After being reunited with his best friend, Sherlock left the house of Dr. and Mrs. Watson and went in search of something from his past life that hadn't changed quite so much. He was relieved to find that Mrs. Hudson still lived on Baker Street. She was older and thinner, but she still scolded Sherlock for making her worry.
"You nearly sent me to my death bed with the grief of it! And John!" She gasped. "I should disown you right now for the pain you put that poor man through!" She looked at him accusingly.
"I've seen him." Sherlock reassured her, but Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her hips stubbornly and kept staring at him. "And he's seen me." Sherlock added. "I even met Mary."
"Oh. Good then."
"Actually I was wondering if our old flat was available?" If Sherlock could have looked bashful he would have, instead he looked quite bored as he bluntly asked for a place to live. Mrs. Hudson threw her arms up in the air and started bustling about her apartment, up the stairs and pounded on the door to 221B. Sherlock heard raised voices, and then the slam of a door before Mrs. Hudson trotted down the stairs straightening her dressing gown.
"You'll have it by midday tomorrow." She said proudly patting Sherlock on the hand. "Need a place to spend the night?"
Sherlock shook his head and thanked Mrs. Hudson for the room before leaving. He tightened the scarf about his neck, and pulled the collar of his jacket up to protect his face from the biting cold night's wind before heading down the street and out of sight of 221B Baker Street.
Sherlock readjusted to life on Baker Street quickly. The flat looked much like it had when he and John had occupied it, complete with his violin that Mary and John had gift wrapped and returned to him as a house warming gift. And his job was much like it was. Busy. He still had many loyal fans who sought to employ him, but without John, the job wasn't quite as much fun as he remembered.
One particular case, not one of the most bizarre cases he had ever worked, had him pass through The National Gallery. As he left the gallery a woman at the front desk caught his attention. He watched her for a moment as she took a small piece of charcoal and sketched a drawing of a young girl and her father as they admired the grandeur of the architecture inside The Gallery. Once they moved on, her eyes landed on an elderly couple walking hand in hand as they entered the building.
Sherlock couldn't help but be mesmerized by her. She was so wrapped up in her work, that the bustling world around her ceased to exist. In the moment there was nothing but her and her subject. Sherlock could sympathize with that kind of focus. Then her gaze fell on him. She saw him watching, and smiled as she flipped to a fresh page in her sketch book. Her eyes flitted from the page before her up to him, holding his gaze. Her eyes were bright with delight, and she smiled at him when she was done. Across the room she turned the sketch around and showed it to him. Even from a distance he could tell that she was very talented with a pencil.
He nodded a goodbye and turned to leave.
"Did you enjoy your visit?" A bright summery voice asked from behind his left shoulder. Chest heaving, and slightly pink in the cheeks, the girl from the desk stood behind him. Sherlock realized she had sprinted across the entrance hall to his side. Not only was she a talented sketch artist, but she was very quick too.
"Um, not exactly."
"Oh no." The young woman seemed genuinely upset. "Is there anything we can do to make it better the next time you visit? Was there a painting you couldn't find?"
"No, I didn't come for the art." Sherlock said.
"Oh, alright then." She looked at Sherlock as if she were trying to read his mind and smirked. "Next time you really should take a look at the art. We have quite the collection you know." She teased. Her smirked grew into a wide smile that showed off her perfectly white teeth.
Sherlock simply nodded and left.
That night as John ascended the stairs to 221B, for their nightly chat, he heard Sherlock playing a beautiful new tune. It was lively and electric making John take the stairs 2 at a time. He avoided the creaky patch on the landing and watched from the open doorway as Sherlock stood, eyes closed in the center of the room, playing. He stood very still, only his upper torso moving with the instrument. Sherlock standing in 221B, playing his violin was a sight for sore eyes, but it wasn't the same as John was used to. He had seen Sherlock acting similar to this when Irene Adler had been pronounced dead, but this wasn't quite the same as that either. John's only deduction was that this was a new emotion for Sherlock. Which one, however, was a mystery.
Sherlock finished the piece and opened his eyes to see John standing in the hallway. His shoulders dropped and he invited John inside.
"The water's boiled, or would you like something stronger?"
"Tea is fine." John replied. "Mary will be by to pick me up shortly."
Sherlock nodded and busied himself about the kitchen, riffling through specimens and experiments to find the last remaining clean utensils.
John smirked. Only Sherlock would think to keep the clean cutlery by the petri dishes. He held out his hand for his cup and thanked Sherlock as they took their usual seats by the fire.
"How was your day then?" John asked casually. Sherlock immediately stood up and started pacing around the small living room, tea cup in hand.
"Uneventful." He replied.
"Really? No case?" John inquired.
"Oh there's a case."
"And?"
"You want to help?" Sherlock asked somewhat hopefully. It wasn't that he couldn't solve it without John, he just preferred when he was there with him.
John shot him a childish glare, as if to say Come on, I've got a real job now.
"I thought not. Either way, I'll be going back to The National Gallery tomorrow."
Footsteps out in the hall got louder as Mary's voice called up from the entrance.
"Did someone say National Gallery?" Mary's blonde head appeared in the doorway. She smiled in at the men and looked around. Sherlock nodded his head in the direction of the tea pot; a clean cup, saucer and spoon were waiting for her.
John looked to Sherlock with surprise. Sherlock merely shrugged and continued to pace.
"Yes Mary, I mentioned to John here, that I would be visiting the National Gallery tomorrow, for a case." He added quickly.
"Oooh, I love the National Gallery!" Mary's eyes squeezed together happily as she sat on the arm of John's chair sniffing her tea. "I always thought I'd be an Art History Teacher if I wasn't a Veterinary Technician." She paused presumably daydreaming about the great collection of works at the Gallery. "The case, it's nothing dangerous I hope."
"Oh not at all. As far from dangerous as one can get in my line of work. That's why I asked John if he would accompany me."
"Well of course he will!" Mary said matter-of-factly.
"Will I?" John nearly spat out his sip of tea. He coughed chocking on it and looked to his wife concerned.
"But we're supposed to go to the Theatre tomorrow."
Mary waived a hand and dismissed him.
"Your friend needs you. I'll be fine on my own."
"Well, actually Mary," Sherlock piped in, "you could join us too. I don't so much need help solving the case as I need help going unnoticed. So if we were all to go together…" He trailed off, and John stared at him in shock. Mary held out a hand and closed his mouth.
"Can I really?" She asked, sitting on the edge of John's armrest.
Sherlock nodded.
"And it's safe?" She asked again.
"You won't even know I'm working." He said goodnight to the couple and watched them step outside and hail a cab.
Outside on the curb, huddled together, waiting for the cab Mary rested her head on John's chest.
"That was weird wasn't it?" Mary asked politely.
"I'm not sure if weird is the right word, it was out of character for sure." John rephrased.
"I wonder what's gotten into him." Mary pondered. "Either way we'll have a lovely day tomorrow."
John scoffed, and covered it up, pretending to cough.
"Mary?"
"Yes?" She asked as a cab turned down Baker Street and John stepped away to wave it down. "When Sherlock said we'll have to be quiet, he really means it. He's yelled at me for thinking too loudly."
Mary laughed as John opened the door for her and motioned for her to enter first.
"I'll be on my best behavior." She said sweetly before she sealed her promise with a kiss.
The next day Mary was true to her word. She and John were on their best behavior even before arriving at the Gallery. In the cab ride over John thought Mary looked almost bored.
"I thought you wanted to go." He asked.
"I do." Mary replied. "I'm practicing for Sherlock." Her comment made John erupt in hearty chuckles.
"No wonder he likes you." John teased. "He's promised to behave as well." The cab stopped and they looked out to see the dark silhouette of their friend standing by the road waiting. "It could be fun." John said apprehensively as Mary opened her door.
"Why didn't you wait inside Sherlock? It's freezing."
"I'm fine." He replied curtly and followed the others through a set of big double doors into the entrance hall. Sherlock took great care to avoid glancing over to the front desk until John called and waved him over to the ticket line. Casually he approached scanning the desk for the familiar bright face of his acquaintance from the day before.
"What are you looking for?" John had noticed his wandering eyes.
"It's for the case. Now shut up." Sherlock dismissed John and bought his ticket from an older woman named Nel. She was sour-faced and terse, as if she had been stuck at the same job for too many years. She wished him a good day without a trace of emotion and he wandered over to John and Mary who were being wished an enthusiastic, if not completely forced, good day by another teller.
They started their day in Room 46, looking at contemporary art by Degas, and Van Gogh. John and Mary enjoyed the art in perfect silence as Sherlock paced around the room. In mid circuit he stopped in front of a painting of Sunflowers. He tilted his head one way, then the other, trying to discern some cosmic realisation from it, with no luck.
"Sunflowers are the symbol of happiness." A voice peacefully cut in at Sherlock's left arm. Sherlock jumped slightly, and looked around to see the blushing face of the young woman from the day before. Yesterday she had been in a blazer, with the name tag Penelope, today however, she was in what Sherlock assumed was her regular day wear. She wore: dark form fitting jeans, sneakers, a black turtle neck covered by an ivory knit sweater, capped with a bright turquoise knit hat. Her hands were covered in black charcoal dust; it was under her fingernails and left little finger prints all over the cover of her sketchbook. "Enjoying the artwork this time?"
Sherlock nodded discreetly.
"Oh no." John groaned as he looked around to see Sherlock standing with the knit clad young woman. "He's probably telling her why her favourite artist is nothing more than someone with a warped view of reality." John groaned. "Let's go save her."
As they approached Mary pulled back against John slightly. She was watching Sherlock who was quietly looking from a painting of Sunflowers to the woman beside him. She was waiving her hands around wildly as she spoke, gesturing from the Sunflowers to other paintings in the room. She seemed perfectly comfortable, and oddly enough, so did Sherlock.
"Sweetheart, I don't think she needs our help." Mary whispered.
"Nonsense Mary, of course she does. Ahem!" John cleared his throat loudly. Sherlock turned nonchalantly to face John.
"Can I help you?" He asked.
"Well, umm." John stammered. "Mary and I are headed to the next room, come on." He gave Sherlock a pointed,leave the poor girl alone, look. Sherlock's new acquaintance looked disappointed.
"Please tell me you didn't start in this room."
"Shouldn't we have?" Mary asked politely.
"Well, you've started The Gallery backwards. It's hard to appreciate how far art has come, unless you know how it got here. If you've got the time you should start in room 1." She said pleasantly.
"Thank you. You seem to know a lot about this place. My name is Mary."
"John." He said extending a hand for a shake.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm..." She paused and stared at the couple for a moment. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at them critically. "I know you." She mumbled quietly. Then she sat down on the floor and started flipping through the pages of her sketch book. John looked down at her wearily. "No, no, definitely not." She whispered. She flipped the page once more and shrieked. "Aha! I knew it!"
Sherlock, John and Mary jumped slightly, startled by the noise. John looked around the room to apologise to the other visitors, but found that room 46 was completely empty, apparently the rest of the visitors knew to start their visit in room 1.
A tapping on his forearm brought John back to the strange girl sitting on the floor and her book. She was sitting on the ground holding open a sketchbook to a page with, what was very evidently, John and Mary sitting on a park bench holding hands.
Mary bent down to admire the drawing closely.
"This is beautiful! It's at the park by our house."
"My brother lives across the street, so I go there to draw whenever I visit."
"You are very talented my dear... Sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Penelope." Sherlock answered smugly.
The girl on the ground looked up at him curiously, closed her sketchbook and asked,
"What makes you say that?"
"Your name tag yesterday."
"You were here yesterday?" John looked from Sherlock to the girl. "You met her yesterday?" John stammered as his brain tried to connect the pieces of the puzzle.
Patient as ever, Mary squeezed John's arm pleading her tactless husband to shut up. The girl, un-bothered by John, let out a hearty chuckle.
"I forgot my name tag at home yesterday. I had to borrow a friend's." She calmed down and smiled up at Sherlock. "I'm sorry for the confusion. My name is Brianna." Sherlock shook the hand she offered him.
"It was nice to meet you Brianna, but we should head to room 1 now, Sherlock are you coming?"
Sherlock released Brianna's hand and turned to follow John and Mary.
"Sherlock?" Brianna asked. Sherlock bowed his head and left. "It's a pleasure to meet you Sherlock." Brianna said softly. If she had any idea who he was, she did not show it. Her green eyes squinted when she smiled at him and she watched as he followed John and Mary from the room.