Synopsis:The journey of Sherlock, Helena and John continues.
AN:Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock. They belong to their respective authors and writers. This is written for purely entertainment and no money is being made.
In case you haven't read the first part – Adventures of A Detective and The Noirette! and the second part – Curious Case of the Enigmatic Noirette, it won't make much sense. I would strongly suggest you read those before reading this one.
It is obvious that many things have been changed according to my story, but many things are the same as the BBC's Sherlock. I've changed some events accordingly and I'll let you know as we go forward.
I would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance as I do not have a beta. Please do not copy this story anywhere.
April 16th 2010
221B
John took a long-suffering sigh and hung his head tiredly even before entering inside the flat. Sherlock was standing by the window, playing his violin, just as he had been doing this morning… and last night.
"I see you still haven't moved." He commented lightly but as expected, received no reply.
Shaking his head, he was about to close the door behind him when Sherlock spoke, "Leave it open."
With a huff, John opened it again and slumped on his chair.
Helena had been AWOL for nearly 6 days now and to say that Sherlock was 'sulking' would be an understatement. Though saying AWOL wouldn't be entirely true. She had left a note saying that she was going out for work and would be back in a couple of days. Not only was she a grown woman, but also a witch who had grown up in an entirely different world. It should not have been a big deal and it really wasn't, but for some reason, it did not sit well with Sherlock. He already dragged the poor girl along on their cases… what else could she do? Leave her job – which, he might add, was definitely paying well, to solve cases with Sherlock?!
Now, he was getting accustomed to Sherlock's tantrums with time, but they had only gotten worse since Helena left. Nor he, neither Mrs Hudson could understand the reason behind Sherlock's behaviour. Though he hadn't said anything, as the saying goes – 'actions speak louder than words.' They hadn't closed the main door of their flat for nearly 5 days now! And unfortunately, there hadn't been many cases to occupy Sherlock lately and John had no idea how to handle his grumpy flatmate.
If it had been someone else, anyone apart from Sherlock, he would've said that the man liked Helena, but with his roommate, he couldn't tell. For all he knew, his fascination could be because Helena was a witch and Sherlock knew nothing about her kind or her world. Though, that certainly did not explain Sherlock's behaviour and his bouts of possessiveness regarding the said witch. Barging in someone's flat when they were in the middle of… having sex was even too low for Sherlock.
Mrs Hudson agreed, since she'd known the detective, even she hadn't seen someone affecting Sherlock as Helena did.
There was no doubt in his mind that Sherlock was selfish, tactless and insensitive. Molly being the prime example and he was no better to anyone else, himself included. But that wasn't the case with Helena. Normally, he pushed people until proven right, disregarding their feelings and emotions, but he had yet to see that side of Sherlock when it came to Helena. Maybe it was because the girl never took the bait or maybe because she knew which buttons to push… but whatever it might be, she was the only one who knew how to deal with the man, at least to an extent.
It went without saying that there weren't many people who could withstand Sherlock, but Helena took everything in stride and if he wasn't wrong, she even enjoyed it… most of the times at least. He had his suspicions… after all, she did follow Sherlock to places which could potentially be dangerous without questioning.
John didn't understand how these two worked. For people who had been strangers not long ago, Sherlock and Helena were oddly protective of each other. It was unmistakable how Sherlock 'responded' every single time someone said something… anything to Helena. It was as if no one other than the great man himself was allowed to talk to her. And though she stayed silent most of the times, Helena certainly had a vindictive streak and John wasn't ashamed to say that he was a bit scared of her.
He was startled out of his musings when he heard a loud shriek. Startled, he looked at Sherlock, who had stopped playing and was staring back at him; their eyes held the same question – 'what was that?'
Another shriek, louder this time and Sherlock hurriedly kept his violin on the sofa before rushing downstairs with John on his heels. Instead of rushing outside as John had expected, Sherlock ran towards 221C and slammed the door open. The place was empty with no sign of anyone when they heard another cry coming from the backyard. They shared a look and they sprinted towards it.
But both their eyes widened when their eyes fell in the broken figure lying on the grass. She was covered in blood and one of her hand was clutched tightly to her chest – unquestionably broken, while the other was lying beside her. Sherlock's eyes fell on the two pieces of wood – her broken wand lying not far away. Whoever had attacked her and he was certain that it had been the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback and his pack, had broken it so she hadn't been able to defend herself. She was wearing a brown coat which didn't belong to her – someone gave it to her after they found her, possibly Neville or Oliver.
"Jesus!" John gasped from beside him, but Sherlock's was entirely focused on her.
From here, he couldn't see if she was breathing, so Sherlock rushed forward, only to halt when he heard a loud shriek – the same one he'd heard before. He looked up sharply for the source of the voice when a large… bird flew right above their heads and both John and him flung themselves onto the ground instinctively.
Sherlock looked up just in time to see… its four ill-assorted feet hitting the ground right next to Helena. He stared dumbfounded at the creature, blinking rapidly in case he was hallucinating. Peaking over to John, he sighed because the man seemed similarly baffled. He had read about the creatures in the book she had given him, but this one wasn't mentioned in it.
The creature was huge – something between half-horse and a bird. It had the head of a giant eagle and the body, hind legs and tail of a horse. It had stormy grey feathers and orange eyes that stared right at him.
"What – the – bloody – hell…?" John shouted, alerting the creature further and it let out another shriek, looking ready to attack.
John was scared as he moved to sit up on his knees cautiously but didn't run, while Sherlock's eyes flicked towards Helena before landing on the bird again. As if on cue, it flapped its enormous wings, which were roughly twelve-foot long, either side of Helena and blocked their view. The winged creature had razor-sharp claws that could slash either of them if provoked. He stared at it, for the first time feeling uncertain.
Frozen with fear and shock, they stayed where they were, eyes flittering from the girl to the bird. If Helena was alive, she needed a doctor – someone who knew wizarding medicines. Sherlock's mind was running, thinking of numerous possibilities when there was a low groan and his eyes snapped towards the girl hidden behind the large wing and Sherlock released a breath, he didn't even know he had been holding.
But the next thing boggled his mind even further. The creature lowered his head with a low cry, nothing like the loud shriek they'd heard before and nudged Helena softly.
"What…?" It came from John and Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes. Seriously? It was obvious that the bird was Helena's familiar. John seemed incapable of saying something intelligent, though he felt no better, so he kept his mouth shut.
"Bk – b'k…" Helena croaked out and with a jolt, Sherlock realised that the bird trying to protect her… from the two of them.
'Magical creature.' He thought before shaking his head. The decision being made, Sherlock stood up from the ground, alerting the bird once more.
"What – are – you – doing?" John hissed.
Sherlock ignored him and stood up slowly. Raising both his hands in front of the bird, he took a step closer tentatively, making the bird turn its head sharply and stare at him with one fierce orange eye. He noticed how its wings fluttered and the creature pushed himself straight, readying himself for an attack.
He kept his eyes steadily on the orange ones and said slowly, "She needs help. I can help her."
The bird stared back at him haughtily, but he made sure to keep his eyes on the bird. It looked back at Helena before coming to some conclusion and took a step back. Sherlock moved forward slowly, ignoring John's panicked whispers and kept his eyes on the bird and the girl simultaneously, but it didn't do anything apart from staring mistrustfully.
Once close, Sherlock threw himself across the ground, landing in a half-crouch over Helena and inhaled sharply when he took in the extent of her injuries – she was wearing nothing but the brown coat which gave a clear view of the sharp claw marks over her chest and her left hand; laceration on the face, one still bleeding; contusion on the back of the skull; leg lying on an unnatural angle – fractured ankle; he made a quick work of the robes where the blood was blossoming and couldn't hold back the grimace when he saw the left side of her upper abdomen had been slashed and a chunk of the piece was missing from her shoulder.
'Animal teeth.' he thought. ''Werewolf. The same ones who had raped those girls. Tried, and Sherlock was relieved to see that they hadn't succeeded with Helena.'
Cold skin, weak pulse and for one valuable second, he felt paralysed. He was Sherlock Holmes. He didn't panic over other people. It was just how it was… but somehow – somehow, that was exactly what he was doing.
Panicking.
'No time to panic. There was no time!' he chastised himself.
Shuddering internally, he knew that her only chance of survival was if she got treated by one of her own and he pulled his phone out before throwing it towards John. "John! Call Dr Black! Tell him its Helena!"
Nodding, John fumbled with Sherlock's phone before searching for the number.
Sherlock wasn't sure how many more injuries she might've sustained and he wasn't going to risk moving her. He covered her back before taking a deep breath and hurriedly picked up the pieces of her wand and stuffing in the pocket of his gown.
He took a breath before lifting Helena swiftly, but carefully. She whimpered painfully and a tear fell before vanishing in her hair.
"I am sorry." He whispered and rushed towards her room, trying not to jostle her any more.
She looked at him blearily, with feverish eyes and rasped slowly, "Sh'r'lk…?"
"Yes. Don't worry. You'll be fine." He told her, unsure if he was convincing her or himself, but he looked down, only to see that she had fainted.
He slowly deposited her on the bed, just as John entered and said, "He said he will be here within minutes."
John eyed the bird warily before deciding that it would be better if he made himself useful. He had seen how different the potions and ointments she used were and didn't want to make anything worse, but starting by stopping the blood flow seemed like a good idea. He moved towards her bathroom, finding a medical kit and nodded. Removing the coat, his own eyes widened when he saw her condition and forced himself to help as much as he could.
Sherlock swallowed when Helena whimpered as soon as John touched the gash on her abdomen and crossed his arms across his chest impatiently as they waited for Dr Black.
It had been no more than 4 minutes when they heard a sound of distinct knocking and he rushed towards the main door. The blonde doctor nodded as soon as he entered and greeted, "Mr Holmes."
Sherlock didn't bother with niceties and stated, "She was attacked."
He showed Dr Black to 221C, but just as the man stepped inside, there was an angry shriek from the bird. Malfoy froze as his eyes fell on the 'bird' and paled dramatically; Sherlock noticed with a frown. 'He had been attacked by the bird.' He thought.
"Wh-what's he doing here?" Malfoy choked out.
"The bird was with Helena when we found her," Sherlock stated, eyeing the doctor, who took a shuddering breath and followed him to her room.
John stood up from where he was kneeling beside Helena's bed, cleaning her wounds when they entered and Sherlock didn't miss how Dr Black's eyes widened when his eyes fell on Helena.
The blonde rushed by her side and put his bag down. Sherlock kept his eyes on the wizard as he waved his wand over Helena and suddenly, different coloured lights appeared on top of her. He noticed with interest that they were particularly coming from the parts where she had been hurt. 'Method of deducing injuries, then. Fascinating.'
Malfoy pursed his lips but slumped with something akin to relief before straightening back up.
"Broken ribs; contusion; the bones in her wand hand had been crushed and a fractured ankle, but they can be regrown easily; splinched and oh..." the man flinched when he saw the missing piece from her shoulder and the sharp claw marks over her chest, he uttered sombrely, "She has been bitten."
Sherlock suddenly remembered what he had read about werewolves… 'bitten, but not on a full moon. It would affect her habits here and there, but she wouldn't transform.'
There was a loud pop from her living room and a voice shouted, "Helena?!"
Neville rushed into the room and slumped with relief when he saw the girl lying on the bed, but it was short-lived because his body went rigid when his eyes fell on the doctor who was standing beside her.
"Malfoy?" Neville asked suspiciously and his fingers tightened on his wand. "What are you doing here?"
"I called him." Sherlock snapped, and their heads turned towards him, though their stance remained rigid. "He is a doctor at St Bartholomew's hospital."
"She's alive, but barely. We need to get her to Mungo's." Malfoy stated, still waving her wand over her shoulder.
"Mungo's?" John asked.
"Wizarding hospital, John." Frustrated, Sherlock replied before questioning, "How do we take her?"
Malfoy grimaced, but it was Neville who spoke, "Muggles aren't allowed in Mungo's."
"What?!" Sherlock snarled.
"Go. I'll meet you there." Malfoy told Neville, who gave a stiff nod and dropped a coin on Helena's body before the two vanished.
Sherlock stepped forward and said intimidatingly, "There must be some way."
"Sherlock…" John put his hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Sorry, but it's warded and you won't be able to enter." Malfoy told them before adding, "Look, I – it doesn't look good, but if anyone can pull through… its Helena Potter."
Sherlock didn't look happy and downright bared his teeth, much to John's surprise and Malfoy nearly jumped back with fright, well aware of Mr Holmes reputation.
"Look, can you at least let us know how she's doing?" John asked instead before Sherlock could do something which would make the other man vanish.
Dr Black gave them a single nod before turning on the spot and vanishing with a loud pop.
April 20th
John had just entered 221, already dreading what condition he might find his flat or flatmate in and was about to go upstairs when there was a loud sound. One he was starting to get accustomed to, but still, he jumped and suddenly out of nowhere, Helena appeared in front of him.
Her long hair was tied in a braid and bruised face along with the skimpy hospital gown didn't do much to hide her injuries. Her face was sweaty and pale, her right hand and left ankle were in a cast, bandages covered almost every visible part of her body – from her head, shoulder, chest, right hand and down to the ankle.
She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily as her eyes met his. He wanted to ask her what the hell was she doing here and who in their freaking mind let her out of the bed… when she collapsed. He darted forward and caught her before she could hit the ground and injure herself any further.
"Hello." She mumbled, holding onto his shoulder for support.
He shook his head and uttered, "You shouldn't be out of bed."
John didn't wait for her to respond. His questions could wait because right now, she needed to lay down, but before he could take her to her flat, he heard footsteps and as expected, Sherlock bounded towards them. Stopping in front of the two, he eyed the girl, no doubt surveying the damage and nearly sighed with relief as if he hadn't expected to see her again.
"You're here." He stated.
John wasn't sure if it was his imagination or Sherlock seemed somewhat less… cold at the moment. His face was still closed off, but those grey eyes were staring at the girl hanging onto him softly, with an expression John hadn't seen on his face before. They held warmth like John had never expected to see from his flatmate and he shifted uncomfortably, even as he kept his hold on Helena to keep her upright.
"You left without informing anyone," Sherlock spoke.
Helena, who had been holding onto John's shoulders until now, turned towards the voice and just nodded her head slowly, indicating that indeed she had left without informing anyone.
'Ah. That certainly explained what she was doing out of the hospital, then.' John thought.
Then much to his astonishment, Sherlock stepped closer and pulled her to him before lifting her effortlessly. John had been expecting some kind of protest from her but was rendered speechless when instead of saying something sarcastic or maybe yelling, she melted right into the detective.
She buried her face into his shoulder and mumbled, "I wanted to come home."
Sherlock, in turn, pressed his nose against the top of her head.
John was flummoxed… so it clearly wasn't his fault that he was staring open-mouthed and had missed Sherlock asking him to open the door of 221C until the man turned, visibly irritated and arched an eyebrow questioningly.
"Er… yeah. Sorry." John muttered and hurriedly opened the door.
Sherlock carried her inside, over to her bed and propped her against the bed rest carefully before standing by the edge of the bed. He looked at her and stated, "They'll be here soon."
"I don't like hospitals." Helena shrugged and couldn't hold back the pained grimace.
"Of course, you don't," Sherlock said as if it was obvious.
CRACK!
CRACK!
John jumped startled, but Sherlock stayed where he was, not indicating that something was amiss and aimed a cold look towards the two men who had just appeared in the room.
"ELLE!" Ron shouted, causing the four occupants to flinch, but he didn't notice and threw himself on Helena, hugging her with all his might.
Sherlock didn't miss how she gasped with pain or her eyes watered, and he snapped at the man furiously, "You're hurting her!"
"Oh!" Ron jumped away as if on fire and said sheepishly, "Sorry."
"Are you alright?" John asked.
She gave a shaky nod at which Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, "Of course, she's not alright, John! She's surrounded by idiots."
His jab was aimed at the two wizards, who frowned, but Neville shook his head and asked her agitatedly, "Do you know how worried we've been?"
"You know I don't like hospitals." She mumbled back before adding, "…and I'm not going back."
Neville slumped and his eyes softened as he said, "We know… that's why we called Poppy."
Green eyes snapped up at him and she gave a strained smile that was filled with gratitude. Nodding her head, she rested her head back and closed her eyes. Standing around the bed, the four men stared at her and she mumbled without opening her eyes, "Its creepy."
As if on cue, a woman appeared in her room. She was wearing white robes and was clutching a bag, though her wand wasn't hidden like the rest of them. She was holding it in her hand as she rushed towards Helena, hushing them out of the way and huffed, "I suppose you've has been doing something dangerous again? You're not even in school anymore!"
She didn't wait for her to reply and put her bag down. Much to John and Sherlock's utter bafflement, the medicines flew out of the bag after she waved a wand over it. She worked flawlessly for a couple of minutes before muttering, "They're healing, but it'll take time. You'll need rest… possibly a month."
"A month?!" Helena gasped horrified.
"A month, Miss Potter." The woman looked at Helena and stated firmly, her tone left no room for argument.
Helena slumped and satisfied, the woman continued, "I'm worried about the bite and the marks. I'm afraid there will be changes, like Mr Weasley's."
The matron tugged on her dressing down and Sherlock's eyes fell on her shoulder. It hadn't healed, but he was surprised to see that at least, the mass of her body wasn't missing anymore. Then his eyes fell on the claw marks. They were partially healed… but less than the injuries that had been initially worse. Even they looked weeks old and new skin stretched over what had been open flesh. So, why hadn't the claw marks healed like the others? He couldn't stop himself from asking, "Can't you fix them with a charm or a potion?"
He knew the woman could be trusted and was proficient in her area of expertise. He also was aware that she would be able to take care of most of Helena's ailments in a heartbeat.
"No charm will work on these," said Madam Pomfrey. "There is no cure for werewolf bites, but Mr Malfoy is working on something. He believes it might help."
Once the wounds on Helena's head, arm and leg were cleaned and bandaged, the woman didn't look up and ordered, "Everyone, out!"
Her word left no room for argument and her friends nodded reluctantly before scurrying out without protest, but Sherlock scowled. He opened his mouth to tell the woman just what he thought about the idea, when John spoke, "I can help. I'm a doctor… if you need?"
She looked up, synchronizing John and finally nodded, "I can use some help."
John joined the woman with a single nod, before taking a nasty-smelling ointment handed by the woman and started dabbing at the claw marks over Helena's chest. The scars were healed somewhat, but they were just as bad as the day he had seen them first. Sherlock though, stayed by the door, stubbornly refusing to let some old woman intimidate him.
Now the woman looked at him and narrowed her eyes. "Don't force my hand, boy."
John decided to speak before the angry witch/matron end up cursing the man, so he said pleadingly, "She's better, Sherlock and I'll let you know as soon as we're done here."
Sherlock contemplated for a few seconds and nodded at him, but glared at the woman viciously before leaving.
It had been an hour, in which Sherlock stomped all over the place, glaring daggers at an oblivious redhead, who had taken upon himself to divest Helena's fridge by consuming everything there was to eat. Also, much to Sherlock's annoyance, Neville had made himself at home on Helena's sofa. Sherlock hated him. The stupid man was the reason Helena had been hurt in the first place. How come he had come out of the fight with barely a scratch and Helena had to fight for her life? He wanted to beat the man and then throw him out.
At this particular moment, he even loathed Mrs Hudson who had offered these blubbering idiots tea and biscuits... as if they were guests.
Which was why he was more than relieved when John and the matron came out of the room, informing them that Helena was better, but it would take her quite a bit of time to heal completely. She showed John which potions to administer and had placed Helena in a magically induced sleep for twenty-four hours so that she could heal properly.
April 23rd
221B
To say that Sherlock was having a hissy fit wouldn't be far-fetched. The man had been stomping all over the living room, ranting about the 'inconvenience of having uncalled visitors', especially when the said 'visitors' weren't even in their flat was rather ironic, according to John. The detective jumped onto his sofa, pulled his feel up and held his knees with both his hands, still complaining. John chose to stay quiet and didn't interrupt… not until the man-child spoke his next words.
"Mrs Hudson could cook for Helena. Her food tastes far better and superior than Mrs Granger- Weasley's ever could."
Shaking his head, John didn't look up from his book and asked distractedly, "How do you know? You haven't tasted anything she has cooked yet."
Sherlock ignored him and continued, "Or she can order takeout! Their daily visits are completely unnecessary!"
"Sherlock… Helena is suffering from a traumatic event. She is all alone and they're her friends. There's nothing wrong in taking care of friends." John tried to reason, still immersed in his book.
Sherlock looked insulted and stated, "She's not alone! You and Mrs Hudson are here." Then he added stiffly, "I'm here."
Finally, John looked up and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I know, but them being here… it's different."
"Different how?" Sherlock asked with a confused frown.
John closed his book, contemplating how to explain something which necessarily was 'sentiment' and said, "Well… Helena said she had known them ever since they were 11. They fought a war together. The two of them…. they're more than her friends. They're her family."
Sherlock threw a look at him indicating that he was being mental and John sighed, "It's not a big deal. People do it for the ones they love all the time."
"People are mind-numbingly stupid," Sherlock muttered sourly and jumped up from his sofa to check if the visitors of 221C had left.
John shook his head, still unable to understand the reason behind his friend's petulance.
April 25th
221
A scream erupted throughout the house, jostling its occupants awake in the middle of the night. Sherlock's eyes snapped open from where he had been lying on the sofa in his living room. He heard John's door being opened, but didn't wait and rushed downstairs just in time to see Mrs Hudson hurrying out of her flat.
He opened the door of 221C and rushed inside, already having an inkling what caused the scream. Just like he had assumed, Helena had a nightmare. She was awake. The blankets were in a crumpled heap on the foot of the bed, one of her fists was clenched tightly in the bedsheet below, while the other was holding onto a wand – it differed from her last one greatly, this wasn't hers, but not a new one either, she had a spare, he deduced. Her face was covered in a thick sheen of sweat and she was trembling as she sat in the middle of the bed. Her eyes snapped towards them when Mrs Hudson made a sound in the back of her throat.
John rushed in, with a gun in hand and she grimaced when he asked gruffly, "What happened?"
"Nightmare." She whispered hoarsely. "I – I'm sorry."
Sherlock noticed that she didn't look at either of them, clearly ashamed for some reason. Clearly, the nightmares were about the attack. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, not knowing how to deal with someone in a situation like this. She seemed vulnerable, so unlike the person he'd come to know in these past months and he didn't like seeing her like this. Thankfully, their landlady knew exactly what to say.
"Oh, dear. Nothing to be sorry about. Happens with all of us." Mrs Hudson told Helena softly before adding, "Why don't I make you a cuppa? You'll feel better."
"No, no. Please, don't trouble yourself. I'll be fine." Helena begged pleadingly, but Mrs Hudson just waved her off and rushed out to make a cuppa.
Helena sighed, pushing her hair out of her face and said lowly, "I'm sorry. Poppy has told me not to take the sleeping draught anymore… and I forgot to put the silencing charm."
John merely nodded, not knowing what to say. He had suffered from PTSD and had his fair share of nightmares, still did at times, but he did not know how to comfort someone in similar situations.
Even Sherlock was equally quiet beside him when she wiped the sweat that had gathered on her forehead said, "I'm fine. You can go back. Sorry for waking you up."
John waved her apology off and went back to his room, knowing there was nothing he could do, but Sherlock stayed where he was – frozen.
Mrs Hudson came and gave her a cup of tea, which she was immensely grateful for. The woman left after making sure she was fine and once Helena had finished her tea.
Sherlock was still standing by the door, so Helena mumbled, "It's alright now. You don't have to stay."
"I wasn't doing anything." He told her instead.
Which was utter shite. He had been thinking about the last case which was still unsolved. He was still unable to figure out who stole the jewels from the wealthy couple and it was frustrating him to no end.
Unsurprisingly, he was at loss, unsure what social protocol dictated for such kind of situations. Should he bid goodnight and leave? Or should he stay? For a second, he was scared that she might call him out on it. Helena had this bizarre ability where every time he lied, she somehow figured it out. Sherlock wasn't sure how he felt about it. Was it a friend thing? Were all friends able to tell whenever their friend lied? But John could never tell and accepted whatever shite he was told… so what was different with Helena?
Her eyes met his and he realised that she knew he was lying, but thankfully, didn't say anything and nodded.
She pulled the covers closer before budging over and patted the bed beside her. "Come. Sit."
His expressions turned scandalised and he looked at her as if she had asked him to fuck her into her mattress and not merely to sit.
Bewildered, she gawked. "Seriously?"
Shifting uncomfortably, he reasoned, "You just had a nightmare. I don't want to make you uncomfortable in your own bed."
Crossing her arms across her chest, she said, "Last time John had a nightmare, you pushed him off the sofa."
"I did not! He fell." He glowered.
"I was there and I distinctly remember – the moment he twitched, you pushed him off before rushing to hide behind the couch." She reminded, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.
Straightening up, he said hotly, "I did no such thing."
Helena snorted but didn't say anything else. If he wasn't comfortable, she wasn't going to pressure him to sit with her throughout the night. It would be nothing but 'tedious' for him. Sighing softly, she said, "Really, I'm feeling loads better now. I'll just… go back to sleep."
She indeed was feeling rather tired, so she slid down the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. A few moments passed and there was no other sound than the cracking of fire. She was almost asleep when she heard footsteps, only then realising that he was still in the room.
She kept her eyes closed as Sherlock wordlessly and cautiously made his way over and sat on the edge of the bed. Peeking over to him, she nearly grimaced at the way he had settled himself in the corner – looking petrified and rather red, though she wondered if it was because of the fire or not.
A couple of seconds where she pretended to sleep until he said stiffly, "I know you're awake."
Finally, she opened her eyes and smiled at him sheepishly, suddenly feeling better than she had in days. He huffed but didn't say anything, struggling to make himself comfortable.
"Thank you." She whispered, gazing up at him.
Sherlock stilled as he looked down at her and gave a stiff nod.
Next Morning
The chill was what woke her up and she frowned. The fire wasn't burning anymore, but she shouldn't have been cold. Rather belatedly realising that she wasn't covered with her blanket anymore. She blinked blearily, only find Sherlock sleeping soundly with his limbs splayed out across the bed, while she was on the edge, curled into a ball. Sometime during the night, he had made himself 'comfortable' enough not only to steal her blanket but the bed as well and she couldn't help herself from snorting.
Somehow, this didn't surprise her. For all his – 'sentiment is a chemical defeat' nonsense, he was rather soft.
She gazed at him, feeling oddly buoyant. There was no doubt that he was attractive while awake, but in his sleep with all his defences down, he looked even younger… without his 'cold' persona. His curly hair was mussed, sticking at odd angles and his skin was a bit rosy because of the warmth. Black lashes rested on his cheeks and he wrinkled his nose. His lips were full and pink, and she barely resisted the urge to kiss him.
Helena knew that despite feeling uneasy, Sherlock had stayed with her throughout the night because she had asked him once. He could've left. She had told him as much, but he had stayed, ignoring his own discomfort.
She wasn't clueless and had been aware of the crush she had developed for quite some time now, but she hadn't been prepared for the emotions that suddenly hit her, leaving her breathless in their wake and she found herself ill-equipped to know how to deal with them.
With a shaky sigh, she stood up from the bed as quietly as humanly possible and rushed to the bathroom, unwilling for him to see the raw emotions in her eyes… which he no doubt will. It would be best if she kept her emotions under control. She didn't want to lose Sherlock because she had stupidly decided to fall in love with the man.
April 27th
221B
Sherlock glared at the woman who had now decided to barge in his flat and taunted, "Shouldn't you be resting?"
Hermione looked confused and asked, "Why?"
"Isn't that what pregnant woman do?" He asked with a vindictive kind of glee.
"Sherlock…" John sighed.
The woman turned pink, but said, "We can't rest for nine months. It'll make us mad."
Of course, he knew it. So, he scowled at her and asked sourly, "What are you doing here?"
She fiddled with the lapels of her coat and uttered, "Er… I wanted to apologise."
Taken aback, he asked, "What for?"
"For hitting you the other day. I have no excuse other than…" She stopped and continued just as quietly. "…I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You didn't deserve it and for that I'm sorry."
Sherlock shrugged uncomfortably because he was rendered speechless. He could see that she sincerely wanted to apologise for breaking his nose, but he couldn't understand why? He had suffered worse injuries and no one had ever apologised. Well… Helena had a habit of apologising even if it wasn't her fault which was truly ridiculous. But no one other than her ever bothered to apologise, no matter what. Did Helena ask her to do it? No. Her words were genuine and she was here of her own free will. Helena didn't know.
He stared into her brown eyes and asked, "Why would you apologise? You hate me."
Hermione winced at that, but said earnestly, "I don't hate you. You bought my parents up and… it's a sensitive topic."
"You haven't dealt with your…" He started.
"Yes!" She held her hand up and stopped him before he could go on further with his deductions. Then, she took a calming breath and added, "I'm working on it."
Sherlock nodded because he already knew it and asked instead, "Why?"
"Helena… she…" Hermione stumbled across her words before finally shrugging, "She's my best friend and you're important to her."
He nodded. "We're friends."
Hermine blinked and opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it shut. She gave him half a smile and mumbled awkwardly, "I'll just…"
She pointed downwards and turned around to leave when Sherlock said, "Well… I shouldn't have said that you're getting fat."
It made her stop and Hermione turned around to see the man shifting uncomfortably. His hands were behind his back and he looked earnest, suddenly making her realise that it was the man's version of an apology, so she gave him a small smile and hurried downstairs.
John was left gaping at Sherlock, who was still looking confused as he turned and went back to his work.
April 30th
221B
John glared furiously at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was 3 in the morning and his bloody flatmate was playing his violin – again! Sherlock had taken to playing the blasted thing during the night from the past couple of days and John was at his wit's end. He was going to murder the world's only consulting detective. Stomping downstairs, he barged into the living room to demand the silence and stop being unreasonably irritating, but he stopped short when his eyes fell on the scene in front of him.
Sherlock was staring out the window, playing a soft melody, while Helena was sleeping on the sofa, covered with Sherlock's blanket, looking peaceful like he hadn't seen her in a long time. Maybe not ever.
John wasn't sure if his flatmate had noticed his presence because he saw Sherlock peeking at the girl from time to time. There was a tender look in his eyes that surprised John. He shook his head and turned around without saying a word.
High functioning sociopath, his ass!
May 7th
221B
She was sitting cross-legged on John's chair, immersed in the laptop when Sherlock entered the flat. John was working on his laptop and Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the one Helena was using. No one touched his things! Certainly not his laptop!
Utterly bewildered, he cried out, "That's mine!"
She didn't look at him. Unfazed, she mumbled, "Spiffing observation."
"What are you even doing?" he asked, scowling.
She didn't reply, so he leaned down over her shoulder to see better and blinked.
'Pornography… She was watching pornography on his laptop?!'
He stood up, stared at John and asked aghast, "You taught her to watch pornography?"
John's head snapped up abruptly and, stunned, he replied, "What? No! No, I didn't…"
"No, you knucklehead!" Helena snapped, glaring at him like he was an idiot. "Here. Look again."
Tentatively, he leaned down and stared at the 'video' again and his eyes widened. "That is…"
"Yes." She nodded.
"In the Scotland Yard." He uttered, perplexed.
Her eyes shined mischievously as she said, "Greg's office, yes."
"What?" John asked eagerly as he stared at his two friends. "What is it?"
Helena lifted the laptop and handed it over to John, who gaped for a few seconds before his eyes met hers and he asked surprised, "Anderson and Donovan? How did you manage to get these?"
Even Sherlock seemed incapable of words as he gawked at her openly.
Shifting uncomfortably in the seat, she said, "Err… A bug followed them and recorded everything. I'm going to send it to Anderson's wife."
Both Sherlock and John blinked at her as if seeing her for the first time and she defended herself, "What? His wife should know her husband is a pig!"
Sherlock grinned widely and John sighed when she mumbled, "And I don't like him."
"You're scary, you know that?" John said, but Sherlock disagreed and uttered, "Brilliant."
John resisted the urge to facepalm.
May 14th
221
"What is that?!" Sherlock sneered.
"A dog," Helena replied, oblivious to the man's ire.
"I can see that!" he gritted his teeth and asked, "What is it doing here?"
"It's a 'he' and he followed me home," Helena informed him cheerfully, smothering the dog with kisses. "Isn't he cute?"
"A bloodhound. Nearly 5 years old." Sherlock observed before stating nonchalantly, "You can't keep him."
Helena's head snapped up and she snarled, "And why the hell not?"
Taken aback, he had to blink a couple of times before he answered, "He belongs to someone. A kid possibly."
"Oh." She didn't ask how he knew it, instead slumped with something akin to defeat.
May 17th
221C
For the first time in his life, Sherlock was scared as he knocked at the door tentatively. To say that Helena had become attached to the dog would be an understatement and he wasn't afraid to admit that he was scared for his life.
As he looked at the teenager wearing black glasses, overweight, one of the best hackers in the world, who was bouncing excitedly on his toes to see 'Toby' – his dog again. His mother was waiting in the car outside.
As soon as the door opened, Craig whistled and before Sherlock could tell Helena that the dog belonged to this young man, the dog bounded out and straight into the man, who fell onto the floor to accept Toby's slobbery kisses.
Sherlock knew she wasn't stupid and her smile fell as soon as the dog rushed to greet Craig. For a second, she looked ready to cry, but schooled her features within seconds as she kissed the dog on his head, saying goodbye, Sherlock noticed bemused.
'But Toby wasn't theirs. They couldn't keep him.' He reminded himself, so he wouldn't end up kidnapping the dog later in the day.
EN: So, here is the third part.
As I've mentioned before – this series will have 5 parts in total. This particular part has around 8-10 chapters.
I tried to keep Sherlock's character the same as the one played by Benedict Cumberbatch, after all, he's the inspiration behind this series, but a presence of a woman in his life is bound to change him. I've also changed some of the plot accordingly, but mostly the stories will be the same until season 3. The last story, part V, will be somewhat different and not exactly season 4 compliant.
Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is rude or insulting. Have a nice day everyone.
December 4th, 2020