Hello, puddin's! I have been so sick all week and I'm spending my third day at home in bed. I decided to try and write a ton today so you all get THREE chapters! Xoxo
About a month had passed since Sherlock and Céline began their relationship. They had both decided to keep it a secret from everyone. The only person who knew was Mycroft. In addition, they had both decided to take things slow, they hadn't made love or gotten close to anything like it. Sherlock would stay over at Céline's much more often but they wouldn't do anything past kissing and holding each other. This night was no different. Sherlock and Céline were laying in bed. Her head was against his chest and he was gently rubbing her back. He felt comfortable with her. Lately, he had been feeling bored, there hadn't been another case like the last in a long time. But being with Céline always calmed him down.
"What time is your flight?" She asked.
"To Belarus? It's at 4 am. Mycroft loves to torment me." Sherlock replied. She giggled.
"We had better go to bed." Céline yawned. Sherlock frowned and nuzzled into her.
"Céline, I hope this case isn't boring." He sighed. "I'm going crazy."
"Another case is bound to come up soon," Céline spoke, playing with his hair and closing her eyes. Sherlock watched her as she drifted to sleep. At 2 am he got up and kissed her cheek before going to the airport. By 9 am he was at his location. It was an assembly room in a big prison. Sherlock was exhausted, he sat across a man wearing a jumpsuit. There was a prison guard at the door.
"Just tell me what happened. From the beginning." Sherlock spoke, eager to finish up and get back to Céline. He could tell this case wasn't going to stifle his boredom from the second he landed.
"We'd been to a bar. Nice place. I got chatting to one of the waitresses and Karen weren't happy. So when we got back to the hotel we ended up having a ding-dong, didn't we? She was always getting at me. Saying I weren't a real man." The man spoke. Sherlock felt the hairs on his neck stand up in annoyance.
"I wasn't a real man," Sherlock corrected. The prisoner stared at him, tilting his head in confusion.
"What?" The prisoner asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"It's not weren't, it's wasn't." Sherlock snapped. "Go on."
"Well, I dunno how but suddenly there was a knife in me hands. Me Dad was a butcher so I know how to handle knives. He learned us how to cut up a beast…" The prisoner spoke. Sherlock scoffed again, crossing his arms. The prisoner frowned. "What?"
"He taught you how to cut up a beast." Sherlock corrected again. This time the prisoner ignored him.
"Yeah. Well. Then I done it." He spoke, beginning to get upset.
"Did it." Sherlock corrected.
"Did it. Stabbed her! Over and over! And I looked down and she weren't moving no more. God help me. I don't know how it happened but it was an accident. I swear it!" As he spoke the prisoner began to sob. Sherlock turned and nodded to the guard at the door. The prisoner suddenly began to beg as Sherlock stood to leave. "Look, you've gotta help me, Mr. Holmes. Everyone says you're the best. Without you, I'll get hung for this!"
"No, no, no Mr. Bewick. Not at all." Sherlock coyly snapped. "Hanged, yes." He corrected before leaving. He quickly flew back to London. When he returned it was almost 2 pm. Céline was at work so he couldn't go bother her for a game of chess so he begrudgingly trotted home. He showered and pulled on his plaid robe before pacing the front room. After twenty minutes of pacing, he painted a large smiley face onto the wall. After twenty more minutes of pacing, he took a gun he had on the mantelpiece and fired three gunshots into the mouth and eyes of the smiley face. Watson immediately stormed in from his room, clutching his head.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?!" Watson shouted. He had been nursing a headache from a night out pub crawling and the gunshots weren't helping.
"Bored." Sherlock snapped.
"What!?" Watson shouted again.
"Bored. I don't know what's got into the criminal classes. I had a terrible morning in Belarus." Sherlock explained.
"So you take it out on the wall?" Watson asked in disbelief.
"The wall had it coming." Sherlock snapped at him. Watson went into the kitchen.
"So what was wrong with the Belarus case?" Watson asked.
"Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time." Sherlock replied. He sat at the table and began to look at Watson's laptop. "I see you've written up the Taxi Driver case."
"Um...yeah." Watson absentmindedly spoke as he started a pot of coffee.
"'A Study in Pink'. Nice." Sherlock sarcastically spoke. Watson returned with his cup of coffee.
"Well, you know. Pink lady, pink case, pink phone. There was a lot of pinks. Did you like it?" Watson asked.
"Er...no." Sherlock cringed, reading.
"Why not? I thought you'd be...flattered." Watson offered, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Flattered!?" Sherlock snapped, offended. He began reading from the blog. "Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."
"Hang on, I didn't mean…" Watson began to explain himself.
"What, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way? Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister. Or who's sleeping with who!" Sherlock pouted, crossing his arms.
"Or that the earth goes 'round the Sun?" Watson snapped. Sherlock's face curled up in annoyance.
"Oh! That again? It's not important." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Not important! It's primary stuff! How can you not know!?" Watson snapped back.
"If I ever did, I've deleted." Sherlock shrugged.
"Deleted it?" Watson questioned, not believing him.
"What the hell does that matter? So we go around the Sun! If we went 'round the Moon or round and round the garden like a teddy bear it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters is the work. Without it, my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or, better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." Sherlock snapped, getting in a grumpy mood. Watson got up to leave.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.
"Out!" Watson shouted. "I need some air!" Sherlock frowned and jumped up to go look out the window. He saw Watson leave down the street and checked his watch. He groaned. It was still far too early to go over to see Céline. Mrs. Hudson popped her head in.
"You two had a little...domestic?" She asked. Sherlock frowned.
"Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet. Calm. Peaceful. Isn't it hateful?" Sherlock observed. Mrs. Hudson patted his shoulder.
"I'm sure something will turn up, a nice murder! That'll cheer you up." She spoke before going back downstairs.
"Can't come too soon," Sherlock shouted after her before going back to pacing. A few moments later he heard a faint tick and then it happened. BOOM. A large explosion broke the windows, shook the walls, and sent Sherlock flying back.