Thank you again everyone! I'm trying my best to make this an interesting story! I'm just trying to make introductions as smooth as possible. I know I said I wasn't going to update but one time a week but I already have more ready to post so I thought I might as well, thanks again!
Chapter 3. Meeting of the Minds.
The alarm went off too soon for my personal liking, I was still reeling from the orchestra above me that seemed to last forever, every pound of my head sounded like the strings of a violin, the screeching and fierce sounds played by someone who was filled with a hunger that couldn't be fulfilled. I pulled the red covers off myself and stayed put for a few more minutes, making sense of where I was. I had a few moments last night before bed, and before the music started, to get things around and open some boxes. My brother had been kind enough to pack me bed linens, cooking supplies and a few other necessities. For some reason he even packed a picture of himself with his cat, lovely Christmas photo.
After showering and getting around I managed to find something suitable to wear that didn't make me come across too pretentious or shabby. I ended up pulling my hair into a bun and putting on my best black work pants with my matching blazer top, a green shirt under pulled it all together. After a quick peek into the mirror I decided that was as good as it was going to get with lack of sleep and jet lag. I never really worried about what others thought, not that I don't want to make a good impression, it's just easy to separate myself from those around me. Part of my job is getting into the head and thinking like a killer, on some cases I would spend weeks alone in a deep depression, the thoughts of not only the killers but the bodies they left behind would fill every moment of my day. One time my brother attempted to get me a dog, thinking it would cheer me up but the damn thing ended up pissing all over my house so I gave it back.
I checked my newly acquired phone, time was 725am. I had a short while before someone would ring of me so I spent the remainder of my time adding the necessary numbers to my phone and fixing up my place a bit.
That is before an echoing voice made me jump in my skin.
"Mrs. Hudson!" boomed a deep voice from somewhere outside my room. It felt as if the walls would break down and the sky fall. I quickly walked to my door and cracked it slightly. My body was pressed to the wall to the side of the door, one eye peeking out. There wasn't a soul outside nor near the entrance door. I quietly pulled open my door a few more inches.
"Mrs. Hudson," came the voice again, slightly less jarring than before but still as forceful, "I do wish you would stop taking my skull." There was a pause, "And where are my eyeballs?"
I pulled open my door a slight more and stepped out, peering upwards while trying to remain as invisible as possible.
"Now Sherlock, I told you keeping those eyes just isn't right now days." Mrs. Hudson's voice was calmer than I would have expected having someone just yell about eyes and a skull, she seemed rather used to it, as if it was something that has happened many times before. This must be the same tenant who likes to try, as I would call it, to play the violin.
I heard her small steps making their way down the stares as she continued to talk to this man named Sherlock.
"I think you need to be resting dear, go back and try and sleep. Make you feel better!" She sounded concerned for whoever this man was, I knew the name only because she had mentioned it last night.
"Mrs. Hudson you can't expect me to rest down like a dog when there is a world out there...!" the last bit of his yelling was punctuated with the slamming of a door.
I quickly stepped backwards into my room and silently closed the door. Right at that moment my phone that I still had in my hand rang. Without me realizing it the time was now 801am. I jumped slightly before picking up.
"Hello, this is Bell."
"Good morning Ms. Bell, this is D.I. Lestrade, I'm out the front here to pick you up." His voice came across the phone slightly loud, I need to adjust the volume on this damn phone. I answered him quickly and hung up. I gathered a coat and my purse and walked out the door. The hallway was silent.
Stepping out onto the walk I spotted a man standing next to a cab pulled over. Reaching out his hand he introduced himself.
" D.I. Lestrade." he said, smile on his face, his peppered hair was sticking up slightly. He was wrapped in a long, dark pea coat. His smile seemed genuine, his hand firmly clasped mine. It was a good handshake, not pathetic like that man, Anderson, last night. Around his eyes were dark, I was betting it was a late night out, worry lines littered his face.
"hello nice to meet you."
He walked me the short distance to the car and opened the door, before getting inside he turned to me and smiled. "are you ready for your first day?" The only thing I could do was smile back and nod.
I felt my insides do a small jump, I may not hold the weigh of the world on my conscience but I don't want to piss anyone off or be a loss of time to someone. I know my brother wouldn't send me out here thinking I wasn't able to do the job, but at this moment my insides thought otherwise.
We got inside the cab and drove off, hello streets of London.
He was nearly falling out the window he was pressed so hard to it. John was walking into the kitchen to put some tea on when he turned to Sherlock, "Why are you pressed to the window Sherlock?" He asked, oddly in the many, many months they had been living together John still seemed to ask the most pointless questions. With a sigh Sherlock rapped his head upon the window one last time before stepping back. A million more thoughts were buzzing in his head, the question that John had asked entered and left like a breath in the wind. The only obvious answer would be that she was the person coming from the states to help out. That would be the only reason he could think of as to why Lestrade would even bother to pick someone up at this time of day in the middle of the week. She had taken the time to present herself, dressing in a nice suit but still not making up her face or doing something crazy with her hair, maybe she was confident or maybe she lacked the proper tools. In the morning light Sherlock could make out her eyes, he was mistaken before, they were a blue not a green. That being decided upon Sherlock turned around looking at the doorway. He could simply walk down the steps and peek inside, it's not like it would be hard to pick a lock, he had done it many times before. In his boredom he liked to pick the lock on Johns bedroom door just to see what he was up to, hardly anything interesting in there, even his taste in porn was typical, spunky redheads or something to that effect. John must have seen something in his face because he was now standing next to the doorway looking right at him.
"Sherlock, I know that look." He took a few steps forward before stopping. "You need to rest mate, you know you should be sitting down a little more."
Sherlock looked at him and threw his hands into the air, snorting loudly.
"do you really think I can take a full month off John? I'm not built to just stand here and make tea and play house. My mind it built to break and rip things apart, I can't sit and be calm!" his arms waved about as he yelled, John leaned back.
"Well you can't help that now can you? You have three more weeks before they will let you back on."
Three months he thought. Snorting again Sherlock walked to the sofa and slammed himself down. Not even Mrs. Hudson giving him back his eyes would make him pop out of this mood. The ache of his body screamed with the pain in his mind, people didn't seem to understand that to Sherlock this was his death, the day in and day out things that others found wonderful he hated. Even dating seemed pointless, there would come a time in every relationship where nothing new would happen, people fall into habits and routines. The same old thing, every day. Deadly, boring, pointless. It was hard enough finding someone interesting enough to talk to let alone date.
At least having John around made him feel a part of something going on in the world, He would never tell him, but the only real friend he ever had was the doctor. He was the only one who spent this much time with him and didn't leave. John was dependable, he had saved his life in more ways than one. As much as he hated to admit it, Sherlock had found that he really did enjoy sharing the flat with him, or as much as someone like Sherlock could enjoy something at all. Sherlock had hated the feeling inside when he woke after the bomb blast, not knowing if his only friend was still alive, the pain of worry was new to him. Right after the explosion the last thing Sherlock remembered was John leaning over him, yelling his name.
As fast as those thought filled his head they were gone, and once again his mind started to whirr and twist, trying to think of something, anything to pass the time.