I've had some questions about updates. Just wanted to let everyone know that I will be updating all my stories this weekend. :)
John watched Sherlock who was sitting across from him and hadn't moved a muscle in the past half hour. His friend had been like that since they returned from that technology company. Sherlock hadn't said anything about his meeting with that woman and no amount of badgering on John's part was able to make his friend talk.
He knew Sherlock was in his mind palace. A place where outside stimuli couldn't reach him and John's presence wasn't even noticed, but he was worried. If this woman was anything like Irene Adler, and everything seemed to point to that conclusion, she was trouble. Trouble with a capital T.
"Ah!" Sherlock gasped, coming out of his trance-like state with a look that told John his friend had worked something out.
"What?" he asked, sitting forward.
"It's perfect."
Instead of elaborating Sherlock stood up and walked over to the desk, sitting down in front of his laptop and began typing. John joined him watching as the detective brought up his blog and began typing out a new post.
"What're you doing?" he asked.
"Lonely hearts ad," Sherlock replied, as if that should answer his question. When, in fact, it only created more questions, but he chose to put them off till Sherlock was finished with what the hell ever he thought he was doing.
Rose dressed in her sleep ware after her bath. It was late and after the day she had she just wanted to relax. The entire thing was nearly botched by Sherlock's arrival, which was entirely her fault. She sighed. She really liked London and she hoped she wouldn't have to leave. To run. Again.
Even with the danger he posed…or maybes because of it she couldn't help feeling…excitement. Thrill of the chase. Something she didn't get enough of these days. TROUBLE. Yes, Sherlock was trouble in all caps. She knew that, but still he was definitely interesting.
She tried to pushed all thoughts of the detective from her mind as she walked into the kitchen, made herself a cuppa, but his presence was still there when she sat down at the table. She knew she shouldn't, but she reached over and opened her laptop.
John read the Lonely Hearts Ad, as Sherlock put it, as his friend typed.
"Are you sure you want to post that?" he asked.
"Quite certain," Sherlock replied without pausing in his typing.
It read a lot like a personal ad, a very strange personal ad.
"You realize there are going to be other responses."
"I'm only looking for one."
"How can you even be sure she'll read it?"
"She'll read it."
"What makes you say that?"
"She's clever, which makes her curious."
John rolled his eyes.
"If she drugged you why would she respond?"
"Because she gets bored."
"Clever, curious, and bored. You realize you just described yourself."
Sherlock didn't reply. Instead he continued typing. John sighed.
"I'm heading home then," he continued, walking over to retrieve his coat.
"Mm," his friend replied.
He rolled his eyes before opening the door and stepping out.
Rose knew she couldn't chance actually seeing him again. Whatever answers she gave him would have to be given via third party, but reading his website wouldn't hurt. Besides she missed being around someone who thought like him. She opened the page and read his latest post.
SEEKING
CLEVER BLONDE
Mid to late 20s. Must like disguises,
empty allies, bureaucratic offices,
and men wearing sandals. Respond
if interested.
She quirked her brow and a moment later she grinned. Well, since he went to all that trouble.
Sherlock sat in his chair. It'd been hours since he typed the post. It was nearly ten. Maybe John was right. Maybe she wouldn't –
His phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the text.
The alley. One hour.
He smiled. Then he stood up, slid his phone into his pocket, put on his coat, wrapped his scarf around his neck and hurried out the door.
TROUBLE, Rose's mind warned, but she told it to sod off. It wasn't like she was going to see him. It was just a bit of fun and it was safe. Plus she told him if he found an interesting way to get her attention she'd give him answers. It would also keep him occupied while she ran errands tomorrow.
It took her a while, and an internet search, to come up with the idea. She was clever, but Sherlock was more than brilliant and she needed something that would keep him busy tomorrow, preferably all day.
She hurriedly dressed, black trousers, blue top, her trainers because she didn't get to wear them often enough. She pocketed her sonic. John gave it to her before he moved, choosing domestics over the life he remembered because he could do that for Sarah Jane. After that she pulled on a pair of gloves, wouldn't do to leave fingerprints, slipped into her jacket, then she strapped the transporter to her wrist.
Sherlock arrived at the alley seventeen minutes later. He glanced around, trying to locate an alcove or shadowed area where he might conceal himself. He was intent on catching her, arriving early so he could lay in wait. The moment she arrived he'd have her, find out how she erased his memory and why.
His phone chimed. He pulled it out and read the text.
Impatient much?
-BLOCKED
She was there. Had to be. He glanced around the alley, up at the buildings, looking for any place she might be able to see him from. There were twelve possibilities. His phone chimed.
16paces back.
-BLCOKED
He turned around and walked back sixteen paces. He found himself at the alley entrance. He looked around, but the street seemed deserted. His phone chimed.
Streetlamp. Left Side.
-BLOCKED
He glanced to his left. There was a streetlamp two meters from where he stood, as he drew closer he saw it. A very small remote camera affixed to the pole. He pulled it off. She was good. Another text.
Hello.
-BLOCKED.
He grinned, pocketing the camera. His phone chimed again.
Under the skip in the alley.
-BLOCKED
He walked back into the alley, located the skip and pulled out his torch. He bent down and looked. There was a metal box under the skip, rectangular. He reached under the skip and pulled it out. An old safety deposit box. He tried the lid. Locked. As he stood up his phone chimed again.
He turned off the torch, slid it into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
Goodnight, Sherlock.
-BLOCKED.
He smiled, replaced his phone and headed back to his flat. He had no idea who she was, but one thing was certain. She was interesting. Very Interesting.
Standard Disclaimer.
Thank you to all my brilliant readers!
Reviews are always welcome. :)