The Reichenbach Fall
Low-Key Silence
After getting dressed for the day, Sherlock knelt down beside his bed and reached underneath. Stretching a little further, his fingertips brushed dusty cardboard and he smiled in success. Pulling the box out, he checked it had everything he'd needed and was glad to see it did.
He'd planned – since they were trying to be a little more "low key" for a few days at least – that he'd check his experiments and maybe consider a few new ones, possibly even answering a few emails if he got really desperate.
He'd never admit it to anyone but considering the influx of work and the heavy workload they'd had recently, even he would benefit from a few quiet days to recharge a little. It wouldn't last long at all, but he supposed for the sake of keeping John at bay, he could sacrifice this one time.
Rose had been a problem though. Before they'd started working together, he could have easily lost himself to his Mind Palace for a few days before getting back to work, knowing John would just leave him to it but recently Rose's appetite for a case had only increased. The woman was always eager when he had a new case, sometimes even being grateful when they'd picked one up on the way home from the last one.
It was strange, but Sherlock had this notion that this was what it may be like to live with him; she was almost always bored - even if she wasn't always quite so vocal about it - and rarely surprised by anything other than some of his deductions. That was why, in a rare moment of empathy, he thought he'd find something to occupy his assistant while he ran his experiments.
Carrying the ridiculously heavy and dusty box down the stairs, he found her at the desk at her laptop, though seeing him approach, she quickly put the folding devise away just in time for him to dump the box in front of her in a cloud of dust and with a surprisingly loud thud.
Rose coughed in the cloud that she hadn't expected and blinked up at the madman she called a friend and a boss. "What's this, Sherlock?"
"Take a look!" He said with a smile, proud of his thoughtfulness to his friend.
Rose – always wary when Sherlock was this happy, especially without a case – slowly turned to the dusty box, lifting the cardboard lid to find at least a hundred different locks and a strip of leather folded over a few times.
"Locks..." She said, wondering what she'd missed.
"And a lock pick set." Sherlock told her.
Rose found her confusion around the box was clarified but she was still a little unsure about why Sherlock seemed so pleased about a box of locks. "I know how to pick a lock."
"Always room for improvement." Sherlock encouraged, however seeing a frown on his assistant he deflated somewhat; he was sure he hadn't done anything wrong this time.
The young woman just looked at her insane friend, blinking a few times before drawing breath. "...you're not kidding, are you?"
Sherlock was at a loss now. He'd tried to do her a favour but she didn't seem happy, and he couldn't figure out why. It was one of the first things he'd practised when starting out; picking locks until he could do it in total darkness. It was a skill he didn't use often, admittedly, but the few times he had needed it, it was very useful to know.
Rather than try and decipher his assistant though, the young man decided that he had better things to do and his experiments would certainly make more sense. Giving a small hum, he turned away from her and headed to the kitchen.
Rose however was more confused than ever. Looking over to John who was still on the sofa – getting only a shrug in answer from him – she resigned herself to brushing up on her lock picking skills, grateful that he'd at least thrown in a lock picking set to use.
And that was how they spent the next couple of days; John pottering around the flat, reading a book or updating his blog, Rose sat at the desk picking locks and occasionally making food for them all, and Sherlock in the kitchen doing God knows what.
Of course, this peaceful down time couldn't last forever and was broken on day three by an unusual ticking sound coming from the kitchen. Frowning in confusion, Rose popped the lock she was working on before placing it down on the table and looking over to John.
She'd found picking the locks surprisingly relaxing; there was a clear task, an obvious end and a multitude of complexities available from the box of many, many locks. She'd been able to pick a simple lock before she started, but now could quite proudly say she was indeed much better for the practice.
John looked up at the sound too, the pair sharing a look and silently debating whether they should take a look before deciding that perhaps it would be a good idea considering Sherlock was in the kitchen as well.
Getting up slowly, they both approached the kitchen with a shared trepidation, not knowing what to find behind the closed doors. They had learnt shortly after moving in with the mad man that when he was experimenting it really was best to let him get on with it and just have a fire extinguisher close by to be on the safe side.
As they were a few steps away from the kitchen door however, they both heard a large bang from the kitchen. Jumping to action, Rose reached for the door while John grabbed the fire extinguisher he had stashed close by for just such occasions; this was hardly their first time after all.
Throwing the doors open wide, they froze at the sight before them.
Sherlock was sat at the table, looking through his microscope as though nothing had happened at all, though a brief look around the chaotic kitchen uncovered where the bang had come from.
The kettle – sat in it's usual position on the counter top – was blown to smithereens, smoke still billowing from the remains of the mangled plastic and metal.
At the sight of the poor kitchen appliance, Rose's jaw dropped. "The kettle, Sherlock? Again?!"
"I don't know what happened to it." The man said quickly, barley glancing over to them. It was obvious he was guilty but given how much tea and coffee they all drank, the kettle was a devastating loss to their kitchen. It didn't help that this wasn't the first time he'd blown up one of this kitchen appliances.
"Uh hu..." Rose responded, hands on hips as she stared him down.
John just looked between his friends as he tried to repress the smirk dancing around his lips, wondering who would back down first this time. It wouldn't be a blazing row and it was hardly the first thing Sherlock had blown up in their kitchen, but the sight of Rose staring him down and the increasing amount of guilt on the other man's face only reminded the doctor of a mother and a naughty child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar; denying it would do no good.
And Rose really enjoyed her tea.
Sherlock obviously saw that she wasn't backing down this time and wondered if perhaps the small explosive should have been tested on a pan that they didn't use so often rather than the kettle; the shape and material had been perfect though, as had the heat as a delayed trigger.
Looking up as his friend baring down on him, he blinked once under her steely gaze. "It was a-"
"An experiment." She finished for him. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, she ran a hand through her hair. "I'll go to the shop and pick up another one."
With a final warning look to her boss, she gave John a look of talk to him before heading to her room to get her coat and purse.
Half an hour later, Rose was making her way back home, a new kettle tucked under her arm and the thought of a cup of tea strong on her mind. Setting up the new appliance in their kitchen, she filled it up and prepared a cup, wondering solemnly how long this one would last.
Planning on going back to her relaxing lock picking, she found that her plans would change as Sherlock wasn't coming back to the kitchen and was in fact seated in his usual chair in the living room looking bored once more.
Going to sit with John on the sofa, Rose decided to take the initiative. "Rather than look for a new case, why don't you educate me on some of your old cases?"
"Old ones?" Sherlock questioned, boredom momentarily interrupted with confusion. "What's the point in that?"
"So I can see how you think," She answered, hoping it might keep him occupied for a little while at least. She was wrong.
He frowned at her. "Old cases won't tell you that."
Humming in response, the young woman started to think of something else they could do to stay out of trouble for the rest of the day.
John had a sudden idea then. "No... but chess might."
"Ooh..," Rose sounded, intrigued at the thought of playing chess with them; it had been years since she'd played at all. "That's a good idea."
"I always win." Sherlock bragged.
Rose threw him a smirk though as she got a wicked look. "It's not about winning..."
And so the games began. Taking it in turns to play each other – and sometimes two on one – the three of them played chess for the remainder of the afternoon. Sherlock of course never did lose a game, though Rose nearly beat him once. John however was winning his games against Rose for the first few rounds until suddenly she turned the tables on him drastically, catching him off guard, luring him into traps and pinning down his king several times.
"Checkmate," She declared once more, winning the fifth game in a row against the good doctor.
Sherlock had stopped playing after an hour or so and decided to go and check his homeless network but he hadn't missed how Rose had played. He had been quite impressed by how quickly Rose had learned John's way of thinking and used his own methods to her advantage. His assistant may even beat him one day.
John frowned before sighing heavily. "How do I never see that coming?"
"No one ever sees me coming," The young woman chuckled darkly before grinning at her friend. "Remember when you two first moved in?"
"Yeah," John said, remembering the day very well. "Sorry about that by the way."
"Don't be, it's funny looking back." She told him, starting to reset the pieces for the next game. "It's borderline hilarious when you consider Sherlock still treats me like I'm invisible."
John knew that though it was said lightheartedly, it still got to her sometimes. "No, he doesn't."
"Okay," She allowed. "Ignores me enough that I may as well be invisible."
Though she was joking, John seemed to have a thought at her words, smirk of his own crossing his features as he hummed to himself.
Catching this, Rose wondered what he could have come up with. "What..?"
"Just wondering something," He said vaguely.
Rose was definitely interested now. John – though he may not be as criminally deductive as her and Sherlock – always seemed to have an amazing talent for coming up with the strangest of ideas to keep the younger flat mates occupied, despite their unusual tendencies. Whether it was a strange game, weird question or the occasional competition to keep the strange minds occupied, it was always a refreshing change to their otherwise darker day to day goings on. "Anything interesting...?"
"Possibly," Replied John, wondering – not for the first time – whether he should encourage the madness he lived with or not. Could be fun though! "...Fancy a wager?"
"Ohh, Doctor Watson," Rose teased, knowing John's bets were always worth the effort. "Tut, tut – you should know by now that I don't lose."
Raising his eyebrows in doubt, he looked away. "This one you might..."
"Oh yeah?"
"Oh yes!" John confirmed. Hook, line and sinker, he thought, she makes this far too easy! "In fact, I've got twenty quid that says so."
Leaning back in her chair, the chess board between them lay forgotten for the moment. "And what does it say exactly?"
John pulled his wallet from his pocket, taking out a twenty pound note and holding it up to her with a grin as he leaved forward. "It says that you cannot make our Consulting Detective jump."
"A jump scare?" Delight flooded her features – why hadn't she thought of it before? "Oh, that would be hilarious..."
"Wouldn't it?" John agreed, grin as wide as it could get as they schemed. "Twenty quid says you can't do it."
Raising an eyebrow at the blatant challenge, Rose extended her hand, gripping John's as he took it; a bet was made. "Alright doc, you're on."