Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter 157
Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy
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Part I
"But ne'er the rose without the thorn." ~Robert Herrick
Present Day
It had been quiet, too quiet. Sherlock was bored, even worse than bored.
The past two days that they stayed at the Holmes family mansion was tolerable, there had been Mycroft to torment. Still, despite being dull, he was glad to be back at 221B. However, he was restricted to bed-rest for four more days and he… was… bored!
He would be dead in four days from … boredom!
Worse, not only was he bored, he was in mourning.
He no longer had his favorite coat. The soft, light, black Belstaff wool coat, with the pleats in the back, two side pockets that fit his hands perfectly, and the most perfect collar that reached the perfect length to accentuate his cheekbones.
It even made a perfect little swishing sound during movement.
His coat reminded him of a cartoon superhero cape when he ran after a suspect. In it, he was superman.
As quiet as it was kept, he was also fond of the red stitch detail on one of the front lapels.
That coat was as much a part of Sherlock as his violin.
Now it was gone and he mourned for it.
Sherlock mourned the same way one would mourn for a friend, if that very good friend were suddenly to die.
His coat had always kept him warm, even on the chilliest of London nights. Sherlock had deep affections for that coat, and now it was departed.
Worse, Sherlock was not only confined to the couch for four more days because, of the latest injuries, but also banned from doing experiments.
All because of the unfortunate event cause by him running out of room in their refrigerator, so of course, Sherlock had naturally needed to use Mrs. Hudson's refrigerator.
Why did no one seem to understand that pure logical fact?
Sherlock sighed.
Consequently, here he was dressed in a tee shirt, pajama pants, and his dressing gown thinking of his beloved coat. Worse of all, it was all because of some lunatic that his coat was gone.
Sherlock sighed louder.
"You okay Sherlock," John asked while sitting trying to read the morning paper.
"Fine John."
Sherlock sighed again more dramatically this time.
Silence
"John."
"Yes Sherlock."
"My coat is dead."
"Sherlock a coat can't actually be dead, it was never alive," John tried to reason.
Sigh
Silence
"But, John, it had a hole in it," Sherlock whispered sadly.
"Actually, it was two holes. I know Sherlock." John turns the page of his paper.
"John."
"Yes Sherlock," John reply slightly annoyed.
"I loved that coat," Sherlock whispered almost childlike while sniffling, "I liked the swishing sound when I walked and I liked to put up the collar." The last few words were whispered like a guilty pleasure.
John wondered if Sherlock was trying to be purposefully annoying.
John looked around his paper at Sherlock.
One look at Sherlock's face gave John all the information he needed. John's face softened.
Sherlock sniffled again then grimaced as he turned on his back now staring mournfully at the ceiling.
Sherlock looked almost… childlike, innocent.
John swallowed hard and felt guilty for being annoyed. It had been hard for Sherlock. Dealing with "feelings"; dealing with emotional and physical pain. The man had gone through major physical and mental trauma. In addition, the man did save his life.
Now that he thought about it, his life was not the only one Sherlock saved.
John got up and reached for his coat.
"Um, Sherlock, popping out for a minute, Mrs. Hudson is downstairs, I'll ask her to come up and stay with you. Mycroft has a car outside. I'll be gone for just an hour."
"John."
"Yes Sherlock. "
"Where're you going?" Sherlock asked turning his head toward John.
"Never mind." John was no longer annoyed.
Sherlock sniffed again.
"Back in a sec," John said as he descended the stairs. He was heard having a brief conversation with Mrs. Hudson.
Sherlock looked at John's retreating form.
If there were such things as saints, surely, John had to be one, Sherlock thought while sighing.
Sherlock melted into the sofa.