"John."
Ignore it. Roughly, twenty seconds passed blissfully.
"… Are you awake yet?"
Go away, John thought.
"John, wake up," A more insistent tone.
"Sod off," The sleepy doctor grumbled.
John grunted defiantly and curled into a tighter ball away from Sherlock. It was too damn cold and too damn early to be awake.
Sherlock stared at the snoozing bundle in the bed, his patience worn thin. John heard a restless sigh before the comforter was being ripped from his body.
"Sherlock!" John hissed grumpily. Okay, he was up now. Rage plus the cold equaled a waker-upper. "What the bloody Hell do you want?"
Through the shadowy atmosphere of his room, John could make out the tall figure with curled hair that had a crazy disposition of bed-head, his robe ruffled, and had trousers on for some reason. There was an excited gleam in his gray eyes.
Sherlock stood over John's bed with half of the comforter in his arms. He had been up for hours and was just beginning to retreat to his room before the chime sounded. Sherlock stood infront of the window, gazing at a small shadow of a girl standing at their doorstep. When Mrs. Hudson invited her in, he decided trousers were in order. Mrs. Hudson had no kin that young, most were at a more adult age and by the figure's height and face, he knew she was in her early twenties. A client then. Trousers were in order.
Sherlock wanted John to be with him for this. Already, he knew this case may be promising if the client herself had to come to them at this hour. Desperate. He almost grinned as he slipped his legs into a pair of trousers. He always liked the desperate ones; they showed promise. And if this case were to be good, Sherlock didn't want to have to reiterate the girl's story to John later in the morning.
"We have a client, John." He responded.
John blinked back sleep, sitting up. "At this hour?" he snatched the comforter from his mate's hands. Sherlock accepted this action to go through John's wardrobe and pulled out a pair of trousers. "It would seem so. Mrs. Hudson should be here any moment with her so you might want to-"
A gentle rap at the door sent Sherlock out of John's room, giving him the privacy he needed to dress himself. John sighed, rubbing his eyes for a moment, before dragging himself out of bed and wriggling into the trousers. He tried to smooth down his ruffled hair as he brushed his teeth, and the cold rinse to his face woke him up a tad more. When he'd stepped back into his room to slip on a shirt, he instead fell over into his warm bed. There was a sleepy groan still, the pillow very comforting under his face. Just wait till you're asleep. Sound and snug in your bed. I'll get you, He thought evil thoughts.
Only at first. The notion was then sadly dismissed. If Sherlock rarely slept anyway and he was doing so, that could mean exhaustion: something John tried best to alleviate Sherlock of. Waking him from rest wouldn't be the smartest thing for the ex-army doctor to do. He sighed. I'll never win.
Sherlock tapped on the door. "Mrs. Hudson is bringing tea." He lured. That gave John something to look forward to. He rose again and opened the door. Sherlock was already going down the stairs to the study. Quickly, he pulled on a shirt and made his way down as well. John made sure to give his flat-mate a cross look. "This better be good." He muttered. Sherlock smiled, twiddling his violin, "Likewise."
They then heard a hesitant knock on their door. "Hello?" the client called meekly.
Sherlock made for the door, and opened it, revealing a girl in short stature and long fair hair. "I'm Alice Pleasance." She addressed with the smallest of smiles.
"It's nice to meet you, Alice." John replied with kind tired eyes.
"I'm sorry for the hour. I-I just didn't think I'd had enough time." The poor girl was clearly trying her best to keep a poise look about her but there was a fretful tinge stained through her eyes.
John raised his hands and smiled, relaxing the frazzled guest. "It's fine. Come on in." She nodded and stepped in, passing Sherlock as she did so.
Alice wore a blue dress with dark frills, brown boots- for running? - carried a blue satchel with a flamingo sewn on it, and wore a brass watch-pendant that hung from a silver chain. For her dosage, Sherlock assumed. She smelled of lavender and lily soap- not cheap but not overly expensive- money to spare and practical shopper. Good job as well. She had steady hands with long spider-like fingers- minus the nervous tremble- nerves got to any person's grip, even one that did surgical work.
Doctor, then? No, light wrinkles near the eyes suggested more squinting than usual. She had to pay a great deal of attention on detail. Preciseness and skill in looking for things. Mortician. There was a good reason to keep the watch by her side after all. Level three and up could get dangerous if they didn't stick to their meds. He knew she'd be higher than a two. A mortician's career is a mind modifier on it's on with having to scrutinize and score through countless bodies with their own hands.
There was a faint scent of dirt and chemicals Sherlock picked off of her hair as she walked past him to enter the kitchen. Had she been digging deep somewhere? He knew Carroll Corporation insecurely flushed its harsh wastes down the sewers of London.
Sewers. Sewers. Sewers. One did not simply go down those death traps in London. Sherlock remembered a case where a rapist took their victims down the sewers for torture. Some had died by the killers hand; many from the dangerous maze of death the tunnels produced. Sewers were very not good. An accident then. Judging from the earthy scent that barley had the tinge of waste, she'd fallen in a fresh part of the sewers; yet to be cemented over and completely washed in chemicals. Construction site. Interesting.
Sherlock's observation had been executed the moment Alice made timd strides from the door to the kitchen. John watched Sherlock's eyes scan the girl head to toe and noticed the slight twitch of his nose when he'd casually inhaled. Already? He thought. Bit early to start sniffing girls, isn't it? John motioned with a tilted head. Sherlock caught onto it and only rolled his eyes.
The client's eyes tried their best to avoid Sherlock's piercing gray gaze. She knew when she was being looked over. She crossed her arms and did her best to speak up. "So… you're the Hatter and Hedgehog?" she tried to strike conversation before asking the favor. Sherlock's serious gaze melted away with an exasperated expression.
"Oh God." he griped. John, meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably.
"What?" Alice startled. What have you done, she thought, this is why I tell you not to speak out. Words affect everything, you dolt.
While Sherlock leaned against the counter, clearly unhappy with his guest now, John decided to pipe up. "We'd prefer if you'd recognize us as Sherlock and John, Alice. Those titles are a bit-"
"Mad," Sherlock cut in. "I don't even wear a hat! The press wanted me to sport it for the papers. Ugh, how ridiculous!" he whined.
"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes!" Alice stammered. She didn't know if she'd get help if the associate was unhappy with her. By this time, John had crossed his arms, silently cursing his mate for being overdramatic. Sherlock noticed. "Just Sherlock, please," the detective sighed. "Mr. Holmes is more of a heading for my brother."
"Won't you sit down?" John asked, guiding her to the couch. "I'll go help Mrs. Hudson with the tea," he informed them before leaving. Sherlock, meanwhile, set out in the kitchen for spoons and sugar.
Alice's legs evaded around skyscrapers of books and manila files upon entering the living room. She had to make a tiny hop around papers that had littered the floor and nearly toppled a strange mannequin torso protruding with blades- an experiment? While Alice went through the hassle to reach the couch- which sadly wasn't that long a distance- her eyes roved over nearly every inch of the flat. There were boxes of books everywhere, frightening amounts of weapons such as knifes and axes lying on a small table. She'd spotted two bookshelves brimming full with books and artifacts like maps and pinned insects. On the crimson and gold pattern walls, a few paintings hung here and there but the oddest ornament was the skull of a bison sporting clockwork-ear receivers. A music stand stood cluttered with sheet music, possessing talent Alice found impossible for her hands to follow. The violin it belonged to was sitting in a chair, which sat across from another chair near the lit fireplace. On the mantle of the fireplace, she stared at the skull sporting a top hat before moving on. Whilst sitting down on the couch, Alice noticed a work table. Chunks of iron and brass, large and small, littered it among various tools and electric implements. Could one of them be a bio-technician? Alice thought to herself.
Bio-technicians were highly looked up to in London. Many improved appliances and created completely new inventions for Londoneer life. But there were the select few that built many forms of life just with synthetics and electricity. Most of the inventions were clockwork but times were moving on and using greater methods in bringing life. Alice missed the more mechanical days. At least things didn't seem so morally wrong. Carroll Corporation had a pride investment in its bio-technicians. 'Making the world of tomorrow, one head at a time.' The Corporation's dark humored quote announced itself proudly through her head. To be frank, Carroll Corp had a reputation of testing its experiments on Londoneer prisoners, and on more than one occasion it was her job to study the wounds and give the data to Carroll Corp.
Alice had been staring down at the coffee table- which was blanketed with scribbled papers- when a cup of tea was set down infront of her. She looked up to see the kind eyed doctor with his own cup, sitting down in the chair next to her. She smiled gratefully and drank up. Needs sugar, she thought without asking for any. Sherlock noticed the too placid expression she wore and placed a bowl of sugar cubes on the coffee table.
"Now, Alice, why are you with us today?" he asked, eyes hungry for a new problem.
Ohmygosh, I'm sorry for not even getting to Alice's story! I like to stop chapters at around four or five pages, so this ending must be frustrating! Sorry, sorry, but I'll get right on chapter three immediately for you readers