From the Beginning | Sherlock BBC

Chapter - 2

The doctor had a strange interaction with someone who claims to be Sherlock's arch-enemy. Do people have arch-enemies? He thinks to himself when the man drops him off at his destination. He opens the door to the detective's flat. The Detective had messaged him before, urgently asking for him to come to his flat.

You've just met this man. Why is he texting you? Though, the main question was why was John answering these texts. It was the adrenaline rush Holmes brings to Watson. He's missed the feeling of danger. The arch-enemy pointed out how John's hand didn't shake once during their little conversation. He was not scared or nervous, he was used to being in that situation.

Watson makes it up to the flat where Holmes is, lying across the couch with his hands pressed against each other near his lips. His breaths continue to level out perfectly as he was lost in his mind. His sleeves are rolled up, showing more of his arms. Sherlock's beloved coat hangs where it's needed most.

The flat is cluttered with papers, reports of the last few suicides - Sherlock calls them murders - John looks around him, seeing the flat. His gaze soon falls on Holmes, lying there in deep thought. His scruffy hair, sharp cheekbones. He has a level of attractiveness to him.

John clears his throat quietly as he approaches the room. "What are you doing?" He asks Holmes.

Sherlock keeps his eyes closed as he hears the doctor. He shows him the three nicotine patches on his arm. "Nicotine patches. Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit here in London. Bad news for brain work."

"Also good news for breathing."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Breathing. Breathing's boring." He shifts his thoughts to something else. He didn't have to focus on breathing, there for, it was a waste of his time.

John glances over at the patches he was wearing. "Three patches?"

"Three patch problem, John." Sherlock says simply, though ignoring his worry for him. He soon opens his eyes, starting to stare up at the ceiling, still deep in thought. A part of Watson believes he wasn't there fully.

John waits for a moment before speaking up, "So, you need me for something?" He finally asks, still getting Sherlock staring up at the ceiling.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Can I borrow your phone?"

John stares at the man. His... phone? He's got to be joking. "My... phone?"

"Yes."

"Can't you just use yours?"

"Don't want the chance of the number being recognized. It's on the website." Sherlock informs Watson.

"Doesn't Mrs. Hudson have a phone?" John asks.

Sherlock gives a small nod. "Yes, but she's downstairs. I tried shouting, but she didn't hear me."

"I was on the other side of London!" He informs, raising his voice.

"There's no rush." He extends his hand out for John's phone, wishing to use it for just a moment.

John sighs in defeat and places his phone in his hand. "Is this about the case?"

"Her case." Holmes corrects.

"Her case?" Watson repeats

Sherlock nods as he holds the phone in between his hands, "Yes, her suitcase, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. His first big mistake." He says, glancing over at John for a moment before looking back up at the ceiling.

He shakes his head. "Okay, he took her case. So?" Oh, how lost Watson is.

Sherlock sighs calmly. "Here, there's a number on my desk. I need you to text it." He says, holding out John's phone.