So this is more of a half chapter sort of thing. Thank you for reading and enjoy!
His eyes were piercing as he leaned down to inspect her. He would narrow them at her before rolling his eyes at having to wait for Mrs. Hudson.
" !?" He called out again, impatience lining his voice. He turned his attention back to her. His pool of blue eyes widened revealing the tinge of green on the inside. Sawyer took this time to measure him up. He had to be over 6 feet with a long, slender body. He wore a black trench coat with the collars flicked up to protect his neck from the cold. His black hair was a curly mess on top of his head. No, not black but a deep brown. Its frazzled look did not stop Sawyer from wondering what it would be like to run her hands through the mess.
His bloody face looked to be from being punched. The blood was dry and beginning to crust around his nose. A light shade of blues and purple was being to surface on his pale skin.
"Stop that," Sherlock looked down at her from his spot.
"Stop what?" A light shade of pink covered her cheeks.
"Thinking," He turned to walk down the hall to the main room. "I find it annoying." He stood by the opened door and stuck his head out. "Mrs. Hudson! Please come up if convenient!" He waited only for a moment before yelling, "even if it is inconvenient still come!"
"Sherlock Holmes!" An elderly voice echoed through the flat from below. "You cannot just show up here after two years and expect all is well. Honestly, Sherlock!" Sawyer could hear the footsteps up the stairs and Mrs. Hudson pushed passed Sherlock into the flat. "I am sorry dear, can I make you some tea?"
"I will take a coffee, two sugars," Sherlock walked back over to Sawyer.
"I am not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson walked into the kitchen and Sawyer could hear the cabinet open and glassware removed.
"Mrs. Hudson, this woman here believes she belongs in my flat," Sherlock tapped his fingers together and raised them under his chin. His eyes bore into hers as if he was trying to see into her soul. Sawyer could not look into his eyes. She subconsciously moved her hair behind her ears, in a nervous manner.
"I thought you were dead," Mrs. Hudson said nonchalant. The water from the sink filled the silence. "John moved out and found a woman which was a surprise," she mumbled the last part and Sawyer could hear her talking about how she thought Sherlock and John were dating. Sherlock leaned in and Sawyer could see the fine details of his face. His skin was smooth and pale which only make his eyes more apparent. His lips were drawn together and his face held no emotion.
"How do you feel about the violin?" He said spontaneously causing Sawyer to take a step back.
"Th- the violin?" Sawyer fidgeted with her hands.
"I play it," Sherlock rolled his eyes at having to give her additional information.
"That is fine," Sawyer answered quietly. She did not see the point of knowing any more information about Sherlock.
"Good," Sherlock pushed passed her and went into the bedroom. "Mrs. Hudson, the girl will take the upstairs apartment as it would seem John is not going to be returning," he pushed the door open and stopped at the lack of his stuff.
"Sawyer." She instantly regretted her choice in telling him her name. Sherlock looked taken aback.
"Hm?" Sherlock turned back to her. "Sawyer, will take the top room," Sherlock corrected himself.
"Wait- what?" The door slammed closed and Sawyer stood in the hallway dumbfounded. She was tempted to knock on the door to the bedroom. From behind the closed door, she could hear the screeching of the wooden dresser, being pushed across the room. He was rearranging. Drawers were violently opened and thumps of heavy objects echoed into the hall.
Sawyer leaned into the door, placing one ear against it. She could make out the murmuring of Sherlock's voice as he spoke to himself. She closed her eyes and tried to listen closer, but the door swung open and Sawyer fell flat to her face. She looked up to see Sherlock standing above her holding an armful of her clothes. "Ah good," he said as he dropped the clothes down on her. "I won't be needing these." The door then closed again.
Sawyer picked up her clothing with a blush as Sherlock clearly emptied all of her drawers including her underwear. She walked up the steps to the above bedroom with wonderment about why she was doing this. She rented the flat, her name was on the lease. Yet, the moment Sherlock came storming through the door, it seemed impossible she was going to win.
Sawyer spent the night clearing out once again the remaining items in the room. She could hear the grunts of Sherlock as he walked up and down the 17 steps, returning his belonging to their respected places.
"Some help would be nice," Sherlock called through the flat.
"You don't need to yell, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson called from her room.
"I was talking to Sawyer, Mrs. Hudson." Sawyer peeked out her door to see Sherlock peering down the stairs at Mrs. Hudson.
"You don't need to yell, Sherlock," she repeated as she walked back to her flat while rubbing a pan dry.
Sawyer watched as Sherlock went to lean against the doorframe. His dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows revealing lean yet muscular forearms. Sawyer swished her glass of wine before taking a sip. "Do you usually coming barging into people's homes?"
"It isn't you home. This flat belonged to John and me. I was preoccupied for two years."
"Jumped off a building."
"So you have heard of me," Sherlock gave her a wide smile.
"Read the blog of John Watson." Sherlock frowned at the reference to John's blog.
"He exaggerates," was all he said before turning back into the main living room and began opening boxes up. Sawyer sighed before gulping down the last of the wine before heading down the steps after Sherlock. Sherlock had all of her stuff on the floor and was in the process of putting his books back on the shelf.
"No," Sawyer said flatly. Sherlock turned around and raised an eyebrow. "I live here too, my stuff stays." Sherlock rolled his eyes once again. He muttered under his breath about how John would never be so complicated. "I don't need your help."
"Clearly," Sherlock ignored her request and filled the shelves with his personal items. "Where did you get the money, a young woman like yourself affording a place like this," Sherlock gestured to the room. Sawyer looked around the flat confused. So this is what Sherlock considered nice? This was an ideal place in London? "It was the father wasn't it?" He said more like a statement rather than a question.
"Yep." She sat down in the red chair and Sherlock glared slightly at her before shaking his head. "He invested in a few stocks."
"Ah," Sherlock finished with a row of books and moved on to lifting his microscope out of a box. "Clearly an only child. Mother passed quite some time ago as you were the one on the will. Didn't have a good relationship with him either. After all, how could he hold you back from your dreams? Yet, he was right in the end wasn't he? And still," Sherlock paused and looked over at her, "he made sure you were well looked after."
"How did yo-," Sawyer began but Sherlock cut her off.
"I saw the will and read the letter from your father," he used a cloth to wipe the dust of his microscope before removing various liquids from the box.
Sawyer clenched her teeth in a gnashing motion. "It was personal."
"You shouldn't have left it in my room," Sherlock rebuked. His face was smug as he finished with the box and moved onto another.
"So I see you are an addict," Sawyer picked up the coffee meant for Sherlock and began to drink off it. Sherlock stopped and looked up narrowing his blue orbs eyes at her.
"That wasn't a hard deduction, though it took John a while for that." he said with a light laugh. "Besides I am sure John blogged about it, he always seems to add irrelevant information."
"Yes but it would seem John didn't know where you hide it all. I read the blog, he tried to make you go sober by buying out all of your dealers," she stood and walked over giving him the cup.
"I am sober," Sherlock took the cup from her, "I have been sober for over two years."
"Good," she said patting Sherlock on the shoulder. "I found your little stash when I was moving the dresser. It was a rather good location as it would seem John would never suspect you stuffing it under the boards. Got tired of the shoes?"
Sherlock glared at her. "I don't need it," he said coldly.
"I never said I was going to give to you," she gave him a small smile before leaving Sherlock alone in the room.
Sawyer felt exhaustion fill her body. She somehow managed to crawl into the bed. She hated this. She hated having him bring back up all of her mistakes. To bring back up her relationship with her father as if she already didn't know she was terrible for the way she treated him. She hated how he caused her mind to wonder, to wonder about how life would have been if she actually spent time with her father. Sadness now began to accompany her tiredness. Her pillow slowly became soaked with tears. She muffled her cries, she wouldn't give Sherlock the pleasure. She hated the loneliness that the darkness provided.
The next morning Sawyer walked down to the main room to see the wall covered with pictures and maps. Some pictures had black marker scribbling them out. Sherlock stood in the center of the room tapping the marker against his chin. He was cursing to himself as he walked to the wall and drew an 'x' across another body. "Who is it," he muttered as his eyes flickered to all the pictures. "Who is behind it?" He looked up at her only for a brief second before turning back to the wall.
The night of loneliness gave her an interesting idea.
"I am getting a dog," Sawyer announced and Sherlock waved her off. He seemed to be lost in his mind, thinking about the pictures. "Yeah," Sawyer continued as she went to the kitchen and grabbed an apple. "A dog seems nice, will get me out of the house too."
"They are impractical," Sherlock sighed as he rubbed his temples. "They cannot talk and you would have to be taking it outside all the time. Besides, they die sooner than you think. Also, your shoes are four years old and barely have wear on the tread yet they have tears from where you shove your feet inside without untying your shoes. You do not exercise, and I am sure a dog will not change that." He walked over to the board and crossed out another picture.
Sawyer bit her tongue, she did not feel like having another argument with Sherlock. She wasn't sure if Sherlock noticed or he simply did not care as he continued to use his marker to make lines. She rubbed her thumb rather rough across the apple's smooth surface, before leaving Sherlock alone.
Picking out a dog was the hard part. The selection was limited and Sawyer had a requirement. She did not want a puppy. Sherlock was right in that puppies required too much care that Sawyer did not want to give. She did not want a dog too old, as she wasn't too fond of having to kill it that soon. She decided on a three year old German shepherd. It was a boy who the pound describe as stubborn and hard to place. His tan fur was marked beautifully with patches of black and his eyes were ice blue. He reminded her of Sherlock. "He is perfect," she clipped the leash on the dog and left.
Sawyer stood outside the door of her flat. It was a first she had seen the door closed since she moved in. She could hear the voice of Sherlock and another man.
"Your move," the man spoke to Sherlock with light irritation.
"No, Mycroft but you have to trust me. I'll find the answer," Sherlock quickly attempted to ease the man and coax him back to his side. Sawyer stepped away from the door and went to drop her stuff on in her room before coming back down the steps to the closed door.
She lingered and once again picked up on Sherlock talking to the man, "I thought you might have found yourself a goldfish," at Sherlock's remark Sawyer opened the door to see two men looking over at her. Mrs. Hudson pushed pasted her with a tray of tea and biscuits and Sherlock's face lit up.
Mrs. Hudson proudly looked down at Sherlock who sat in his chair with his legs crossed. "Oh Sherlock!" She remarked as he sat with a smug smile. Sherlock looked back over at her.
"I see you got your dog," Sawyer tightened her grip on the leash. The man Sherlock referred to as Mycroft turned to look at her from the fireplace.
"I see you got yourself a goldfish," Mycroft laughed to himself and Sherlock seemed insulted as he crinkled his nose. Mycroft had a long, slender nose like Sherlock, with brown thin hair. He seemed older, and held himself high as if he was somebody of importance.
"Don't insult me Mycroft," Sherlock took a biscuit from Mrs. Hudson. He drew the biscuit to his mouth but did not take a bite. He placed the biscuit back on the tray before turning to Mycroft. "We are done, you can go." Before Mycroft could protest, Sherlock shot him a deadly glare.
"I suppose I shall," he picked up his coat and turned back to Sherlock before leaving, "do try to find the man brother, it is of highest importance." Sherlock waved him off.
"Oh and-," Mycroft began but paused as he did not know her name.
"Sawyer," Sherlock and Sawyer said at the same time.
"Yes, Sawyer. If you are looking for a name, I believe Redbeard would be a good fit." Mycroft gave Sherlock a small smile and Sherlock's face went white.
"I am not a child," he spat at Mycroft as Mycroft left with the click of the door.
Sawyer stood in her spot, clutching the leash tightly, her knuckles going white. She felt equally as insulted that Mycroft would assume anyone would date his brother, especially her. Sherlock shifted in his chair. She noticed that Mrs. Hudson had someone slipped out of the room without them noticing.
"What did you name him?" Sherlock looked at the dog. Sawyer shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't good with names. Her family had a tendency to reuse pet names. "Hamish," Sherlock whispered to her. "You should name him Hamish." His amusement at the name was quickly covered with sadness. Whoever Hamish belonged to, Sherlock deeply cared for them.
"Alright," Sawyer stroked the dog's neck. "Hamish it is."
"Good," Sherlock stood from his chair and walked over to his desk. Sawyer gave him a smile. This is the first time they could actually bare to stay in each other's presence without the usual awkward feeling.
"Did you ever figure it out," Sawyer pointed to the pictures and maps on the wall and Sherlock shook his head. "Well I am sure it will come to you." She unclipped the leash and Hamish walked over to jump on the red worn out chair. Sherlock turned and studied the scene for several minutes before giving the dog a wide smile.
"He already knows where he belongs," Sherlock talked to himself and turned back to the wall.