SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

Colour Codes

Sherlock arrived at Baker Street with the tiny specimen of blood he had scraped from the window sill. His thoughts, like windmills, whirled around his Mind Palace.  Memories he had shelved for moments such as these were taken down and thumbed through like a well-loved book. As he made his way up the stairs, he heard Mrs. Hudson diddling around in his apartment.

“Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock sung out in the middle of the staircase. He waited for her to reply before he barged in.

“Upstairs, Sherlock!” tweeted Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock smiled and bounced up the stairs. He flew through the door and greeted his landlady with a warm kiss. “How are things holding up?”

“Things are going well,” Mrs. Hudson replied as she propped up a sofa pillow and neatened the papers by the sill. “Where’s John?”

“At the duchess’s,” Sherlock answered candidly as he walked into his kitchen-lab.

Mrs. Hudson gasped and spun around so fast Sherlock would’ve believed her to be in her youth. “The Duchess of Cornwall?”  She cried. “That is—oh—I can hardly speak! The duchess herself?” Mrs. Hudson went on in a fluster and Sherlock at last gently whisk her outside even though she hadn’t finished her sentences.

“Yes, yes, good, good. Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock said through a forced smile as he gave her a final push out the door. The moment she disappeared from his view, he clicked the door shut. Finding himself alone at last, Sherlock inhaled with satisfaction and set to work in the kitchen.

He pulled out his vials, tubes, glasses, slides, possibly every measuring device ever created, and his microscope.  He strewed them across a cleared spot on the table and then organized them by priority. After the detective had set up his workshop, he took out the bit of plasma and examined it carefully under his microscope. The second his eye looked through the focal point, Sherlock let out a groan of disgust and placed his folded hands against his lips.

“I’ll need Molly for this one.”

Meanwhile, John stood awkwardly in the magnificent foyer while Mycroft bored the palace security guards and the lady-in-waiting, Elizabeth.

“I’ve had a room prepared for you,” Alana said in a gentle voice behind John.

John turned around and cleared his voice nervously. It was strange to him that even though he had seen the duchess practically all evening, it still felt like he was seeing her for the first time whenever they encountered one another. “Oh, thank you, Your Grace, it is nice of you to offer, but I believe I’ll be—,”

“No, you won’t,” Mycroft intervened, popping his wide forehead in between the two. “Sherlock wants you to spend the night here—keep an eye out for anything suspicious. He texted me—finally!—and informed me that he’ll be working late in the lab, but will join sometime before morning.” Mycroft’s thin lips pinched in a persnickety manner and he pranced off towards the car that waited to escort him home.

Laughing softly, John returned his eyes to Alana. “Well, that’s been sorted, hasn’t it?”

Joining in with a prim laugh, Alana replied theatrically, “It has been decided and there’s no turning back!”

Humored by her childlike air, John broke into a soft smile and lost himself in her expressive brown eyes. There was both a hint of innocence and mischief in them that he liked very much. The smile tugging at her fair lips made his heart press against his chest in earnest attempt to be closer to her. John shook his head and stuttered an apology for staring so long.