A Fire In Your Memory

by BritChick101

Moriarty isn't evil, not really, his actions are entirely justified. He doesn't care how accidental it was, Sherlock killed the only person who mattered to Jim, and Jim fully intends to make him pay. He owes it to her. He'll burn Sherlock's heart and watch him fall. Interwoven into the events of the pool scene and Series 2.

7. Chapter 7

A little bit of Sherlock eewy gooey goodness for ya. I'm plotting things behind the scenes of ASIB, but this is a filler drabble that I couldn't resist . My sister Bethany-Louise can vouch for me that this really does work when it comes to sibling bed time. And when it's Sherlock it's so cute!

B x

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Sherlock couldn't sleep. After the encounter with Moriarty and the all too obvious hints to a connection with his sister, his brain just wouldn't switch off. John had assumed that it was the near death experience that had him on edge and tried to calm him with endless cups of sweet tea, but the caffeine in it had the opposite effect. He lay on the sofa in the front room in his dressing gown, staring blankly at the ceiling.

He remembered that when he was a child, Myrna had tucked him in every night, brushing his curls out of his eyes, kissing him on the forehead and turning out the light.

"Love you!" he would call out as she reached the door.

"Love you too!" she would answer.

"Love you three!"

"Love you four!"

He would invariably be fast asleep before they reached ten.

John was having a bit of a tidy up in the front room, collecting cups that seemed to duplicate themselves throughout the day. He knew Sherlock wouldn't bother to get up and make himself a drink, but he hadn't made this many, so how there were so many dotted around the front room was beyond him. He froze as two of the mugs in his hand clinked together loudly, and glanced over at Sherlock, who he took to be sleeping on the sofa, but the tall man didn't move. He did mumble something though a single word, but John couldn't work out what it was. Mine? Mice? Perhaps not. Nine? Or Nein even? John didn't have a clue, really. He had enough trouble working out what was going through Sherlock's head when he was fully conscious without trying to decipher his dreams.

Smiling briefly at his flatmate, John wandered off into the kitchen with the collection of cups to wash up, trying not to puzzle too much at how little impact recent events appeared to have had on the sleeping man.