Okay, okay, I know how awful I am, but I finally got around to updating again and (hopefully) should be updating more regularly...that once every six months. I could rattle of excuses but I shan't and instead will hope that you'll forgive me enough to at least try getting into this.
In a time before the internet, public libraries were the hub of all knowledge, their resources ranging from the commonplace to the truly unexpected. It was the truly unexpected that John Watson now hoped for; aware that he could most probably find it in Sherlock's collection but preferring not to have the conversation that would surely follow. Surprisingly enough, he was eager avoid questions of why he was suddenly so interested in unsolved crimes; he figured the not entirely untrue response of 'I'm planning to become somewhat of a criminal mastermind' would be too risky. And so he found himself muttering, to no one in particular, as he searched the small 'true crime' section of local library, picking up each book as he went, hoping beyond hope that one of the well-thumbed titles might give him the inspiration required.
The Executioner's Song…he wasn't looking to kill anyone, but the prospect of somehow creating a perfect ten without a little bloodshed was more than daunting. Hell, the prospect of creating a perfect ten with a little bloodshed was more than daunting.
Fatal Vision...could you really kill someone with an image? No, that'd be stupid. Maybe through an image?
Pressing finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the swirled font of the next title, he found in his hands The Sex Killers. "No!" He hadn't meant for it to be quite so loud, or for the vowel to have continued for so long, but as his eyes widened and he attempted to shove it back upon the shelf, he knew he had drawn attention to himself. His fingers scrambled, suddenly all thumbs as he tried in vain to part the wall of books before him. Instead, his fingers slid over spines and pages, only causing him to fumble more. When finally he managed to create a gap large enough to slide the book into, he let go of the breath he wasn't aware he was holding, leaning against the shelf in an attempt to rid himself of the memory of what had just happened.
Glancing up, he caught the shaking shoulders of a, quietly giggling, young librarian. Aside her sat a second librarian, glasses low on her nose, though she still squinted to read the small text of her book. She glared over at the doctor before closing the copy of Pride and Prejudice in her hand and using it to clip the woman around the back of the head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'didn't raise no daughter of mine to laugh at no dumb man.'
Realising he'd probably been standing there for more than an acceptable timeframe, John selected four of the larger books, stacking them haphazardly between his arms and chin, making his way to the nearest available table. As he moved from his standing place however, the re-shelved book slipped, his hip having been the only thing keeping it propped up, crashing loudly to the floor. The sound reverberated through his ears, causing him to pause in place, pulling yet more attention. Making an about turn, in a plan to retrieve the book from the floor, he found himself toe to toe with the same giggling librarian, who now held the tome in her hand.
"The Sex Killers?" She questioned, rather more loudly than was necessary, her eyebrow raising slightly in amusement as she stifled another bout of giggles, "Good read?" Pressing her lips together, her face was back to one of seriousness; the occasional twitch at the edge of her mouth the only hint at just how amusing she found this.
Blushing furiously, John scratched the back of his neck, cringing internally, "Wouldn't know; haven't read it." He coughed in an unconscious move to cover his face from further scrutiny.
"You should." Walking past him, she added it to the pile of books he'd just put down, throwing a quick, "Interesting title." Over her shoulder as she returned to her desk.
Willing his burning cheeks to calm, he pulled out the seat behind his books, clearing his throat and purposefully moving The Sex Killersto the bottom of the pile. Taking the first, and largest, of his selected books, he sighed, wondering when he became the kind of person to plan a murder while a group of toddlers had story-time in the corner.
As he turned the first page, his phone beeped. Sherlock, it was always Sherlock. He ignored it at first, until the continual beeping of a wave of texts earned him a harsh "Shhh." from the elderly librarian as she, for the second time in the minutes he had been there, wielded her book in a way that was more menacing than her stature and age suggested she could be. Watson raised a hand in apology, attempting to silence the phone.
"Blasted thing." It continued its beeping, texts flashing onto the screen faster than he could close them, "Yes, I get it." He was uncertain as to whether this last statement was directed at the phone or the librarian, but it seemed to suit both well enough.
Stabbing at the few available buttons, a pause in Sherlock's texts finally allowed him a window in which to calm momentarily and find the correct button. It seemed their where only five messages in total, but the quick succession in which he had received them, and the silence of the room around him, had caused him to believe there had been twice that, if not more.
Get the door, John.
SH.
There's a woman here, John.
SH.
She has your coat.
SH.
Mrs Hudson let her in.
SH.
Deal with this.
SH.
Scooping the stack of books back into his arms, he checked them out, silently wishing the elderly librarian would move faster. Books and card returned to him, he jogged from the building, tripping on a folded pushchair in his haste.
As always, let me know what you think. This followed series two canon for the most part, but the airing of series three has most definitely made it non-canon (what with Mary already being introduced and all) but I hope you like it.
Charlotte
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