As John still paid rent for 221B, he let himself in with his key.
"Mrs. Hudson?" John called out. Hearing no answer, he opened the closet door under the stairs to retrieve the tool box. He was walking back to the door when a shot rang out. The tool box tumbled from John's hand.
"That's impossible," he muttered. He bounded up the stairs, and pulled his keys out with a trembling hand. He struggled to put the key into the lock, when the door swung open. Startled, John looked up.
A young woman regarded him with an interested gaze, powder blue eyes tightening as she noticed the twitch in his hand. She had tumbling dark hair, contrasting with her fair skin. She wore a navy blue dress, standing taller than John in nude pumps. Her hand was on the door, and in the other she held a familiar handgun.
"Doctor Watson," she said, surprising John. She let go of the door and held out a hand, "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
John and the woman shook, "And you are?"
"Adelaide."
"This flat still belongs to myself and Sh-Sherlock Holmes."
Adelaide nodded, stepping aside to let John in, "In the detective's passing, his half of the flat was given to his brother Mycroft. He's allowing me to stay here while I'm in town."
John stepped in and coughed to cover his discomfort; the flat was exactly the same. It was as if only yesterday, he had been blogging at the cluttered table while Sherlock yelled at the television set.
"You must excuse the mess. I wasn't expecting visitors," Adelaide apologized, walking into the kitchen. "Tea?" She called over her shoulder as John followed her. His jaw dropped as she opened the fridge; jars of tiny eyes and assorted other small, slightly disgusting, objects were organized on one side of the fridge, a line clearly dividing them from the food organized on the right side. Adelaide grabbed the milk and poured it into a pitcher, placing that on the table.
"Uh-yes please," John replied, swallowing.
Adelaide cleared a microscope off of the table and wiped down a place for two. She poured three cups of tea, passing one to John as they both took their seats.
"So, how long have you lived here?" John asked, glancing around the kitchen.
Adelaide's thin fingers wrapped around her mug as she thought about her answer. "Three months?" She guessed, finally answering before taking a sip of her tea. John nodded; he had tried to bear living in the flat alone, but he just couldn't handle turning around expecting Sherlock to be perched in his chair, when instead he saw the dust collecting on the well-worn seat. John glanced curiously at the untouched third cup of tea, raising an eyebrow at Adelaide.
She jumped up, "Thank you; I'd forgotten about that." She disappeared quickly down the hallway leading to the bedrooms, with the tea. Adelaide returned quickly, retaking her seat at the table.
"Don't you live alone?" John asked, trying not to be bothered by which bedroom she had just returned from.
Adelaide sighed, "No, my uncle and I live here. He doesn't usually let me take care of him, but he's been having a bad day," she replied, slightly cautious.
"Is he sick? I'm a doctor and-"
Adelaide interrupted him, "No, no. He has mental demons."
There was a silence, and John glanced at the microscope, "Are you a scientist?"
Adelaide's blue eyes narrowed slightly at his constant questioning, but replied, "Forensic specialist. Consulting, usually. I help out the police force, and recently Ms. Hooper down at St. Barts."
John gripped the table, not being able to control the memories as they broke through his mental wall. Consulting might not have done much, just caused a pang of pain in his chest, but combined with Molly and St. Barts sent John back, remembering the last time he had slammed the doors of Molly's lab, yelling at Sherlock for his lack of compassion. And the next time he saw Sherlock, he had reached out a hand to John as he said his goodbye, before throwing himself off of the hospital roof.
He came back to reality to someone shouting his name; as the ringing in his ears stopped, he made out not one, but two familiar voices calling out to him. He blinked, eyes focusing to find his view tilted. Adelaide was kneeling next to him, eyes wide as she shook his shoulder and said his name to bring him back to the present. John's eyes snapped towards the hallway, where a blue robe had just disappeared through.
John stumbled to his feet, brushing Adelaide's hand off. He leaned against the wall as he made his way down the hallway and slammed the door open. He froze; the window was open, curtain fluttering in the breeze. John felt his breathing restrict, looking down at the floor; he had been so close, but perhaps he was just hallucinating again.
"John!" Adelaide's stilettos made deep prints in the carpet as she followed him at no slower of a pace.
"You said you lived with your uncle," John panted out, waving his arms around the room, "Where is he now?"
"John-"
"Did he disappear into thin air?" John cut her off.
"John, please," Adelaide said quietly, "Just come back to the kitchen. I don't think you're well."
"Who hired you? One of Moriarty's men, trying to break me?," John narrowed his eyes, and yelled, "Well it's a bit late for that!"
"John-"
"What was your name again? Adelaide what?"
Adelaide took a deep breathe, "Holmes. Adelaide Holmes."
John felt his breath leave him, "What does that mean? Who are you? Mrs. Mycroft Holmes?"
She made a noise of disgust, "I'm not married to Mycroft. I'm surprised my mother and him were ever married, not that it lasted very long."
"So, you're Mycroft's daughter. What, did he send you to check up on me?"
Adelaide rolled her eyes, "Well, of course he's worried about you. You and my uncle were... close, for lack of better description."
"Well your uncle clearly isn't here now," John's eyes narrowed, not completely believing her.
Her icy eyes focused above his head, warming as she replied, "Why don't you tell him that?"
John's heart stopped, and he balled his hands into fists to stop their shaking. Adelaide glanced down at them as he turned around slowly, letting out a cry of shock and pain as he saw who was behind him.
A smile lit up the consulting detective's face, as he said, "Hello, John."
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