An empty, abandoned car in an empty, abandoned lane. Scotland Yard must have been desperate to get rid of some cases, because Sherlock didn't see the point of him showing up for anything less than an emergency that met his standards. However when Lestrade called and told him he could use some help, John dragged him out of the flat and away from his little experiments he did to keep himself busy.
Sherlock didn't protest as much as he normally did, probably because he wanted to get away from the flat, away from his new neighbor. But there was a part of him that didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay and observe what Charlotte was doing in the hopes of gaining some idea of what was really going on. So far he'd found nothing. To his surprise, she didn't leave her own flat often.
''Sherlock?''
With a shove of his shoulder, Sherlock turned to John who was standing outside of the cab, waiting for him to exit. It appeared he had spaced out for a moment, went into his own world, thinking.
''Yes,'' he nodded, stepping out of the car.
''Something on your mind?'' John asked curiously.
''There's always something on my mind,''
Sherlock walked down to where the crime scene was, tugging his coat tighter around him and adjusting his scarf. John followed behind him, not bothering to explain what he meant by something on his mind.
''Couldn't have got here sooner,'' Lestrade put his hands on his hips as he turned toward the men. ''I called you two hours ago,''
''Yes I thought I'd give you a chance to learn something and perhaps even solve the case yourself but again, wasted effort,'' Sherlock sighed. ''Let's get this over with,''
It surprised Sherlock that he hadn't had any further contact with Charlotte since the other day when she first moved into the flat across from his. It only added further to his suspicions on what she was doing here, but he saw no reason to pursue answers just yet. For all he or anyone else knew she could have been in another country right now while they all assumed she was making herself at home.
Sherlock had busied himself with experiments since the cases he got never interested him. Clients came and went, their problems solved in minutes, and John tried to encourage him to help Scotland Yard more, but Sherlock rarely took a case that didn't excite him and he especially didn't help Scotland Yard without them begging for his assistance.
''Would you mind keeping the body parts out of the fridge?'' John complained as he shut the door to the refrigerator, his appetite ceasing at the sight of eyeballs rolling around on one of the shelves.
''Where else would I put them?''
''In a lab, in a morgue, I don't know, but not where we're supposed to keep food,''
''I don't eat it,'' Sherlock shrugged.
''Well I-'' John was about to protest, but he knew it was pointless.
There was no changing how Sherlock worked when he was like this. Bored. However that didn't make it any less frustrating to deal with. John walked over and grabbed his coat, careful not to get too close to whatever Sherlock was working on.
''I'm going out for a while,''
Sherlock barely noticed John's absence from being so consumed by the experiment he was working on. It always took extra focus when working with eyeballs, they weren't very easy to get a hold of. His experiments were always for future reference or because he just wanted to, and this was how he dealt with his boredom since John had made it very clear that shooting the walls wasn't acceptable. Especially now they had a neighbor. However John had no idea what this woman was capable of and how calm she would be around gunshots, so far they hadn't delved into Sherlock's past with Charlotte. For all John knew, they'd never met before now.
Hours later, Sherlock was sitting on the couch dressed and ready to go wandering around on his own, looking at particular clues on a case he hadn't yet found interest in. John still hadn't returned and Sherlock only really noticed when he walked to the door and didn't hear his footsteps following behind. It was much needed for him to go off on his own like he used to, not that he didn't enjoy John's company and assistance, but he needed to cure his boredom more than anything.
''Sherlock?''
Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, heading for the door, Mrs. Hudson's voice had stopped him when she walked out of her own flat. She had bright yellow gloves on from cleaning dishes and was waving for him to stop before he left.
''What is it?'' he asked impatiently as the old woman walked close to him.
''It's about the neighbor, Charlotte,'' Mrs. Hudson whispered as if her voice could be heard from upstairs. ''I haven't seen her in days, haven't heard a word. I don't think the door's even opened once,''
Sherlock already knew this, but he didn't understand why she was telling him this.
''No, it hasn't,'' he shook his head, stepping away toward the door.
''Sherlock!'' she stopped him again. ''What if something's happened? What if...you don't think...oh what if something bad has happened to her?''
''You mean what if she's dead? I'm sure you'd smell it by now,''
Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened.
''But what else could it be?''
''Perhaps she's not as social as you'd wish, maybe you were mislead by her personality,'' he sighed, hoping this conversation would end soon.
''Won't you go up and check, Sherlock?''
''Me? You're the landlady, it's your duty,'' he protested.
''Please, Sherlock. I don't want to find...if something bad has happened,'' she shook her head, implying he had more experience with dead bodies if that happened to be the case.
Sherlock sighed heavily when he saw the worry in the woman's eyes. He wasn't sure if it was his interest in the matter which sparked his relent or because he knew Mrs. Hudson wouldn't let him walk out the door without whining more, but he soon started stepping back up the stairs to the flat across from his.
Sherlock pushed opened the door slowly, careful not to make a sound as he entered the small flat. The entry lead straight into the living room that allowed a view to the kitchen and bedroom just as his own, but he couldn't see anyone. It wasn't until he walked closer to the tiny hallway that he heard running water from the shower. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Question her about why she hadn't left her flat? Why she was acting like such a recluse? He should have left when he heard signs of her being there, his task was complete, she wasn't dead and Mrs. Hudson could stop worrying. But as always, one tiny interest led to another in the small space filled with so many things.
Stepping over the numerous newspaper pages on the floor, Sherlock came to the small table in the middle of the room that sat a tray of tea, days old, which had cigarette butts piled all around the side.
Everything else was ignored when he picked up a page from the scattered newspaper and saw Charlotte had been monitoring the recent crimes in the area. Not uncommon, but hoarding papers for days that contained the smallest of matters seemed odd, especially since she wasn't the sort of person to go after anything so simple. Like Sherlock, she only went after the big cases, the complex ones that she knew would be interesting. These were useless, but she had kept them all.
When he looked back at the small table to set the page back down, he realized what had been hiding beneath. It was obvious what it was and he couldn't help stare for a moment. It had been a long time since he'd used it, but as soon as his eyes caught it he could immediately feel the sensation in his body from memories of his past. Snow white powder sectioned off into tiny white heaps, ready, and a light trail beside it, complete. Cocaine.
He didn't even notice the water had turned off during his discovery. Slowly, he looked up to see Charlotte standing in front of him, wrapped in a white towel and hair dripping wet. It was hard not to notice the dark circles under her eyes which suggested she hadn't slept the whole time she had been here. Her expression was blank, but he could see the anger she was hiding. Now he was getting somewhere.
''You're using again,'' he spoke quietly.
''How observant of you,'' she snatched the paper from his hands, setting it on top of the powder.
Sherlock watched as her hands trembled around her body, holding the corner of the towel as she tucked it beneath the bottom layer. Her irritation, sleep deprivation, nerves, anxiety. Fear. It only took a quick scan of the bedroom when he walked in to notice the bed hadn't been used, food hadn't been eaten, most movements hadn't left the living room.
''What's going on?''
''Nothing's going on,'' she stood back, rolling her eyes and waiting for him to leave. ''What do you want?''
''Why the cocaine?'' he asked as he stood up, pacing the room with his hands behind his back as if he was interrogating a client. ''I thought your work came first,''
''Well that's where you and I differ, I can handle my habit and still function highly enough to actually do my work,''
''Wrong. You and I differ with our reasoning. You use to cope, I use to cure,'' he told her, ceasing his pace. ''Which means there's something bothering you enough to resort to drugs. In fact it's been bothering you before you came here, but it hasn't stopped,''
Charlotte ran her hand through her wet hair and shook her head. No one was ever in the mood to be analyzed by Sherlock Holmes, but stepping out of the shower to see someone had found your bad habit and began investigating your actions was probably the worst mood to experience it.
''Great work detective, did you get your fill for the day? Enough information to live off for the rest of the afternoon?'' she asked angrily, raising her voice slightly. ''Your life must be quite dull for you to be looking into mine,''
''Oh please, you're actions scream attention,'' he shook his head. ''A cry for help, even,''
''Don't flatter yourself, I wouldn't cry for your attention or your help,''
Sherlock stared at her for a moment, narrowing his eyes.
''Why here?'' he asked, putting his hands behind his back. ''You're scared of something, you can't sleep, you can't eat and you're taking cocaine to stay awake because you fear what would happen if you were asleep. Why did you come here to hide?''
Charlotte shook her head slightly.
''I'm not hiding,''
''Don't lie, spare us both some time and just tell me what it is you're running from,'' he moved closer. ''I could help, I could protect-''
''Don't lie,'' she shook her head with an amused chuckle. ''I don't need your help,''
They stood there for a while in silence, staring at each and other and wondering who was going to speak next. Sherlock wanted to press for answers now that he saw the toll the situation was taking on Charlotte, someone who rarely became so bothered by something as silly as fear, but he could see he wasn't going to get any more. Charlotte wanted him to leave so she could get back to her routine she'd been in for the last week, she couldn't waste time arguing with him. But now he was aware something was going on, and she knew he was going to get answers some way. She could take care of herself, she'd dealt with things like this before, getting too close to a case, the exposure, but she was going to handle it herself. Sherlock Holmes didn't have to solve everything, she was just as capable.
''What's going on?''
They both turned toward the door to the flat which Sherlock hadn't bothered to shut. Charlotte should have been alert now knowing that whoever was nearby would have heard their entire conversation, or argument rather, but both her and Sherlock instead stared at John standing out in the hall with a very confused look on his face.
Okay so I really wanted to get this chapter out so you guys could see where I'm going with this. This is kind of where it all sort of begins in terms of the something big that's going on, but I'll work on that as the story continues. Anyway, if you like where this is going or are enjoying the story, please review, I want to know if anyone is interested in continuing to read. Like I said, I'm not setting out to be a popular Sherlock story, it's simply an idea I've had that I wanted to write down otherwise they'd be bottled up in my head. Thanks for reading.