Well, we know a little bit about Flo now. I know it's stupid, it's all a bit unrealistic (gangs..?), but that's what FanFiction is all about.
Within this chapter, I think, we learn a little more about Florence, and what she's trying to recover from.
Sherlock hated university. It was too dull. The work wasn't difficult, the lab too basic and the people ghastly and thick. He was done before most of the other students had even begun, which gave him more than enough time to explore the campus and the surrounding area.
He was only in the north of London, yet everything was unfamiliar to him, so he felt the urge to get to know it before it got the best of him.
It was as he was sitting on his bed, reading a particularly interesting book on the Second World War, when he got a phone call from Florence Wood.
At the time, he did not perceive it as odd – they called to check up on each other every so often. But when he answered he knew something was wrong before she had even started speaking.
He couldn't hear anything, just quiet footsteps. They were slow – she was walking carefully. 'Flo?'
'It's my mother.' Florence replied, her voice grave and quivering. 'She's sitting on the balcony. Right on the edge. She hasn't seen me yet, but she's acting odd, Sherlock. I think she's going to-' then there was a slight pause, presumably as her mother turned to look at her.
Then there was the most ear splitting scream Sherlock had ever heard. Sherlock's eyes widened. He stood up from his bed, and started pacing. His roommate, Mark, came in to see what was going on, and, seeing Sherlock's state, stayed silent and watched.
'Florence?' Sherlock yelled, his voice panicked. He did not know who's scream that was.
'I don't know what to do, she just fell – she saw me coming and fell.'
'Calm down, where is she now?'
'Lying on the fucking pavement, her head...'
It was quite clear she was in shock. 'Florence. Listen to me. Is there another phone in the house? I want you to stay with me.'
'Okay. I'm going to find one.' her voice was quaking now, and Sherlock feared she would faint.
'Stay with me, Flo. Keep talking. Are you away from the balcony?'
'Yes. I've gone to find her phone.'
'Okay.' he waited a second. 'Have you found it?'
'Yes. I'm calling the police. Or the ambulance. I don't know what I'm doing, my fingers won't press the right buttons. Oh, dear God. What's happening, Sherlock? Why aren't I crying?'
'You're in shock, Florence. Which is why you just have to stay with-'
'I feel dizzy.'
'Shit,' Sherlock muttered, as he heard the clatter of the phone on the floor. He hung up after calling her name a few times, before dialling 999 himself. He knew her mother's address.
An hour later, he was at her house, trying desperately to wake the girl. The ambulance had arrived, and were dealing with her mother, so Sherlock could focus on Florence. She was fifteen, for Christ's sake. No one near that age should have seen that.
It was as he was carrying her out of the house to the back of the ambulance that she woke.
'Oh my God,' she sad quietly, and her eyes welled with tears. Sherlock held her head and pulled it to his chest as she began to cry. At some point, a paramedic appeared to put a blanket around her shoulders, but other than that they were not disturbed.
And it was as she wept quietly into his shirt, he realised he was unshamefully in love with her.
Lestrade grudgingly allowed her to go, based entirely on the fact that he was going with them. She was given her clothes back and they hailed the first cab they saw to Baker Street.
Stepping gingerly out of the door, Florence breathed in steadily. She looked up at the building above her, at the boarded-up windows and the pleasant railings that covered half of them. Sherlock beckoned her to the door, and he unlocked it, yelling for Mrs Hudson as he did so. She came out of her flat, and John came swiftly down the stairs, frowning when he saw her.
'We need to look inside Two-Two-One-A, urgently. It's for a case.' Sherlock said to her, and she nodded, walking back into the flat to get the keys.
'Please,' John said quietly, so only Sherlock could hear. He shot him a look.
'You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock? When you first came to see about the flat.' Mrs Hudson said, her eyes trained on the man observing the lock on the door.
'It's been opened recently.'
'No, it can't be. This is the only key!' she muttered, before saying something about the damp on the walls and how that prevented people from buying it. Lestrade shut the door in her face.
They walked slowly down the stairs to the basement, Sherlock leading. Florence and John exchanged nervous nods in greeting, before staring at the only objects in the room.
A pair of shoes lay in the middle of the room, facing the door. Sherlock frowned.
The room itself was a small, low-ceiling place, with two windows. The wallpaper – similar to the wallpaper in 221B, was peeling, and the ceiling was damp and warped.
'Shoes...' John said, and as Sherlock walked towards them, 'he's a bomber, remember.'
Sherlock hesitated, staring still at the shoes. Florence stayed at the door, fearing she'd get in the way of his investigation. She watched from behind him as he began to walk around them, then bending down to look at them closer.
The whole room started as a phone started wringing, and Florence was surprised to feel her pocket vibrating. She got out the phone she forgot she had, as Sherlock looked at her pointedly.
'Blocked number,' she said. 'I don't have anyone's numbers besides...' she glanced at Lestrade, remembering he was there, and not saying anymore. 'I have not given my number to anyone, either.'
'Answer it.' he said, and she frowned.
'But, Sherlock-'
'Answer it, Florence.'
Still staring at him, she pressed the answer button and then the speaker button.
'Hello?' she said softly, and her brow furrowed as breathing from the other end sounded like they were either crying or in pain.
'H...' it was a woman's voice, and it was shaking. She was crying. 'Hello... sexy.' Florence looked up at Sherlock, her eyes scared. Sherlock snatched the phone from her hand and brought it to his mouth.
'Who is this?' he asked, his voice calm.
'I've sent you... a little puzzle,' the woman said slowly, her voice quivering in fear. She breathed in shakily. 'Just to say... hi.'
'Who's talking?' Sherlock said urgently. 'Why are you crying?'
'I'm not... crying,' the voice said, and Sherlock scowled. 'I'm typing. And this stupid bitch...' - she sniffled again, and her sobs were audible – 'is reading it out.'
'The curtain rises.' Sherlock said quietly.
'What?'
'Nothing.'
'No, what did you mean?'
Sherlock turned his head slightly towards the rest of the group, as he had turned around to face the wall. 'I've been expecting this for some time.'
'You have twelve hours,' the woman sobbed, 'to solve... my puzzle, Sherlock, or I'm going to be... so naughty.'
The phone line cut off immediately after that, and Sherlock turned to face the group, a concerned expression on his face.
'What was that?' Florence asked, holding her hand out for her phone. Sherlock glared at her, and put her phone in her pocket. Her hand crept slowly back to her side.
'The next step in the game.' Sherlock said darkly.
Oh dear, I didn't see quite how short this one is. Sorry.
'Till next time!
