Lost in Sherlock Chapter 28, a sherlock fanfic

Chapter 28

BEEEEERRRRROOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEP

I jolted off my couch and groaned. I had locked their door and returned to my own flat, crashing peacefully after the long day.

BEEEEERRRRROOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEP

"What in the hell?" I yelled, trying to figure out where the blasted noise was coming from.

BEEEEERRRRROOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEP

"I swear to god if I don't don't find the source of this bloody noise I'm going to tear out my eardrums with a serrated knife, stomp on them using football cleets, burn the remains along with strands of my hair that I have ripped out, and scatter the ashes along the length and breadth of the Thames, don't think I won't!"

In response, all I got was a-

BEEEEERRRRROOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEP

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Finding the source of the racket, I seized the alarm clock on table and started smashing it to pieces, and all the while it still blasted BEEEEERRRRROOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEP. Sherlock opened the door and saw me standing over the thing, crushing it mercilessly with my foot, shouting "for Sparta!"

"What are you doing?" He shouted over the BEEEEERRRRROOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

"What does it look like I'm fucking doing?" I screamed back. "Having tea with the queen? Seriously Sherlock!"

He came over and pushed me out of the way, sending me toppling back into my couch. I looked over the edge of my arm rest and saw him fiddling with it, his curly mock afro thing shaking slightly as his fingers dismantled the back. All I remember seeing after that was a bright flash, and me reaching forward to pull him out of the way. The clock made one last BEEEEERRRRROOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEP noise, and then died.

"What the fuck was that?" I asked Sherlock.

"Probably a manufacturer's issue. Nothing serious." He picked up the pieces and looked at them curiously.

"Nothing serious? You're telling me that the clock that I didn't order suddenly goes off without being programmed to, makes a horrendous noise that no alarm clock had ever made before, does it in such a way that exceeds the normal noise level that most televisions are capable of, is incapable of being turned off by any normal means, nearly indestructible when someone attempts to destroy it, and that all that is nothing serious?"

"Yes," he said simply. "And I think a thank you is in order, or did you want to continue to hearing that horrendous noise?"

"I think you owe me a thank you, for saving that sexy face of yours from being disfigured when that thing near imploded."

"Did you just call me sexy?" He asked.

Shit. "I didn't say sexy," I told him.

"Yes you did, just now." He looked at the clock face in his hands, stuck in it's position. "At seven o'six in the morning. Right in front of me."

"I think you're imagining things," I said casually.

"I think you're lying," he said seriously.

Nope. Done. One hundred percent done. D-O-N-E done.

I quickly ran to bedroom, closing the door behind me quickly and locking it as fast as possible. Just at the last second I saw his face through the crack, looking angry. Well, sucks to be him. I leaned against the back of the door, frustrated. I couldn't believe that I had actually let something like that slip.

"I will not let this matter drop," he said from the other side.

"I think you underestimate my ability to ignore a subject to the point of it disappearing completely."

"Do you realise who you're talking to?"

I scoffed. "Do you realise who you're talking to?"

There was a pause, and then...

"John and I are going to the cafe in thirty minutes. I expect to see you upstairs in twenty five." I heard him walk away, and I sank to the floor in relief. My arms hugged my knees to my chest, and I rested my head on them. Why had I said that? What prompted me to say that? What the hell? I gripped my hands tightly. I must resolve to never say that again, never ever ever again. No. Never. In fact I must start saying the opposite. Yes. That would work. My plan was fool proof.

Twenty minutes later I sighed, standing in front of my door and debating whether or not to go. I curled my lip, thinking about how I had to go because it was my job or something. Ewwww. A job. And I was employed by Mycroft. Ugh. This was the worst. But like it or not, five minutes later I knocked on their front door, and John opened up with a nice smile. He really was a good neighbour. If I was him I'd be pissed about the noise. I smiled back.

"Right on time," John said.

"Actually she's fifteen seconds late," Sherlock cut in, checking his watch as he said it.

"Shut up Sherlock," John countered. "Come on in."

"Thanks," I said, stepping in. Suddenly an idea struck me. "Have you done something with your hair?"

Sherlock spoke. "Actually last night I-"

"Not you," I interrupted. "I was talking to John." My fingers moved to his head and I ran them through. "It looks softer then usual. What's your secret?" I tufted and tousled it liberally. "It's just got this body to it that's really attractive." I sent a wry smile out of the corner of my eye at Sherlock, but just kept running my fingers through. "Seriously though, how do you do it?"

John smiled appreciatively, and a hint of blush dusted his cheeks. "Oh you know, just natural I guess." Aha! Now Sherlock would see that I don't just call him sexy, but that I appreciated other guys too. Total objectivity. I was a genius. Minutes later we were seated at a cafe.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock asked his friend.

"I don't think we've stopped for breakfast since this thing started," John replied, shovelling food into his mouth. "Has it occurred to you-"

"Probably," he interrupted.

"No," John said seriously. "Has it occurred to you that the bomber is playing a game with you? The envelope. Breaking into her flat." I stiffened a little at that. "The dead kid's shoes. It's all for you."

"Yes I know," Sherlock said.

"Is it him though, Moriarty?" John asked.

"Perhaps." Just then the pink phone made a noise. He unlocked it, and a picture of a blonde woman appeared on the screen, accompanied by the correct number of pips. "That could be anybody," Sherlock said.

I smirked as John went up to change the channel on the television, then spied Sherlock out of the corner of my eye as his phone went off. Gradually his face grew more and more serious, with it becoming an almost blank slate by the time John had returned. It made me sad, to physically see him blocking out any kind of empathy towards the old woman, as if that would make the case easier to solve. In the end, it would only make him more lonely.

He placed the phone on the table, then watched the television as it reported about Connie Prince's death.

"Let's go," he said, dragging John and I away from our food as we travelled to St. Bart's once again. We slid into the cab, Sherlock on one side, John in the middle, and me in the edge. Not two minutes after we started driving away, my phone rang.

"Whoops," I said as Sherlock stared me. "Mycroft must want an update. Excuse me." I answered it. "Really, you must have noticed where we are on the cameras, not the best time to give me a call when you-know-who is nearby."

"Good one," said a voice. "But this isn't Mycroft Holmes." I stared ahead in confusion. "But don't worry, I'm not calling because of either brother." My knuckles whitened as my fists clenched in anger, listening as an old woman practically sobbed the lines out.

"I would appreciate it if you would cease such theatrics. They do no good for either party." My voice was steady but stiff, almost mechanical in response. It was then that I saw out of the corner of my eye Sherlock gazing at me out of the corner of his eye. Shit. I tried to smile. "And really Mycroft, you are above them."

"He's seeing right through you," she said. "You're not fooling anyone."

"Then why call?" I asked. "Something you wanna get off your chest?"

"Helen Richardson," the woman said. "Have you heard the tale of Cinderella? It's a good one. The girl is granted a wish by her fairy godmother and transforms into a beautiful maiden, fit for the prince himself." My jaw hardened. "But at midnight, right as she's dancing, her dress, jewels and makeup all disappear. Her time was up," the woman said. "And soon yours will be too." A resounding click came from the other side.

I smiled again. "Of course, talk to you soon." I pretended to hang up, then lowered my phone.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked innocently.

My mind flashed back to the words "he's seeing right through you" and "you're not fooling anyone." I ignored them. My eyes looked his dead on. "Oh the usual. Your brother is being a dick about the fact that you're a dick and I just let him vent about the fact that you've never used yours." I shrugged my shoulders. "Same old, same old."

"Is that so?" Sherlock asked.

"Yep," I told him.

"Aside from the fact that the other line clearly hung up on you before you faked disconnecting with them, that statement is easy to disprove as he is just a number away." Sherlock held up his own phone, Mycroft's number displayed on the screen. "Should I phone him up now, or would you like to revise your previous assertion?"

"Sherlock, could you let it lie?" John said.

"Why should I?" He replied. "She's obviously hiding something, and given the current situation-"

"Given the current situation we should focus on solving who killed Connie Prince and saving that old woman who's probably terrified out of her mind. We can worry about side quests later," John interrupted.

I patted John on the leg. "Well put my good fellow." Sherlock eyed my hand, tracing its journey from my lap to John's leg, and back again. More examples for Sherlock to see that I was not interested in him specifically. My plan was, once again, perfect. "And look, we're here!" I pulled out my card and paid the cabbie, whilst John and Sherlock got out. "Barts Hospital. Oh the memories."

"Do you mean the time you told Molly you were a lesbian?" Sherlock asked. "Hardly a memory worth reminiscing about. Unless it's true of course."

"No," I replied casually. "I'm talking about the time my childish behaviour won out against your childish behaviour. Good times, good times." I turned to him and smiled. "Don't you agree, Sherlock?" He looked away and grimaced. A giggle escaped me. We walked in the building, when...

"Sherlock, John, there you are!" Lestrade ran over, obviously waiting for our arrival. "Oh, and Helen too. Didn't expect to see you tagging along." I shrugged my shoulders. "Since you are here, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions."

"On one condition," I said seriously. "You have to say the words 'not my division'."

"Sorry?" He asked. "Are you joking?" He looked at Sherlock and John. "Is she joking?"

Sherlock scowled. "Unfortunately Inspector, I'm one hundred percent sure that she will answer no questions of yours until her request has been fulfilled. Although I do wonder what she hopes to gain from it, as it seems absurd."

Lestrade looked at John for an explanation. "What can I say," John said, shooting me a glance. "I'm serious, what can I say? I have literally zero idea what she means. She could ask you for a loaf of bread and I wouldn't know what she means."

The grey haired man looked back at me warily. I raised my eyebrows expectantly. He looked around, making sure nobody was paying us any mind. The corner of my mouth twitched. Suddenly he looked at me then said, and I shit you not, he said, to me of all people, "Not my division."

In an instant I was doubled over in laughter, with Sherlock rolling his eyes, John nodding his head, thinking why he expected anything else, and Lestrade perplexed beyond measure. I looked at his face, and seeing that it filled with concern, laughed even more.

Well, that was quick. Quicker then usual anyway. OHMYGOD COLLEGE IS AWESOME AND FUN I LOVE BOSTON btw that person who reviewed and said they go to college in Boston too, hit me up in PM bro! We can go to a cafe or some shit and talk about Benedict's eyes or something.

Anyway, thank you so much guys for all your support! I treasure each of your reviews so much that it hurts. See you in the future :)