Chapter Two
Beep! Beep! Beep!
John's fist pounded the top of the blaring alarm clock.
"Shut up..." he mumbled sleepily as he sat up. The neon red digits blinked "7:00 A.M." as if it wasn't alarming enough. He stretched out in his bed with his arms raised to the ceiling, but suddenly he grit his teeth.
Dammit neck, he scolded in his mind. Massaging below his jaw in furious circles, he heaved a sigh. He can't be getting that old. Sunlight streamed in through the cracks of the blinds, creating horizontal bars evenly in his room. A ray hit his face and he turned his head the other way, facing the left corner of his room. The corner that belonged to his flatmate. Stacks of data from past experiments that have long since been input into that "hardware" of his crowded the small space.
There's no point of keeping them, but it's a friendly reminder that he lives with a sociopath who needed to know what temperature it takes for an eyeball to explode it's jelly insides out. John threw out the jar with leftover eyeballs afterwards. And the microwave. Fun times of cleaning the kitchen were had that day.
He shook his head and grinned at a memory most people would find disturbing. Holding his neck, the pain subsided and he flopped his checkered covers over. John opened the blinds, letting the morning sun fully enter his bedroom. The sky was a clear faded blue with no cloud to be seen.
So that's what beautiful weather looks like, he joked to himself. The streets below were damp with rain and he could hear the splashes of puddles as cars drove through them. A siren whirred and a flash of yellow and blue raced down the street. John stretched one last time, but carefully, made his bed, and went downstairs.
Sherlock was perched by the windowsill near the couch like an owl. He was crouched down on the ledge with his knees pressed against his gray tee. His blue satin robe hung loosely on his slim figure and onto the floor. John lumbered into the living room to go to the bathroom but paused. The ex-army doctor looked at the mess of books scattered beneath the music stand, then to his eccentric friend draped in the window's laced curtain like a veil.
"Morning," said John, not questioning the motives behind whatever Sherlock is doing.
"Good morning," his flatmate mumbled under his breath. His lips were between the triangle formed with his hands when touched at the fingertips. As expected, his silver eyes shifted side to side.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Thinking," replied Sherlock blandly and glanced at John briefly. "You had another crick in your neck seeing how you're slightly tilting your head to one side and the other has a circular pink spot."
Typical Sherlock.
"Yeah," he responded and rubbed his neck unknowingly. By the armchairs, he noticed the round table had a tea set.
"Did Ms. Hudson come by?" John asked as he walked over to the tray. A cup has already been poured but it seems like it hasn't been touched. It's a bit early for her to make tea in their flat.
"Clearly, don't ask questions you already know the answers to John," the detective mumbled again with the same flat tone. After living with Sherlock for months, he could what mood he's in depending on how snarky his comments were on a scale from "Evil Eye" to "I'm Going to Reveal Your Darkest Secrets in Five Seconds." He was definitely "Grumpy."
"Right..." he said rolling his hazel eyes, "I got work."
"Work starts for you at nine."
"Not if we're going to buy a new microwave," John quipped as he stepped into the bathroom, "and I'm the one who can legally go outside."
Sherlock frowned at the small jab and looked at his ankle. A black ankle monitor was strapped on, a homing device for individuals under house arrest. He didn't mind being labeled as a criminal, but it restricted him to his flat. How infuriating it was for the past three weeks, on top of the boredom there was an interesting case that has everyone on edge. Photographs of gruesome mutilated bodies with overly vivid descriptions were plastered all over the front of newspapers and mentioned every five minutes on the telly. It's not like he couldn't bypass the simple alarm system built in the device, in fact, he has done it several times. But he couldn't go near crime scenes, something about his character is recognizable in crowds. Bottom line is: Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is bored out of his mind.
Sighing, he smushed his nose on the window. Raindrops slowly slid down the glass pane. There has been a fourth one now, seeing how it was Monday and a police car whizzed by early in the morning. A text from Lestrade will be on its way. Better yet, he'll burst in and beg Sherlock to help solve the case that their simple minds can't handle. The detective grinned.
He could hear the shower's faucet turn off.
"John, pass me my phone," commanded Sherlock and he held out his hand. The shorter man had his usual pinstriped bathrobe wrapped around him.
"Where is it?"
"Fridge."
John had a confused look on his face. Sure enough, the phone was mixed within a box of eggs, and there was a bottle of hand lotion.
"Hand lotion and phones doesn't go in the fridge," he said and placed the phone in the opened hand.
"Duly noted." The phone read no new messages.
John felt a sulky aura emitting from the living room as he put bread in the toaster. He opened the cupboard labeled "Food Only!' and frowned. There was no can of instant coffee to be seen. The clock with burnt marks and tiny cracks ticked noisily in the corner and John glanced at it. There wasn't much time he decided, and settled for milk.
"Do you want breakfast?" he called out.
"No," Sherlock grumbled as he texted. John thought his pouty flatmate looked like a troll with a silly bushy head of hair.
Four must be your favorite number.
- SH
Sent.
He knew how to get under the inspector's skin.
John munched on his toast with strawberry jam. Flipping a newspaper to the front cover, his nose scrunched up in disgust. It featured the same serial killer case. Way to ruin a man's appetite.
"Have you read the news lately Sherlock?"
"About the police's incompetence? Of course, it's on the news every day, hard to miss it. Honestly, if they know they can't solve a case on their own, they should just call me in already instead waiting for more dead bodies to show up. Is this their way of justifying themselves? I don't understand how idiots think."
He chuckled softly and took a sip. Someone's getting antsy.
The doctor had finished his breakfast and changed out of his sleepwear. He smoothed his ashy hair and straightened his dress shirt. Grabbing his padded coat off the sofa, he headed out, but stopped in the doorway.
"I'm going to be back in the afternoon, don't burn anything to get out of house arrest again," John ordered.
Sherlock opened his mouth, but John interrupted.
"Or explode anything."
He left, leaving the sociopath to his antics. Getting tired of staring out the window, Sherlock flung himself across the sofa. Across the room the tea set was still on the round table. Using his piercing stare, he believed he could heat up the teapot with his brilliant mind. He would heat it quickly until the ceramic started cracking. Eventually it'll reach its maximum capacity of heat and explode into pieces. The detective calculated how many pieces it will break off after deducting the weakest spots of the ceramic. It wouldn't explode all at once, but what if he continuously applied heat, using the stove? Sherlock was just bored enough to try the mini experiment. But John. He would be annoyed and clean the mess himself. Sherlock trashed the train of thought into his "recycle bin." He laid still, staring at the blank ceiling. Maybe he should put the drugs to good use he stashed away in his sku-
Ding!
That was his phone.
Cavendish Square Gardens. Don't think you're off the hook for climbing the London Eye. John told me you cracked the ankle monitor five times so get here ASAP.
The corners of Sherlock's lips curled up. He ripped the device off his ankle and threw it in the fireplace like a frisbee.
"Yes!" he exclaimed in delight and bounced about. "John! We're on the case!"
Silence.
"Oh for god's sakes!" Sherlock groaned. He picked up his phone, but hesitated. The detective always did wonder what the surgery looked like.
oOo
"Good morning," John greeted as he clocked in. He received other good mornings from co-workers as he passed by.
"John, your assistant is already in," one of the secretaries informed him.
"Assistant?"
"The one I told you about last week," she pointed out.
"Oh, right, um," he stuttered, "who is my assistant?"
She clicked her tongue. "Devin, he'll be shadowing you for the next month."
He nodded and went into his office. A young man was shuffling papers at his desk and writing on a clipboard. He looked up to the door and smiled.
"Hello Dr. Watson," he beamed and raised his hand, "I'm Devin, I'm going to be working with you for a while." The young man was tall and slender with slick blonde hair. His blue eyes were shielded by his thick rimmed glasses. He was wearing the typical doctor white coat, something John doesn't like wearing himself.
John took his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Would you like some coffee?" There was a cup holder that held two cups of coffee.
"Yeah actually, thank you," John thanked and took one from his hands. He took a sip as his assistant was preparing the medical tools.
"Have you finished med school?" the doctor asked.
"Yes, I'm doing the general residency here for the meantime." John smiled behind the cup. This brought back memories of him and Mike.
"Your first patient is coming in at 8:30," Devin read off the clipboard.
"Okay."
John booted up the computer and it whirred to life. It was an older model, not that it bothered him.
"How long were you a GP for?" the young man asked.
"I was an army doctor for the most part, so not long," he answered.
"Army doctor? What war- Jesus Christ!" Devin jumped. John swiftly turned around. An even taller man stood behind the surprised assistant. He wore a trench coat with a turned up collar and a navy patterned scarf. His dark curls nearly brushed Devin's forehead and he stared daggers into the poor man's soul.
The assistant backed away from the intimidating pair of eyes.
John rubbed his temples. "Sherlock, why are you here? You're not supposed to leave the flat, hence house arrest."
"We have a new case, I came to fetch you," he said and continued to stare.
"Who are you...?"
"My name was just mentioned, learn to listen. Let's go John."
John looked at the door of the office then to his partner. "How'd you get in here?"
Sherlock headed towards the window, which was wide opened. Oh.
Before he climbed out, he gave the blonde a quick look."You were a terrible student and often cut classes, you have father issues, a fashionista, and is allergic to cats. Good morning."
He left Devin gawking at the window with his mouth opened.
"Sorry about that," John apologized as he opened the door, "tell the ladies I'm taking my lunch early."
A/N:Feedback and critiques are much appreciated!