A/N: So sorry for my lack of updates! It's been hectic! But school is out, woohoo!
Haven't actually seen Annabelle or Eleanor in person in a while, but we keep in contact!
I should definitely point out, that the guest who's username was: Yes, and posted: I would've slept naked, was actually Eleanor.
You see? She's the same in reality as she is in the story.
:) love you, El.
Okidoki! Enjoy! This is a long one, and I hope you like it!
See that sexy review button? Go ahead and give it a looking, it deserves your attention. ;)
All the best,
JB
Chapter 11: Coffee, Tea, or Me?
John was confused. John was terribly confused. Then again, he figured it was quite self-explanatory. He just wanted one good reason why his cereal, of which he had only just bought a day ago, was nearly all gone. His first thought was perhaps the girls got hungry late at night – but no, he shooed that idea away. All three of them were utterly polite: they would ask, or at least wait till morning.
So, the only explanation, of which angered him thoroughly, was that Sherlock had, in some grotesque way, used his cereal for an experiment. Perhaps how quickly mold can grow on a grain, or how fast each crumb will rot when sustained in some sort of god-knows-what-it-contains solution.
John rolled his eyes and inched the pantry door shut, turning around to face the man bent over his microscope, hair in disarray. He could hear Eleanor and Bella chatting to one another in the living room – most likely each perched in an armchair. They had risen fairly early, much to John's surprise, and had gone on to explain that they were used to it, having to deal with quite demanding occupations "back at home".
Celeste, for all he knew, was still snuggled up in Sherlock's duvet. John had wondered where she was this morning only to be met with an instantly smug expression drawn across Sherlock's features – which had, in fact, made him worry. He had asked, and Sherlock had told him, as though it were the most normal thing in the very whole of 221B.
John let out a sigh and turned to the man himself, eyeing him suspiciously as he failed to look up from whatever "research" he was concocting. "Sherlock," John began, "What have I told you about experimenting on the food?"
The consulting detective didn't budge; he merely let out a deep, exasperated breath of air and grumbled, "I haven't touched anything."
John scoffed and nodded his head, taking on a sarcastic manner, as Sherlock finally lifted his head from the microscope. "What did you use it for this time? The progress of dissolution in water? The effect tobacco ash has on grain products?"
Sherlock narrowed both eyes, looked down, swallowed, and then looked back up, "Again: I haven't touched anything – but those suggestions have potential, John. Thank you."
The doctor groaned and trudged to the living room, lifting a hand to the bridge of his nose in aggravation. He neared the two women sat comfortably, the blonde on the sofa, and the darker haired in John's armchair. The blogger smiled and headed for the leather seat, eager to sit before Bella, as she sipped elegantly on a mug of hot chocolate.
"What's the plan for today then, John?" Eleanor grinned from across the room, gulping her own steaming cup of coffee.
John turned to her, beaming pleasantly as he leaned back in the cushioned chair. "Well, I actually need to head down to the clinic. I was going to ask about a job." The doctor blushed slightly and shrugged, "I figured after that I can take you all further into London, and you can do some shopping."
Annabelle grinned happily and bobbed her head in agreement, "Sounds fantastic."
John bit his lip shyly, and both merely looked into one another's eyes, each finding a strange sort of bliss in the other.
"Maybe you should go with him, Bells." Eleanor suggested coyly, smirking as she lifted the mug up to her lips.
Her thoughts centered on the idea of Sarah Sawyer – the clinic, the flirting, the date. Should John meet the woman, would he feel the same about Annabelle? Perhaps sending her friend with the good doctor would remind him of the better woman standing beside him rather than Sarah from the clinic.
Bella turned to her friend in suspicion, one brow arched as she watched her put down her cup, acting as though she was merely an innocent victim in the game of life.
"You know, you're a doctor too," El shrugged genuinely, "You should inspect the clinic, and make sure it's worthy of John's talents." Eleanor grinned as she watched the success of her actions before her eyes – Annabelle reddened, and John cleared his throat, chuckling slightly under his breath.
The army doctor stared straight forward at the woman before him and smirked sincerely, "She makes a good point."
Bella let out a single, sharp, earnest laugh, "She does, doesn't she?" She took a minute to debate the situation, noting the hopeful expression John wore beautifully, and finally nodded in confirmation, "If you don't mind having me, I'd love to tag along."
John clapped jokingly, grinning in approval and leaped up from his seat in Sherlock's armchair, "I believe this calls for a cup of tea!"
Both Annabelle and Eleanor giggled as they bobbed their heads joyfully. Bella watched as John flew into the kitchen, reaching to switch on the kettle. She was terribly excited – it gave her time to spend with John Watson, and, in contrast, it was clear that she would never not have time for the man.
Eleanor turned to her friend, tapping her shoulder and dragging her from her current train of thought. She leaned toward the armchair she sat in and narrowed both eyes, "Is Celeste still sleeping?"
Annabelle scoffed and nodded, "You know how she is. She's rarely ever the early bird."
She took a sip of her hot chocolate and shook her head in disapproval.
Eleanor rolled her eyes, snorting irritably, "She's probably entranced by the smell of Sherlock's sheets."
Bella chuckled earnestly and slapped her friend on the shoulder, "Enough! Wake her up. If we leave her to sleep, she'll most likely show herself around mid-day."
With a nod of her curly blonde head, Eleanor raised both hands to her mouth and took a deep breath, only to exhale with a loud, ear-splitting shout. "CELESTE!"
Annabelle fell startled beside her, throwing a hand to her heart in shock, feeling the erratic pulse of her heart rate beating beneath her fingers. John sprinted from the kitchen cautiously, eyes vibrating over the two women for any sign of trouble. Sherlock merely raised his head from the microscope and narrowed both eyes.
Eleanor shrugged her shoulders and beamed mischievously, "What? She's a light sleeper."
Nevertheless, with perfect timing, Celeste flew from the door of Sherlock's bedroom, tripping mindlessly over her own feet, as she stumbled toward the living room. And it was apparent, that at that moment, Celeste was oblivious to the fact that she was still just wearing a jumper and her knickers.
She flew forward attempting to balance herself out, as her dirty blonde hair tousled over into her vision, a scruffy mess of both curls and straight edges. Her expression was slightly fearful in character, and she quickly came to an abrupt stop upon standing between both the kitchen and living room of 221B.
Eleanor stifled the uncontrollable giggles straining to be set free, and Annabelle's eyes fell open wide in both pity for her friend and nervous amusement. John merely froze on the spot, and all was thrown out of proportion when the shatter of glass against the tile floor had everyone yelping in fright.
Eleanor and Bella turned to glance at Sherlock, who had, apparently, dropped a test tube onto the floor beside him, and was currently struggling to regain himself. The two women then turned to face Celeste once more, who stood shock still, pupils blown wide, her eyes merely fixated on the consulting detective.
Her cheeks were pink, her hair was utterly disheveled, and her hands were fumbling with the jumper, eagerly pulling the fabric down to cover what lied above her thighs. John dropped his eyes shamefully and cleared his throat, eager to break the awkward, amusing silence. Sherlock, on the other hand, was currently staring down at the broken glass, brows furrowed as though he was unsure how it got there. Eleanor and Bella strained to hold onto a sturdy composure whilst their friend stood, nearly half naked, before her crush. And in one smooth motion, Celeste swallowed, nodded her head in embarrassment, and ran a hand through the mess of her blonde hair.
"Sorry," She mumbled, still utterly flustered, "I thought someone was possibly dying." She sighed, bit her lip, and turned back around, jogging speedily back to Sherlock's bedroom.
And then Eleanor let loose – the giggles were unstoppable at that point, running from her mouth like a waterfall of laughter. Annabelle couldn't help herself either – upon hearing her friend bust out into teary snickers, she simply had to do the same. John was red in the face as he quickly hurried to finish preparing his cup of tea, and Sherlock was still frozen, eyes now wide in surprise and, perhaps, a hint of mischievous pride.
It was only when Celeste returned, dressed this time, that everyone went back to what they were previously doing, at a normal pace now, and at least an ordinary complexion. The darker blonde emerged white as a sheet, brows folded down in dread as she slowly made her way toward the black, leather armchair, eager to sit down, and quite possibly attempt to hide away from the world. She didn't speak a word to the smug faces her friends were staring at her with, and merely cleared her throat in a desperate effort to break the ongoing silence.
John took the hint and quickly returned from the kitchen, with two cups of tea instead of one. He leaned towards the dirty blonde huddled up in her own misery on the cozy seat, and lifted one mug towards her, carefully nudging it her way.
She smiled thankfully, and accepted the offer with a sigh of relief, dragging it to her lips, and basking in the warmth and comfort a simply cup of tea could provide. "Thank you."
John grinned and bobbed his head in confirmation, heading back to the kitchen in search of something for breakfast – since, thanks to Sherlock, he couldn't have a calming bowl of cereal.
Celeste sipped the hot beverage before her, taking the moment to shoot both of her friends a horrific scowl from just above the rim of the mug.
Eleanor pouted playfully and let out a giggle, "Come on, Celeste. It wasn't that bad."
Annabelle nodded in an attempt to soothe Celeste's reddened expression, "Yeah, and besides – you have nothing to worry about. Not with a figure like that." It was an effort to relax her friend, as she had always been slightly self-conscious about her body, when she needn't be. She had the body of a tennis player, her childhood sport, and was tall, a bit on the lanky side, but still utterly graceful when she wished to appear so.
Celeste smiled briefly and took another sip of her creamy tea.
"Not only that," Eleanor began, smirking sneakily, "Did you see Sherlock?"
Annabelle bobbed her head in agreement, holding back a laugh as Celeste nearly coughed up her entire gulp of tea.
The darker blonde swallowed painfully and narrowed her eyes, "What the hell are you on about?"
Eleanor shrugged, and arched a brow suggestively, "Why do you think he dropped that test tube?"
Celeste was frozen still at her friend's words, utterly motionless, except for the steady blush creeping along her cheekbones.
Bella grinned and sighed, proclaiming the topic over with, "We're going shopping today - just so you're aware Miss I-want-to-sleep-until-the-moon-comes-up."
The lighter blonde giggled, "Yes, and Bells is joining John on his mission of employment."
Celeste arched a brow cautiously, "You mean – where and when he's supposed to meet Sarah?"
Both Eleanor and Bella nodded, confirming their friend's suspicions.
The dirty blonde bit her lip in hesitation, "And we're sure this is a good idea?"
Annabelle dropped her eyes to the mug tucked lightly in the palms of her hands as Eleanor leaned forward, cocking her head to the side in confusion, "What do you mean?"
Celeste lifted her cup to her lips, eager to take a drink before stating, "Well, whatever happened to not getting involved?"
Bella cleared her throat in agreement, but quickly shook her head, "Honestly, Celeste? I think we already are involved."
Eleanor nodded, "Deeply."
The darker blonde bit her lip and turned to glance over at the kitchen where John stood, spreading butter along the surface of a toasted loaf of bread, somewhat aggressively, whilst Sherlock continued to glare through the scope of his high-end equipment. Her eyes froze on the detective, taking in the slouch of his slender figure, the placement of his long fingers against the rim of the microscope lens; the way his rich, chocolate curls fell onto his forehead effortlessly, and furrow of his brows. And soon she met his eyes – blue, green, silver and gold – as he lifted his gaze to her own, eyeing her curiously and bemusedly. She swallowed thickly and dropped her eyes to the mug in her hands, eager to replace her sights with something less scrutinizing.
"Well, shall we head out?" John's voice startled everyone from their relaxed state of mind, and the three women quickly regained themselves.
"Sure," Bella smiled sweetly, tugging a little on the rim of her black skirt, feeling slightly ridiculous in the lack of good clothing. They were all merely clad in what they had worn yesterday – a bit ruffled, and torn at, but overall still presentable.
John reached for the coat hanger and removed a small jacket, one of his own most likely, and handed it to Annabelle.
"Bit nippy out." He beamed as the dark haired girl grabbed hold of the fabric gratefully.
"Have fun you two." Eleanor smirked, and waved jokingly their way, watching as they both snickered and headed out the door. Annabelle's long black hair whirled out around her as she took to the stairs toward the exit, and John held a thumbs-up in the air upon closing the door to the flat.
And then it was simply Eleanor, Celeste, and Sherlock. The lighter blonde faced the two of them, watching as Sherlock remained near his microscope, peering passionately down at the specimens beneath the lens, and Celeste stayed put in the leather chair, sipping elegantly on her still-steaming cup of tea. She bit her lip slyly, and flipped her luscious bright hair.
"Well, I'm going to go downstairs and finally meet Ms. Hudson." She announced, reaching for the handle of the flat door, "No funny business, you hear me?"
Celeste's jaw dropped at her nerve, and she sniggered upon lunging the entry open. Everything was perfect in her little game of matchmaker – why not take advantage of giving Celeste and Sherlock some time alone?
She smiled darkly to herself and shut the door behind her.
Annabelle walked alongside John as they swayed through the glass entrance of the clinic before them. It was quite homely, for its purpose, of course. Everything was white and tan, giving it a bright vibe as though it were not simply a place full of sick people. The aura surrounding it was somewhat pleasant and joyful, and the nurses appeared helpful and kind in their light blue scrubs, and neatly applied makeup and gracefully done-up hair. Bella looked over at John, who seemed to have fallen into the very idea of the word comfort – he was in his zone, in his element. She couldn't help but smile at his confidence.
They both approached a woman at the front desk, of whom John did not recognize, but Bella knew straight away. Sarah Sawyer – future ex-girlfriend of one John Watson. Annabelle swallowed and watched as John beamed at the woman respectively, nodding his head as he took notice of her 'ready to help' stance and manner. Bella stood at John's side, taking a deep breath and trying her very best to make it appear as though the army doctor next to her was not single.
"Hi," Sarah smiled politely, standing clad in her white doctor's coat and shiny stethoscope, "How can I help you two?"
John glanced at Bella, only swiftly, and then cleared his throat, "Ah, John. John Watson?"
Dr. Sawyer's light brown ponytail swayed slightly as she lifted her chin in recognition. "Oh! Right, yes. You called about the occupation."
John nodded in confirmation and licked his lips, observing as Sarah gestured to the both of them, "Here, come with me."
Bella swallowed nervously and walked alongside a proud John, following both doctors into another room, just across from the front desk. Private office of Sarah Sawyer – Annabelle inwardly rolled her eyes. The doctor herself made her way toward her messy desk, shuffling through a few stacks of papers before stopping and lifting John's file in her hand, reading through carefully.
"Just locum work." Sarah watched John with narrowed eyes.
"That's fine." John bobbed his head sternly, absolutely glowing with admirable confidence. Bella shifted at his side.
"You're a bit over qualified." Sarah shrugged, chuckling softly.
John cleared his throat and looked down, "I could always do with the money."
She nodded, "Well, we've got two away on holiday this week, and one's just left to have a baby. Might be a bit mundane for you."
John raised both eyebrows and caught a brief glimpse of Annabelle's smug expression, suppressing a mild grin as he grunted a response, "Mundane is good sometimes; mundane works."
Sarah glanced once more at the file and then back at John, "Says here you were a soldier."
Bella took the moment to step in, "And a doctor." Sarah turned her way with an arched brow of suspicion.
She continued, "And a brilliant one at that."
John beamed at her, lips raised in an adorably praised smile, inching his way just slightly closer to Annabelle's tense stance.
Sarah cleared her throat, her flirtatious act faltering just slightly, "Anything else you can do?"
The darker haired woman stepped in again, "He learned the clarinet at school."
John whirled to face her, eyes widened, brows raised in disbelief, but Annabelle merely fell smug as she watched Sarah's features go from 'continuing her seductive enquiries' to 'not interested'. Bella had been successful in making John appear utterly taken, and utterly 'in-a-relationship'. With a small shrug, she grinned at both doctors in her presence and gently tossed her hair to the side.
Celeste was still sat in the leather chair that smells so very Sherlock, except instead of drinking from a cup of tea, she was hunched over a sheet of paper, pencil in hand, and sketching quite delicately across the white surface. Her eyes kept jumping up to settle on the consulting detective, who was currently gazing thoroughly at several photographs, of which he had taken earlier with his mobile phone, tapped, pinned and stapled haphazardly to the wall before him.
The silence in the flat was comfortable silence, and Celeste felt utterly at home in 221B, sat curled up on a cozy seat, drawing the very picture before her eyes. She was currently working on the intricate curls of Sherlock's ruffled brown hair, looping the end of her pencil around and outwards in elegant swirls and squiggles.
The piece was coming together perfectly, but when she looked up again to take in more details on the man before her, she narrowed her eyes when noticing that he had changed positions. Suddenly, she was immensely curious on whatever was swarming through his mind and so she carefully cleared her throat, pausing in the efforts of her pencil to observe him more genuinely.
"So," She began, but before she could get in another word, she was abruptly cut off.
"Please don't feel the need to create small talk, Ms. Winchester. I need to think." Sherlock stated bluntly, and pinned another picture to the wall in front of him.
The blonde bit her lip and sighed, "It's Celeste."
Sherlock didn't turn to face her; he merely continued to stare at his visual spider web, "Sorry?"
She shifted in the chair beneath her and raised her chin just slightly, eager to get her point across, "Well, call me Celeste. Unless you're comfortable with me constantly calling you Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock spun gracefully then, eyes landing on the woman sat in his armchair, smirking at his puzzled expression, of which was fixated on the mystery that is Celeste Winchester. "No. Just Sherlock."
The woman nodded and beamed approvingly, going back to the sheet of paper before her, "Great."
The silence now passed awkwardly, as Sherlock was still observing her, with a printed image in both of his hands.
His eyes glided down to watch her continue her intricate drawing, noting the grace and poise she portrayed upon sliding her pencil this way and that. He noted how her blonde hair gently tousled down into her way, studying the way her nimble fingers gently put it back in place behind a pale ear. He regarded the way she was sitting, her legs folded beneath her on the seat, one arm braced on the corner of a large textbook of which held as a sturdy surface for her drawing, and the other arm grasping firmly onto her art utensil.
He cleared his throat suddenly, eager to snap himself out of whatever haze he had just fallen into, "Tea?"
Celeste looked up, peering intensely at the strikingly exotic man before her and nodded, "Please."
He zoomed to the kitchen, flipping the switch to the kettle, only to hear a small voice call out from the living room upon his disappearance.
"Extra sugar, Sugar."
His eyes widened at the words and he quickly ducked back into the other room, head tilted in confusion and mild suspicion, "Sorry, what?"
The woman was still sat on the armchair, expression blown wide in each and every detail of her endearing features, as she stared fearfully his way. She bit her lip and responded as though utterly oblivious, "Huh?"
Sherlock shook his head, baffled by the mysterious being, "You said –"
"I just said," Celeste swallowed upon interrupting him, "double the sugar. Please."
The detective nodded slowly and returned to what he was doing in the kitchen, mumbling back a simple, bemused, "Right."
After a few more utterly awkward moments, in which Celeste inwardly murdered herself over her own stupidity, Sherlock returned, holding a single cup of tea gracefully in his elegant, slender fingers.
He handed it to the blonde and she quickly bobbed her head gratefully, "Thank you."
The detective didn't respond – he merely went for John's red armchair, and carefully sat down, stippling his hands under his chin in his infamous, concentrated, prayer-like position, as his unusual eyes closed in deliberation.
Celeste narrowed her own eyes, noting the fact that she was now holding a cup of tea Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective, made for her, by himself. And to top it all off, on the strangeness level from one to ten, he didn't even have his own cup.
"Where's yours?"
Sherlock cracked open one eye, his expression remaining overtly blank and motionless.
"Your tea, I mean." Celeste reiterated with a dainty smile, lifting the mug to her lips, and breathing in the sweet, soothing scent.
"I'm thinking." Sherlock replied simply, as though that worked as an explanation for just about anything.
Celeste smirked and nodded, "Yes, of course."
The blonde tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, watching as Sherlock's eyes shut again, and then went back to detailing the sketch of her artwork. More minutes passed of further comfortable silence, before Sherlock shot upwards, leaning forward in the armchair, wild eyes fixated on Celeste's frozen position.
"You know, don't you?" He uttered to a very perplexed woman.
She arched a brow and cocked her head, "Know what?"
"Who the murderer is, what's currently going on."
Celeste swallowed, but didn't respond.
Sherlock huffed impatiently, "Tell me Celeste. What's going to happen?"
She shrugged, "Well, you'll solve this puzzle, just like you always do."
"No, I don't mean the case."
"What do you mean then?" Celeste asked with narrowed eyes.
Sherlock hesitated but cleared his throat and spoke anyways, "Come on. Don't be coy. You look at John and I with an almost ever-present fondness, but then," He paused, eyeing the woman before him, "when you think I'm not looking, it turns both hopeful and hopeless at the same time – you seem to appear as though you're haunted by devastation."
The blonde dropped her eyes to the mug of tea in her hands, and the drawing resting abandoned on her lap. He was right – utterly right. Because the current Sherlock and John were the best of friends – solving crimes together, beating bad guys, saving lives. And yet, they had no idea of what was to come. Sherlock's sacrifice, John's anger and despair – and worst of all, the fact that John moves on, because to him, it's the best decision he can make. So, yes, she did feel hopeless and hopeful and devastated because she knew what the future held, what it had in store for the two characters and human beings she loved endlessly – and she knew she couldn't, and shouldn't, stop it from happening.
"What happens to us?" Sherlock asked, eyes narrowing in concentration as he observed the expression of the woman sitting across from him, "Do we die? Hate one another?"
Celeste shook her head, "I can't."
Sherlock nodded, suddenly appearing apologetic, "I suppose not."
"It could throw everything off. Change things."
"Right." The detective shut his eyes once more, and returned to his position of application.
Celeste swallowed desperately, wishing the man would continue to speak to her, so instead she leaned forward, further toward him, "Sherlock."
"Hm?" He hummed, eyes still clenched shut in concentration.
"Just promise you'll trust me enough to tell me."
He faced her at that moment, expression absolutely mystified by her words, observing as she fell back against the soft leather of the armchair she sat on. "Tell you what?"
Celeste bit her lip, "You'll know – when the moment comes. You'll know."
Sherlock tilted his head suspiciously, and sent her a single nod of confirmation before she smiled and went back to her drawing.
"Now that is quite the story," The frail old lady snickered softly, getting to her feet, as Eleanor completed retelling the adventure she was now titling, 'The Unexpected Road Trip'.
"Yeah, Sherlock and John have been wonderful – letting us stay in their space and all." Eleanor stated gratefully and grinned at Ms. Hudson as she handed her a biscuit and then proceeded in sitting back down to face her.
"Golden hearts – the both of them. John's a miracle, and, even if you wouldn't believe it, Sherlock is one of the most gentlest of people." The little lady beamed, and it was clear to Eleanor just how fond the woman was of her neighbors.
"My friend's are right where they want to be – right under their noses. They're obsessed with the two of them – they both have crushes the size of elephants." Eleanor expressed while chomping on her ginger biscuit.
Ms. Hudson let out a soft laugh and shook her head, "Whatever do you mean dear?"
The blonde shrugged, "Well, they're helplessly in love."
The old woman guffawed in disbelief, and grinned an incredibly wide grin, "Oh my, how fantastic!"
Eleanor smirked and nodded, "Hm, yes. You see, my friend Annabelle has a date with John, and their relationship is brewing quite nicely."
Ms. Hudson nodded, faintly bemused – which was understandable.
She had, of course, thought John was gay since the moment she first met him.
"Sherlock and Celeste on the other hand," Eleanor feigned an exhausted pant, "they're a bit more difficult."
Ms. Hudson beamed happily and leaned forward, "And you? Who do you love helplessly?"
The lighter blonde turned to the woman, eyes wide, brows raised; frankly, she was surprised she had bothered to ask.
"Well, I don't think any of them would approve of my choice in man."
Ms. Hudson giggled and shook her head defiantly, "Oh dear, what does it matter what they think? If you love someone and they make you happy, it's the best thing in the world."
Eleanor bit her lip coyly and blushed, "I suppose you're right, Ms. H."
The little old lady swatted her arm playfully, "Of course I'm right, dear."
Eleanor grinned and thought of the very man she couldn't help but have fallen in love with – slicked back, charcoal black hair, pure pupil-less black eyes, and the stance of sex itself. Oh yes, she definitely was helplessly in love.
Annabelle and John returned to the entrance of 221B, stopping just outside the flat as John turned to the woman next to him, eyes narrowed and playfully suspicious. "How did you know?"
Bella arched a brow, "Hm?"
"How did you know I played clarinet at school?"
The dark haired woman shrugged and smirked sneakily, "Would you believe me if I told you I deduced it?"
John scoffed and grinned wide and bright, "Not a chance."
