The Reichenbach Fall
Noisy Silence
Walking over to the kitchen sink, Rose Spencer drained her first cup of tea of the day before deciding to take a shower, smiling to herself as she realised she didn't have a clue as to what the day would bring her – but knew it would be interesting.
As she headed for the hot water of the shower, she thought back to some of their recent cases, trying to recall when they started to get such high-profile cases.
The recovered piece of art was the first big thing landed them in the news, swiftly followed by the safe return of the kidnapped banker and even finding Interpol's number one most wanted. The young woman only chuckled as she remembered the press conference; and the gift Sherlock had received.
It was one of the things she had been quite grateful of during their time in the spotlight. While Sherlock was getting most – if not all – of the credit and it was also Sherlock who was being gifted the customary thank you presents in front of crowds of clapping people and flashing photographers. She had wondered if she should mind, but soon came to the conclusion that whether she should or shouldn't mind, it didn't make any difference; she didn't actually care. She only cared for getting the job done.
One thing's for sure, she thought as she grabbed her phone and headed upstairs again, we really are making a name for ourselves...
Heading to the kitchen to make another cup of tea, she found that she wasn't the only one with the topic of their new found fame on their mind.
"Gets one what?" Sherlock asked as he paced in the living room, frown in place as he thought.
"Tabloid nickname." John answered. "Subo, Nasty Nick... Shouldn't worry, I'll probably get one soon."
"Page 5, column six, first sentence." Rose chipped in, poking her head into the room as the kettle boiled. "Morning boys!"
"How...? Oh, never mind," John answered, wondering briefly how she knew exactly in the paper he'd find such information, but settled on seeing what the press had called him instead, turning back to the paper. "Morning Rose."
Sherlock just grunted in her general direction.
She had of course already read the paper over her first cuppa and knew exactly what it said about them; well, about her flat mates that is. Sherlock was apparently a "Boffin" while John was labelled a "Bachelor" which she knew was going to irk him. Rose herself however was yet to be mentioned by name or nickname. There had only been two vague mentions of her existence in the recent news and only in reference to "Mr Holmes' Assistant" - as though she were always an afterthought, if thought of at all.
Not that the young woman minded – anonymity was a blessing in their world.
"More importantly..." Sherlock said, drawing her attention. "Why is it always the hat photograph?"
Smiling at his detest for that photo, Rose joined them in the living room seeing John frowning at the paper as he read his nickname. "Bachelor John Watson."
"People like the hat." Rose answered, ignoring the good doctor and his bruised ego.
Sherlock just frowned at her. "What kind of hat is it, anyway?"
"Bachelor?" John continued, equally ignoring them. "What the hell are they implying?"
"Is it a cap?" Sherlock questioned, turning that hat over in his hands. "Why has it got two fronts?"
Rose just smiled even more at her friends, content in the madness of their life. "It's a deer stalker, Sherlock."
"...frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson." John read to them, looking up at her with a crease in his brow.
"I wouldn't take it to heart, John." She comforted, trying her best to repress the smirk at his reaction.
Sherlock however was still stuck on the hat. "How do you stalk a deer with a hat? What am I going to do, throw it?"
"Confirmed bachelor, John Watson!" John exclaimed looking equal parts outraged and confused; who had confirmed it...?
"Is it like some sort of death Frisbee?" Sherlock questioned, looking as though he were about to throw the hat in no particular direction.
Rose tried to reign him in, voice as serious as she had ever been. "You can't kill someone with a hat, Sherlock."
"Actually..." He started, turning to her with interest. "There was this one case where-"
"Forget it!" She proclaimed, cutting off his insane story. "I take it back; I don't want to know!"
"Okay, this is too much." John told them, looking up. "We need to be more careful."
Rose just raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not even in that one."
Frowning deeper, John turned back to the paper, having been too focused on his own dilemma to notice much else. "Hu, no, you're not..."
"It's got flaps, ear flaps!" Sherlock shouted at them, throwing the offending garment at the doctor. "It's an ear hat, John!" Now the hat was out of his hands, he dropped them to his sides as he seemed to catch up with the other conversation. "What do you mean, more careful?"
"I mean, this isn't a deer stalker now..." John explained, holding up the hat. "It's a Sherlock Holmes Hat. I mean, that you're not exactly a private detective anymore. You're this far from famous!" Giving them both a serious look, he held up his hand, finger and thumb close together just to bring home his point.
Sherlock however wasn't fazed, brushing off his friend as he threw himself into his chair. "Oh, it'll pass."
"It'd better pass..." Rose muttered.
"The press will turn Sherlock, they always turn!" John proclaimed, pointed finger aimed at the man himself. "And they'll turn on you!"
Rose raised a brow at her friend. "A tad dramatic, don't you think, John?" She only got an eye roll for her trouble.
Sherlock was frowning again, but a calmer frown to his earlier confusion; as if he's just seen something he probably should have noticed earlier. "It really bothers you..."
"What?" The other man questioned, though he was used to not quite following the madman's train of thought at this point.
Sherlock clarified, "What people say."
"Yes." He confirmed, as though it were obvious.
"About me?" The younger man questioned further. "I don't understand, why would it upset you?"
Uh oh, Rose thought as she watched the pair of them with a wary eye. This situation had all the makings of a row between her two flatmates. It's not like they argued often, but when they did it was never over something normal, like who drank the last of the milk or who left a dirty plate out. No, the men she lived with argued about social norms more often than anything else; what was and wasn't appropriate under certain circumstances, why taking people's feelings into account can be important to some folks, and why it is not okay – under any circumstances – to leave unlabelled substances in their kitchen. That last one had taken some negotiating between the sides of "if you don't know what it is, leave it alone" and "I shouldn't have to leave it alone – it's in my bloody kitchen!"
Luckily, this didn't seem to be one of those time though.
"Just try to keep a low profile?" John asked of them, turning to catch Rose's eye as well. "Find yourselves a little case this week? Stay out of the news..."
She let out a small sigh as she turned to the Consulting Detective as well. "It can't hurt to take a few small cases Sherlock; John may have a point. Undercover isn't exactly easy if everyone knows who you are – we got lucky in Baskerville..."
John nodded along with her, remembering when they had broken into the top-secret military base and had been found; it was only by sheer luck they had managed to get out of there, especially after being recognised for who they were by one of the doctors.
Sherlock just looked between his friends – knowing they were right, but unwilling to acknowledge it – before huffing a breath and launching himself out of his chair, dressing gown billowing after him as he went to get dressed.