Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to BBC's Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes or anything like that.
Sherlock Holmes never was much of a sleeper, and the night after he met Molly was no different. After only two hours, like the flick of a switch, he was awake again. His small bedroom was warm, mirroring the night outside that was sliding in through the open window.
Without the ability to relax Sherlock found himself stepping across the room to his writing desk, flipping on the small lamp that sat on top of it and digging through the drawers for his notebook and a reliable pen. He immediately flipped to the first empty page, feeling the strait edges slide across is fingertips, and began scribbling furiously.
Whenever he could not sleep at night, it was always caused by an overactive mind. For Sherlock, this often meant having multiple topics running uncontrolled through his mind though tonight, there was only one: the girl from the clearing, Molly.
The pen scratched at the paper with a sound that would have been unnoticeable had the room not been otherwise silent as Sherlock worked. Moving furiously from one page to the next he would occasionally sigh, rip out the page he was working on in such a way that the very air around him seemed disturbed, and crinkle it into a ball only to toss it over his shoulder where it would land somewhere near the waste basket with a soft thump. Twenty minutes of scribbling and a lot of mental energy later, Sherlock had every detail he could remember about her down in his notebook, as well as a rough sketch. He was surprised that it took him that long to write everything to be honest – it had only been a short meeting – but seeing everything down on paper, physically there, was helpful.
But it was not enough and Sherlock found himself reaching for his phone. In the dimly room it took him a few moments to locate the electronic device, and once he did the light emitted from it nearly blinded him.
Closing his eyes for a moment and then blinking against the light, Sherlock impatiently waited for the adjustment of his pupils. A couple of taps on the touch screen and a long moment of irritation at how long this seemed to be taking later, the line connected.
John Watson looked rumpled and sleepy through the grainy video chat, and while the picture was too grainy to gather a lot of detail, the sandy blond teen was obviously annoyed. "Sherlock, it is nearly one in the bloody morning. You had better have a good reason for waking me up."
Sherlock had to smile at his friend, he simply couldn't help it. They had met in primary school and known each other for nearly six years. Sherlock had been forced into going to a rugby match for their school by a teacher who promised more time in the lab in exchange for 'getting out a bit'. So he went to the game, but before the first half was done he had drawn the attention of a few of the substitute players standing on the sidelines. Long story short, Sherlock ended up with a black eye and John as a new friend.
"When is it not of the upmost importance?" His grin widened as he spoke.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the time you woke me up only to ask me if I had finished number nine on one of the maths worksheet last year – and not for the answer or anything else for that matter, just to see whether I had finished the question. Also, there was that time when you decided that calling me several times in five minutes just to see if I would continue to pick up. Seriously Sherlock." John's rant was practiced and went unanswered as Sherlock watched the current enigma presented by his friend. Angry though he was, John was still blinking against the light of his phone sleepily which somewhat diminished the otherwise intimidating sight.
"Well, it is important John. I met someone." Sherlock interrupted his friend's ramblings with a move designed to push the conversation quickly towards a more interesting topic.
John's shock was evident down the line as his jaw went slack and he seemed to drop his mobile because suddenly the screen on Sherlock's end showed nothing but a black background, he could also here his friend mumbling a few choice words before the screen once again showed John's face. This was enough to startle a small laugh from the dark-haired teen. "What exactly do you mean, 'met someone'?" John sounded cautious as he asked the question, like perhaps he was assuming that he had misheard his friend. Sherlock had overheard his friend more than once confess that Sherlock was a difficult person to read.
"A girl, John, wake up. I need someone to talk it over with." The exasperated reply was expected by both parties and Sherlock was pleased when it had its intentional effect; John held his tongue even though Sherlock was certain that speculation was running rampant in his friend's mind.
"Okay, talk."
"She appeared out of nowhere, and she's only sixteen. When was the last time you have known a sixteen-year-old to sneak up on me? No, don't answer that." Sherlock had to stop John when the blond boy was about to interrupt. "But even though she was young she was smart. No one is that smart at sixteen, no one cares about the flowers. Who notices if flowers are poisonous or not? Again, don't answer that. The real question however is why she was even out in the woods, though. Very few people spend much time outdoors, and so many parents are over-protective these days – even out here. I don't believe that an arguably quiet pretty young woman like that would be allowed out of the house alone at her age, but then again there are always anomalies. John, are you listening to me?"
John was so obviously asleep that Sherlock's question didn't even wake him. It took two minutes and Sherlock practically yelling into his phone to rouse the tired rugby player. "Sorry Sherlock," he slurred rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes in an attempt to wake up enough to be coherent. "Did you say she was pretty?"
The confusion in John's voice was so evident that it caused Sherlock to roll his eyes with an almost painful amount of exaggeration. "Do keep up, John."
"I might be more able to keep up, Sherlock, if this were a decent hour for conversation. Why don't you hang up, let me sleep – because I know you won't sleep any – and call me back in five hours or longer, preferably longer." John then cut the connection and left Sherlock alone the relative dark with only his thoughts and sketches for company.
OoOoOo
The night lasted far too long in Sherlock's opinion. He passed the time organizing his thoughts into their proper place in his mind palace, and by finding rest somewhere in the realm between those of dreams and reality.
While he let his mind wander in such a way that he was allowed some increment of rest, many of the children's tales from when he was very little crossed his mind. Images of sitting on the floor near his grandmother as she told him one fanciful story after another dawdled over his consciousness: mermaids, elves, selkies and fairies all played common roles. Brownies, gnomes and Bogarts could always be depended upon to stir up some mischief that needed fixed as well.
Despite finding the stories illogical, they were all happy memories for Sherlock. His grandmother had grown up in a time of superstition and had enjoyed collecting the stories that so many long ago had considered true. As she grew older and became unable to do many things for herself, she became very adept in the art of storytelling, because of which she never lacked a captive audience – Sherlock included.
By the time the sun had risen above the horizon there was not a memory about her in his mind that Sherlock had not called up and examined out of boredom and loneliness. She had entertained him whenever he saw her and recalling these memories seemed to continue that feeling. He had been young when his grandmother died – only eight, but to many of the more relaxed family members she still lived on in the stories that continued to be passed from generation to generation.
Wiping away the last cobwebs of the fading and distant memories, stored in the very center of his forming mind palace, Sherlock climbed out of his bed and moving slowly, dressed and cleaned himself up for the day before making his way to the kitchen to find Rebecca sitting at the dining table with a mug of coffee and a sleepy smile playing across her lips.
"Good morning," she said, her voice still thick with sleep. As she greeted him, Sherlock could see in her hay-stack hair and slow movements that she had slept long and well, while her fuzzy slippers and housecoat told him that she would be working at home in her office today.
"Morning," Sherlock responded absentmindedly as he checked the time on his phone – still too early to call John back.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you." Sherlock helped himself to a cup of the coffee and sat across from his aunt. Since neither of them were exactly what might be called morning people. Food was not talked about, only plans for the day and whether or not to make another pot of coffee were topics included in this morning's brief discussions.
Rebecca eventually retreated to her home office where she began her work day as a medical transcriptionist and left Sherlock to his own devices. He, unable to stand the boredom of being alone in the house for long, decided that the moment he heard the office door click was also precisely the right time to phone John.
The phone rang three times before the video connected. John looked marginally more awake now that he had earlier so Sherlock didn't wait to say a proper hello before starting the conversation – not that he ever really did. "I am going to see her again."
"Good morning to you too, Sherlock. Yes, I slept wonderfully thanks for asking. How did you sleep?" Sarcasm seemed to be John's best mental defense.
"I don't sleep, John," Sherlock quipped rolling his eyes at his friend, "and for future reference, skip the snide comments, they don't suit you."
"Yes, well being a Mr.-Know-it-all doesn't suit you." John rebutted, "Wait, you are actually going to see your mystery Molly again?"
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes in response. "Yes, I think it will prove interesting."
"Yeah," John laughed seeing immediately through his friends attempt to cover the truth. "You just can't leave a puzzle alone."
Sherlock didn't respond to that. How could he? It was true after all, so he tried to move past the subject instead. "You aren't going to tell me not to?"
"There would be no use." John didn't even hesitate with his reply, "You would still do it anyway."
There was a subject they both easily agreed on and so Sherlock sat for a long while, still talking with John as the sun began its gradual ascent up into the sky.
Sorry guys! I am trying to keep working, but I have gotten so busy recently that it is going to take me longer and longer to update until I can catch a break. Anyway enjoy, and if you really like it I would love a review telling me what worked and maybe didn't work. :)