He swiftly jogged the last few meters before he utmostly collapsed. Before he blacked out he saw a flaming scarlet mane fall above his head, mouthing words that, to Sherlock, sounded ten kilometers away.
The scarlet hair belonged to his collegue, Molly, whom Sherlock had been looking for. Molly was a few years younger than he was, yet at the time they were the same height, same legnth of hair, same views on dogs: both were comically allergic to the hair. Molly picked up the exhausted boy and brought him inside her flat, letting her father know who he was, why he was there, and he needed help.
0o0
Mycroft now had a pretty bruise on the hinge of his jaw, making it loose. He smirked as his friends helped him stalk Sherlock throughout London, thinking out a plan to get him back. Mycroft, to be honest, could care less about the wellfare of his little brother, for earlier he had hoped his brother would "deduce" that the big burly boys following Mycroft around were only there to make him look cool. Mycroft shook his head. No, Sherlock WOULD have notice that, and stuck around. With a frown, Mycroft started to rethink this whole "beat-up-Sherlock-because-he's-not-empathetic-like-me" thing. Pulling his cap low over his eyes, the young man and his goons walked nonchalauntly towards Molly's home. There was no turning back now...
0o0
Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, squinting them before the bright afternoon sun coming through the windows. He looked around as his eyes became used to the light. He was in Molly's bedroom, or so he thought. He secretly hoped it was hers because of all the drawings on the walls and the small chestnut violin in the corner. The door clicked open, and Sherlock whipped his head towards it, imidiatly regretting the swift action, as it brought a sickening feeling in his midsection, making him lay back down in the pillow.
Molly hummed a tune as she set down the glass of water, gently shaking her classmate's shoulder,
"You are very dehydrated, so i brought you water," she said, as Sherlock sat up slowly, "Now, don't drink this all at once, only little sips. Otherwise your body would reject the fluids, thinking there is too much,"
Sherlock nodded, not wanting to correct her by saying he knew what to do. Sherlock brought the glass to his lips and took a short sip, relishing the cool water running down the boy's parched throat. At this point, Sherlock had no idea his throat hurt that badly, and took another, slightly longer sip.
After the water was half gone, Molly placed it on the nightstand beside her bed. As soon as she let go of the glass, a rough and quick pounding rang through the house. Someone was at the door, and they were angry. Sherlock, much against Molly's and his own better judgement, stood up and pulled off his jumper. Sherlock wanted to end this feud, even though he didnt have any clue how to fight, how to dodge, or even why his brother was pursuing him in the first place.
"Sherlock, no! You'll get sick-" started Molly, earning a swift glare and a shine of apology from her friend.
"Molly, I need you to not chastise me like this. I need to fight this. I dont know why my own kin would want to fight me-" Sherlock said, interrupted by faster, angrier raps at the door.
"Let us in, Sherlock! We know you're in there!" Yelled a deep voice, most likely belonging to one of Mycroft's swiftly jogged the last few meters before he utmostly collapsed. Before he blacked out he saw a flaming scarlet mane fall above his head, mouthing words that, to Sherlock, sounded ten kilometers away.
The scarlet hair belonged to his collegue, Molly, whom Sherlock had been looking for. Molly was a few years younger than he was, yet at the time they were the same height, same legnth of hair, same views on dogs: both were comically allergic to the hair. Molly picked up the exhausted boy and brought him inside her flat, letting her father know who he was, why he was there, and he needed help.
0o0
Mycroft now had a pretty bruise on the hinge of his jaw, making it lose. He smirked as his friends helped him stalk Sherlock throughout London, thinking out a plan to get him back. Mycroft, to be honest, could care less about the wellfare of his little brother, for earlier he had hoped his brother would "deduce" that the big burly boys following Mycroft around were only there to make him look cool. Mycroft shook his head. No, Sherlock WOULD have notice that, and stuck around. With a frown, Mycroft started to rethink this whole "beat-up-Sherlock-because-he's-not-empathetic-like-me" thing. Pulling his cap low over his eyes, the young man and his goons walked nonchalauntly towards Molly's home. There was no turning back now...
yay! Okay, I made a few changes to the first chapter. Instead of it being my OC, Melody, I have changed her into none other than Molly Hooper! So, yeah ;3 thanks for reading and R&R!