hiding it or forgotten, as it was where Joan usually kept in, in a locked draw in her bedside cabinet, which was extremely easy to break into. Picking up the gun, Sherlock grinned at the feel of it in her fingers. Now, this was better than boredom. Striding back into the living room, Sherlock lined herself up with the smiley face, and shot. The gun shot pierced the insanely quiet flat, and in seconds more shots followed. When she ran out of bullets, she threw the gun down, shooting the wall had barely kept her from boredom for more than a minute.
"Sherlock Lyra Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs. "If you've been shooting the wall again, it's coming out of your rent" she shouted, it was a little louder than before. She was in the hallway now. Sherlock was vaguely away of the door opening. Then Mrs Hudson screeched so loud and shrilly, it irritated her ear drums. "What on earth have you done to my wall!" she scolded Sherlock. "It's coming out of your rent" she continued, then her tone dropped the a quiet mutter. "Poor Miss Watson, having to put up with you shooting the walls" Sherlock flashed Mrs Hudson a real smile, which stopped her in her thoughts. "Oh Sherlock dear, you do look so pretty when you smile" Mrs Hudson complimented her, and Sherlock fought the urge to blush, quelling it successfully. She wasn't used to being called pretty. Freak, yes, pretty no. If it had been Joan, she probably would have stammered something illegible, and cursed at her bodies inability to not react. Sherlock had never had a friend, not a real one. No one stuck around with her for more than a week. She had learnt to forget the pain of people leaving. But she wasn't sure she'd be able to forget the pain if Joan left. Joan had become her best friend in only a short amount of time. Not that she'd admit it any time soon. Mrs Hudson stayed up and talked with her after that. Mostly to stop her shooting the wall down. An hour or two later, Sherlock's phone vibrated.
On way back, with milk.
Had to pay with cash.
Had a fight with a chip-n-pin machine...again. -Joan
Sherlock smiled in an amused fashion. Really? What was it with Joan and chip-n-pin machines? She shook her head slightly. "Mrs. Hudson, you don't have to 'babysit' me anymore, Joan is on her way back" Sherlock spoke and lifted her gaze from the phone screen to look at Mrs Hudson. Mrs Hudson hesitated.
"No more shooting the walls?" she asked her with an eyebrow raised. Sherlock nodded. She couldn't promise she wouldn't. But she could agree to it for now.
Good. Get back soon.
Mrs Hudson isn't happy.
I may have shoot the wall a few times. -SH
Sherlock finished the text with her usual signature. Standing, Sherlock made her way to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water (all she could be bothered to drink when Joan wasn't around) she leant against the smooth kitchen table, and waited. Taking small sips of the cool water rehydrated her body, and kept her mind at peak condition. She looked down at her clothes, realising she was still in the dark grassy green t-shirt, and flannel pyjama bottoms. Sherlock rushed up the stairs and changed, into her usual dark purple shirt, with a waist high black skirt. She slipped her feet into the high heels, and walked down the stairs, to find Joan was already back. "Hello Joan" she greeted her flatmate and friend, in a overly cheerful manner. It didn't perturb Joan though. "Sherlock" she growled rather menacingly, "What in your large fantastic mind thought it was a good idea to shoot the wall?" she asked Sherlock shouting at her, before she regained her control.
"I was bored" was Sherlock's simple reply. "Bored. Bored" Joan repeated in her disbelieving fashion. "I thought we'd been over this. You don't shoot the wall because your bored. God how many more shifts will I need to take on to cover this" she spoke, her tone somewhat reluctant and resigned. Sherlock often refused payment from cases, which Joan thought absurd. Suddenly a thought popped into Sherlock's mind. She quickly shouted "Joan mind the human heart in the fridge, its for an experiment" the only reply was Joan's shriek of horror, and the sound of something rubbery and wet hitting the floor. Sherlock walked calmly around to the kitchen and picked the fallen heart. "Do you mind, I can't have it contaminated" she muttered, and Joan's anger returned in full swing. "Do I mind. Do I mind. Sherlock! I thought that heart was for dinner!" She exclaimed, Sherly's eyes widened. "God no! Just no You aren't a cannibal." she started then muttered, "I thought I was the 'strange' one".
Now it was Joan's eyes that widened, although it was rather comical to Sherlock. "You are the strange one Sherly. Well, sorry but I didn't think it looked like a heart" Sherlock bit back the retort on her tongue, but it ran through her mind well what a good doctor you must have been she didn't want to enrage Joan anymore. "Now that I know it isn't..." Joan paused, and looked at Sherlock almost innocently, this couldn't be good. "Get rid of it Sherly!" she shouted as loud as she could. Not minding if she worried Mrs Hudson.
Sherlock's mind worked quickly, and the first thing her brilliant mind told her to do was bribe Joan. "No, no, no. I'll go to the supermarket next time. It would be worth it. Do you know what it took me to get that heart?" she asked, but Joan was having none of it.
"No. I'm chucking it away. Your experiments creep me out, Are you bored or something? Go, find a nice murder?" she sighed and shook her head. "I'll go see if Mrs. Hudson will make us some tea" Joan then walked from the flat, and down to Mrs Hudson's, presumably to calm down. Sherly knew she would have to call Lestrade soon. She needed a case. Even if it were a cold case from decades ago. She had to fill the boredom with something. Picking up the blackberry curve 9700 from where it lay on the table, she flicked through her contacts. However her contacts were few, and it didn't take her long to find Lestrade. Pressing the green 'call' button, she held the phone to her ear.
"Sherlock" Lestrade greeted. Sherlock ignored the so called 'pleasantries' and went straight to what she wanted.
"Any cases?" she spoke in a formal rather impolite tone. There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Sorry Sherlock, you can't barge in on official police business" Lestrade told her, and then he hung up after a quick goodbye, not wishing to hear her arguments. Sherlock let out an exasperated groan.
Joan, please hurry with the cups of tea.
Unless you want me to find your stash of bullets and start shooting again -SH.
She knew it was rude, but she didn't care. She was Sherlock Holmes. Why should she care.
Her phone vibrated in her hand, Joan had replied.
Just waiting on the kettle, I had to plead Mrs. Hudson.
I hope you have a nice birthday or Christmas gift for her -Joan
I don't think you want me giving people presents...
The last present I brought someone was a dead frog – it was for Mycroft -SH
… A DEAD FROG? -Joan
Yes, a dead frog.
No need for capitalisation. I don't like him -SH
When Sherlock didn't get a reply. She wanted to text again, just to annoy Joan, but she could hear footsteps on the stairs. Slow footsteps. Joan was obviously walking up the stairs slowly to avoid spilling the teas. Sherlock opened the door for her, and left it open whilst she walked back to 'her' sofa. Slumping in it. She closed her eyes and listened. When Joan arrived at the flat, she kicked the door shut with her foot, and stomped over to Sherlock, placed the mug down on a coaster then went to the desk in the living room to drink hers whilst blogging.
"What case are you blogging about this time?" Sherlock asked even bothering to open his eyes to know that Joan was blogging. The tapping on the keyboard had told Sherlock that Joan was on her laptop, and the only thing Joan did on her laptop was blog.
"The Hounds of Baskerville" she replied simply. Sherlock knew it probably wasn't going to be very... nice about her. Sherlock had scared her friend half to death. It was only to prove that she was right about the sugar. Which turned out to be a wrong theory anyway. How was Sherlock to know she had already been subjected to the chemicals. Sherlock thought it would be best to apologize for the sake of her friend and for what was being written on that blog.
"I am... sorry, you know, for the whole locking you in the lab ordeal" she spoke softly, making Joan look up in shock, before an amused grin appeared on her face. "You apologized Sherly" she grinned at Sherlock, making the detective roll her eyes. "Yes.. don't get used to it" she muttered, luckily Joan hadn't heard and had gone back to blogging, otherwise Sherlock was sure she would have laughed. "Its all fine Sherl, its all fine" Joan spoke without looking at her. It must have been 10 minutes or so, before anyone spoke. "There we go. Finished that one" Joan was tempted to bring up the fact that Sherlock was wrong. That it hadn't been in the sugar.
Sherlock's phone rang. Mycroft flashed up twice on the screen, before she reluctantly answered it. "What is it you want?" she asked, and Mycroft spoke softly. "I think its best you leave the room" Sherlock frowned but did as he said. "I'm out of the room, now what!" Sherlock spoke in a frustrated manner. "We had Moriaty" he spoke lowly. Sherlock blinked. Now she was interested. "You what? And why do you say had?" she asked, curious. "Well... we let him go" Mycroft winced as Sherlock screeched down the phone "you let him go?".
Sherlock could almost see him nodding. "Thank you Mycroft. If you have nothing else to say then hang up." Sherlock heard the line go dead, then walked back to Joan, who had heard her little outburst. Joan gave her a quizzing look. "Mycroft let Moriaty go. The game isn't over yet" Sherlock simply stated. Joan started to panic. "Oh dear god. Jesus. Has he contacted you yet?" she asked, not sure if Sherlock still had that damned pink I-Phone. Sherlock shook her head. He hadn't contacted her yet. In fact Sherlock wasn't sure if he would bother this time.
There was a loud beep in the room, and Sherlock knew what it was. It was her computer. She had an email.
To: Sherlock Holmes
CC: Mycroft Holmes; Joan Watson
From: Harold Milton [.]
To Ms. Holmes,
I have heard of your talent for solving crimes, so I would like to consult you with a case. You see, the famous painting, "Falls of the Reichenbach" has been stolen from my own private collection. It is Turner's masterpiece and my own prize jewel. It is the centre piece of my art collection.
Sherlock stopped reading for a brief moment to pick up the pre-made cup of tea, that was cooling now, and take a sip.
It was stolen from inside a locked room, which none of the doors or windows show signs of forced entry. I am prepared to offer a vast sum of money for the swift return of it. I understand that you must be inundated with emails, but I urge you to take my case.
Yours Sincerely, H. Milton
Sherlock placed the tea to her lips, boring she thought, but before she could reply telling Mr Milton that she would not take on the case. Joan who had sat down next to her on the sofa, to read the email with her, jumped in. "We are taking that case Sherlock. We need it, you need it, your so bored you're destroying the flat" she almost growled, and Sherlock had to see why Joan had survived in the army. She could be tough when need be. Sherlock shrugged. She would have to deal with it. "I shall reply telling him that I shall take it then" Sherlock sighed, her fingers flew to the keyboard.
To: Harold Milton [... ]
CC: Mycroft Holmes; Joan Watson
From: Sherlock Holmes
Mr Milton,
After discussion with my colleague we have agreed to take on your case. You should be truly grateful to Ms Watson, who has urged me to agree. I will meet with you tomorrow at 12. No earlier. No later. Please be ready. Bring details of crime.
SH
"Thank you Sherly" Joan smiled at her, then stood, she rolled her shoulders back, in attempt to loosen the tight scar tissue that still caused her a few problems. Sherlock huffed. She was not in the best of moods now. "Sherlock..." Joan started again, and was meet with an annoyed huff. "You seriously can't be annoyed with me for getting you to take that case!" Joan groaned exasperated, but apparently she could, as Joan got no reply. Joan rolled her eyes, and returned to her own laptop. Typing in the password, she had so delightfully chosen as 'sherlockgetoffmylaptop'. A password Sherlock had worked out within minutes, but Joan didn't need to know that for now. Joan messed around for a while playing around with the laptop settings, before beginning another blog post.
The Stolen Painting.
Today one Harold Milton emailed my flatmate Sherlock about a case. Now I could see from Sherlock's face that she wasn't going to accept it, but we seriously need it. Sherlock has been annoyingly bored recently, and has taken to shooting the wall again. Like myself or Mrs Hudson wouldn't notice! Well I think Sherly wanted me to know, she text me saying she'd done so. Anyway, after a little bit of persuasion, I got Sherlock to take the case. We are getting ready to go and meet Harold Milton, tomorrow. I wonder why he didn't just tell the police? Maybe he knew Sherlock was better. Scotland Yard will hate me for this, but Sherlock is better than most if not all of the detectives they have there. Now I have to deal with Sherlock being annoyed with me for making her take a 'boring' case. She isn't talking to me at the moment, but that could be a blessing. Sometimes peace is just what is needed. Especially when it comes to Sherlock. There is only so much a sane person can take.
Joan clicked post, and signed off the blog. She quickly checked the views counter. Still 1895. Why was it stuck on that number? Joan shrugged it off, and closed the lid of her laptop. "Come on Sherlock, We have the rest of the day ahead of us, why don't you go start an experiment or something?" she suggested, it was rather unnerving just to see Sherlock staring into space with an vacant look on her face. Sherlock didn't answer. She picked up the violin and started playing a tune that sounded familiar to Joan. Joan didn't know much opera, but to her it sounded like 'Con Te Partiro', the soothing tune then descends into the agitated plucking that Joan is used to now. It was rare for Sherly to play an actual tune on her violin. Usually it was just plucking away at random strings. It (if Joan was honest) wasn't very good. Sherlock usually sounded as if she were abusing the violin rather than playing it.
Joan shook her short hair from her face. Her hair was getting longer, but it seemed weird now to have it long after years if military short hair. Her short blond hair contrasted with Sherlock's long onyx curled locks. Sherlock had her hair tied back in the usual fashion. A messy bun that had strands of black hair falling from it haphazardly. Even when sitting, Joan could tell Sherlock was taller than her. It was rather strange to see them standing together. They seemed so different. Joan had short blond straight hair was short and wore comfy jumpers with jeans and comfortable shoes. Sherlock had long black curly hair, was tall and tended to wear the fitted suits that seemed that they were uncomfortable with plain black heels. Sherlock wearing heels didn't help the height difference. Joan had been a little intimidated by Sherlock to begin with, but it had soon worn off. Also in Joan's medical opinion, Sherlock was not a sociopath. She was a bitch most of the time and darn right rude, but Sherlock did have feelings. She did care. It was rare for Sherlock to show her emotions, but Joan had seen them. Twice now. First at the pool and the second time was in the little inn, where they had sat in those comfy armchairs and Sherlock had looked so shaken and... doubtful.
Having had enough for being ignored for one day. Joan sighed, rolled her eyes and stood. Wincing as she pushed herself from the chair using her 'dodgy' arm. Even now, over a year after the injury itself, it still caused her some trouble. She pulled on her black coat, that finished at her hips, unlike Sherlock's woolen coat that finished at the top half of her thighs. "I'm going out" she called, and got no word in reply.
Walking stiffly down the street, she wondered if Mark Hooper would welcome her calling now. They weren't the best of friends, but Mark did seem like a nice guy. Joan did just need someone to talk to right now. Someone 'normal'. Typing 'Mark' into the phone she clicked call. Placing the phone to her ear she waited as the ring tone blasted in her ear. "Joan" a male voice called down the speaker. It was soft and calming, with an paternal edge. "Mark, can I come and talk to you? Sherlock is being a bitch again" Joan complained to Mark. There was laughter on the end of the phone before Mark agreed. Joan grinned. "Good. I'll meet you in 10 minutes in Starbucks café? Okay" she spoke, her voice filled with excitement. Joan had found a distraction from Sherlock's arrogance. Oh Joan loved Sherlock as a friend or sister would, but like a sister it was easy to get terribly annoyed with her. Joan almost felt sorry for Mark. The way he pined after Sherlock. It was rather sad to watch, and Sherlock could be darn right rude sometimes. Like the way she had told Mark that he should stick to keeping his hair short because when its long it made his face look too small. Walking the short distance to the café, which was close enough to St Bart's for Mark to be able to rush off if need be, Joan ordered a coffee and found a table. It wasn't long before Mark arrived. Still in his white lab coat. If Joan was honest he was pretty good looking, but Joan felt no attraction to Mark. He was more like a cute puppy that you adored.
Mark ordered his coffee, an espresso, then sat opposite Joan. "Hello Joan. I was quite surprised to get a call from you" Mark greeted her, whilst ripping open a sachet of sugar and pouring it into the scolding hot liquid. Joan smiled politely. "I didn't know who else to call, my army friends are no help. Harry is probably drunk. I'm in a mood with Sherlock, and I broke up with Sam ages ago. Lestrade would probably be busy, and there is no way I would call Mycroft" Joan shrugged "Plus it seemed like a great chance to get to know you. We can share angry thoughts on good ol'Sherly." She grinned predatory. Mark nodded at her explanation and sipped at his hot coffee. Wincing at the feel of too hot liquid scolding his mouth. "I see, so what has Sherlock done this time?" he asked calmly. Joan sighed. "Generally being herself. Thinks she is above everybody. Sometimes she needs to be brought back to earth" she rolled her eyes, and Mark stuttered back a laugh. "You haven't gotten used to it now?" he asked sounding amused. Joan shrugged again. "Sometimes I have. Other times I just loose it" she spoke but before Mark had the chance to reply, Joan's phone bleeped twice in quick concession.
Have a case. Come to 221B if convenient -SH
if inconvenient come anyway. -SH
Joan left it an picked the coffee cup up, and gulped at the refreshing drink that slid down her throat. "Shouldn't you answer that?" Mark asked, and Joan shook her head. "Nope. He ignored me, so I'll ignore him" she replied. The phone bleeped again.
Joan. It could be dangerous -SH
Joan laughed at the way Sherlock was trying to convince her to join her. She knew she wouldn't be able to ignore Sherlock's text's forever. She was sure Sherly would just keep texting and texting. Joan thought Sherlock would have been impressed that she was right when her phone bleeped again. But then again, she hadn't been very happy when Joan had proved that Sherlock was wrong.
Please Joan. I need an assistant.
You know I can't work with -god forbid- Anderson.
He had the mental capacity of a goldfish -SH
Mark grinned when Joan slid the phone over. Showing him the last three texts. "I think you should go. Its probably time that I was getting back to the morgue anyway" he sighed, and taking 3 large gulps he finished his coffee. Joan picked up the phone, slid the keyboard down and text her friend back.
Okay. Sherlock. I'm on my way.
Please try and be civil with Anderson -Joan.
You made a good decision Joan. I-FINE
Now help me with the case... please -SH
Joan sighed and shook her head at Sherlock's text. God the woman was enough to drive the sanest person up the wall. But Joan had to admit. She probably wasn't very sane to begin with, she had an unhealthy love of danger. Joan called for a taxi, gripping at the warm coffee cup. When an available taxi finally drove up. Joan gave her address and slid into the back of the black car.