Hi there! This is my first venture into Sherlock fanfiction territory… I'd be grateful to know what you all think!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sherlock… or post-it notes for that matter :-P
Rated for slight language…
Something wasn't right.
That was the first thought to enter John's sluggish mind as he slowly woke up. Not able to pinpoint why exactly something didn't feel right, the doctor opened one eye to examine his dark bedroom. The blackout curtains he had brought were most definitely one of his better ideas, allowing him to sleep whenever he got a chance during the day… which wasn't often when Sherlock had them running around over London after one lead or another.
Satisfied that everything in his room was exactly where it was from a couple of hours ago, John rolled onto his back and brought his hands to his face to rub his eyes, before letting them drop unceremoniously onto the bed. Feeling more alert now, having given himself time to wake up properly, he rose out of bed smiling when his shoulder didn't twinge; Sherlock's hectic and dangerous lifestyle clearly had had some positive effects on him. He stretched, and was aware once again of that niggling feeling he had experienced when he woke up – or perhaps, he thought, of the feeling that had woken him up. Snorting at his thoughts, John stood and headed downstairs to his shared flat, having decided that living with Sherlock had also made him paranoid. Understandable, considering the work they did.
The creaking of the carpeted stairs sounded especially loud to John, coupled by the fact that he had yet to hear anything from the living area… or have some bored remark float its way towards him. It was at that moment that John realised what felt so wrong since he had woken from his little afternoon snooze.
The 221B flat was silent.
No gunshots, no chemicals bubbling away during a little kitchen experiment, no violin playing… nothing, and it was disconcerting to say the least.
Peering down the stairs, John noted that Sherlock's coat and scarf were gone, removing the somewhat ridiculous idea as Sherlock might phrase it, that his flatmate had been kidnapped. This thought was replaced by a more disbelieving one as soon as he dismissed the potential abduction. Perhaps he had actually gone shopping? There was only so much nagging that someone could take, even if you were the great Sherlock Holmes. Smiling rather smugly at the thought, John clapped his hands together and headed into the kitchen to make some coffee, whilst pointedly ignoring the jar of human ears that was sat innocently next to the tea bags. Looking at just how much tea and coffee supplies, the very idea that Sherlock might have actually gone shopping swiftly disappeared from his mind. Thinking about it, the Consulting Detective had most probably gone out to chase up a few loose ends about their most recent case.
Coffee made, he went back into the living area, set it down, and drew the curtains to close out the now dark Baker Street. Having not turned on any of the lampshades before he closed the curtains, John was surprised to see light coming from the cluttered desk besides him.
"Oh for fu-" he cut himself off with an agitated sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You have your own laptop, why use mine? Oh, that's why, because it's in the kitchen."
John pulled his laptop towards him and placed it on his knees as he sat down on one of the leather sofas. Opening it fully, John wasn't surprised to see that Sherlock had once again managed to hack into his laptop. Surprise surprise, he thought wryly. He did however smile when he saw that Sherlock's supposedly abandoned 'Science of Deduction' blog page was up and very much in use.
But that smile faded very quickly when his eyes skimmed over Sherlock's latest forum conversation. A shiver ran down his spine, sending the hairs on the back of his neck up as he skim read the first line. Leaning forwards, he read it again, his mouth agape.
Hope you enjoyed my little post on your pet's blog. Very creative, don't you think? x
The walls seemed to close around John as realisation as to who this anonymous could be sunk in.
Enough of the games now. What do you want?
I want to put a checkmate on our current stalemate. Game? X
Only one winner. Just you and me. X
"Sherlock, please don't tell me you're actually going to do this," Sherlock whispered out loud.
Name the place and time.
"Jesus!" John swore, his nerves having just got the better of him. Leaning forwards and breathing heavily, John continued to read.
I don't even get to threaten you? Oh you're no fun, my lovely. X
Place and time.
There's this marvellous little place near the Thames called the Reichenbach, let's say there for…. is 8pm good for you? X
Reichenbach, 8pm. See you then.
Don't be late! xxx
John immediately pulled his shirt sleeve back to glance at his watch. It was eight thirty.
Swearing for the third time that night, John swiftly rose and dropped his laptop onto the sofa, before breaking into a run upstairs. His mind was on automatic and his thoughts were all a blur as he lunged forwards for his bed side drawer. Despite being safe with Sherlock, old habits died hard on the ex-military doctor. Yanking the drawer open, he staggered back and brought a shaking hand to his forehead at what he saw. A small nagging thought in the back of his mind questioned him; did he really expect to see his gun still here if Sherlock was chasing after Moriarty? The answer was a simple no, but John did not want to think that.
In its place lay a small post-it note with two words on it, written in Sherlock's unexpectedly neat and slanted writing. Pulling out his phone, John punched in a quick number and held it to his ear with baited breath.
He let out a breath of relief when the other person picked up after barely a few rings.
"Lestrade, I need you at Baker Street to come and pick me up. Sherlock's gone after Moriarty. No no, I'll explain in the car," he spoke quickly in his haste. "Please hurry," he ended in a small voice.
"That idiot! I'm on my way, we'll be there in ten minutes. Meet us outside," John heard Lestrade say before hanging up.
John hastily put his phone into his trouser pocket and sat on his bed, hands running through his hair. He noted the shaking in his hand had all but stopped now that the adrenaline had kicked in. Instead, his breathing had sped up as though he had just ran the London half-marathon, making him restless. Unable to take being sat down any longer; John jumped to his feet and rushed down the hallway to the stairs, where he could wait outside. At least outside the fresh air might clear his mind a bit.
He was grateful that he hadn't run into Mrs Hudson on his way out, but he had no doubt that the slamming of the front door would have caught her attention. Zipping his jacket right up and with his shoulders hunched, John paced as he waited for Lestrade to arrive.
It was the longest ten minutes of his life.
As he paced, he ignored the odd stares he was receiving, instead trying desperately to not think what Sherlock's note had meant. It had only been one word, but coming from Sherlock, the man whom he had never heard apologise, it was big, it was serious, it was… bad.
Dun dun dunnnn! First chapter up! As this is my first Sherlock fic, please let me know what you all think! I'm aiming to have chapter 2 up in the next week :)
Just 16 minutes until the Reichenbach fall…. I'm not ready; are you?
Lady Elrayen x