Sherlock Holmes: The case of the phantasmic voices

Chapter 1 - Where the flower once bloomed

For many the reason to live may be indefinitely hard to come by. It could be a living being, an inanimate object, or simply a belief that one sticks to for their entire lifetime. For Sherlock, this meaning to live was the former. He had found the one person who seemed to be all that he needed, that he strived for, and that he worked with. A person who gave him purpose and solidarity. From the moment they had met, up until even now: this one person had filled Sherlock's life with so much mystery, turbulence and a perseverance that Sherlock himself had been unaware he possessed. How could he possibly let him go ever again?

Perhaps that's why Sherlock could honestly say he had enjoyed his life in America. Living side by side with the one person who seemed to understand him and working together so seamlessly that perhaps people would think they were made for one another.

But all good things must come to an end, right?

Just like how the sun rises. Eventually, it must fall too.

For Sherlock, this fall from the sky came at a cost he wouldn't expect. A dear friend.
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"Well would you look at that, London hasn't changed one bit!" Came the familiar voice of the renowned detective as he took his first steps back into the city that held so many memories, whether they be serene or even infuriating to him. Nonetheless his love for London would never dim nor simmer away no matter the hardships. Sherlock's voice was crisp and energetic, his face adorned with a tempting smirk as he turned to face the object of his current attention "bring back any invigorating memories for you, Liam~?" he asked, raising a lit cigarette to his mouth that rested calmly between his teeth as he drew a bitter breath. 

"Mm...perhaps so" Came the soothing voice that belonged to a man of slim stature. His footsteps seemed to stop as they got to Sherlock, his head tilted up in a particular direction as his gaze softened. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his friend's odd behaviour before glancing to the object of his staring only to let out a chuckle. It was the last place they had set foot on London those three years ago. London bridge.

Lowering his cigarette, Sherlock held it between his index and middle fingers before moving to swiftly lay the palms of his hands over his friend's eyes. His deep voice remained in that sly, teasing tone as it spoke daringly. "Must your eyes stare so intently at such a place?" He began, purposefully making himself sound upset at the revelation. "If you must stare at something then feast your eyes upon myself. Am I not to your liking, my dear Liam?" He then finished, lowering his hands and moving in front of the blond male as if to obscure the background. So that the first thing he did see was him. He flashed a cheeky smile afterwards, that lit cigarette returning to its rightful place and the raven haired figure soon pivoted on his heels to continue leading the way. 

Unbeknownst to Sherlock, who believed himself to already be the victor of this conversation, William seemed to not give in or quiet down. Very frequently would the two men shamelessly flirt in such overt ways but usually they did so in the safe and unprejudiced confines of their temporary American home. They were now back in England, London itself. Yet, that hadn't stopped Sherlock and so it most definitely would not stop William. 

The former "lord of crime" took a couple of steps forward, his movement both confident and teasing. Those mannerisms also reflecting perfectly onto the mischievous smile that had permeated over his face. As some may say 'Two can play at that game' He thought as he caught up to his confidant and swiftly took action. It wasn't much in the eyes of strangers, nor would many have paid any mind to it however, to Sherlock it was as if William had once again lit a spark within him. Those taunting eyes had locked onto Sherlock's own, almost enrapturing him in their radiance and such strong eye contact had caught him off guard, so much so that when the professor finally spoke, Sherlock couldn't keep his composure. Those words were but a simple "You have always been the foremost object of my admiration" but they were enough to send Sherlock into a thrilled mess. 

The detective's grin was wider than previously, his eyes gleaming with exquisite passion. Nobody else in this world could ever say those words and make him react the same way. It wasn't the words themselves, the tone nor the context, it was because it came from William. Everything he had done, everything he would do; Sherlock admired it all. He adored it all. He was the only person who could ever make Sherlock react in such raw, unfiltered excitement. Even with such few words. 

Sherlock himself was just about to respond, to incite more flirting between the two, when a familiar voice called out from the crowd. Sherlock and William both turned to see the owner of said voice when their eyes laid upon a misty-blond male with his hand waving high in the air in a sorry effort to gain their attention. His other hand was placed upon his bowler hat afraid that it may be blown away if the winds became any more harsh. This man was none other than "John Watson! Long time no see, old chap!" Came Sherlock's ecstatic voice. His smile softened as he jogged to meet John who ran to them once he was spotted, the two exchanging a content hand-shake and gentle greetings. John even turned to William, blessing him with a soft smile and a greeting also, One William hadn't expected to receive so freely. 

"My! Would you look at you two!" John stated, voice as excitable and refreshing as ever, the male not being able to resist putting a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'm so very relieved to find you both to be alive and well. I hope these past years have been kind to you" He stated with a quiet laugh of relief, though that laugh quickly died down and his expression went soft, almost too soft. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and flashed William a glance of suspicion. John was a fairly easy person to read and it was pretty obvious that something was amiss. 

"Where is that young lady...Miss Hudson, is it?" William seemed to ask out of the blue. He didn't know much about Sherlock's friends apart from what he had been told and had examined during their escapades together but William was as observant as ever. Miss Hudson would have come to greet Sherlock beside John, so why wasn't she here? She certainly would not miss it if she had the option. 

John's expression seemed to twist as he glanced from William to Sherlock. His eyes were downcast, his eyebrows knitted together in both contempt and frustration. He looked concerned to his dear friend, about his dear friend. "I'm sorry to tell you this, just when you have returned from goodness knows what hardships but..." He began, his voice breaking as he found it hard to explain now that he was put on the spot. Sherlock rested a hand upon his shoulder, seeming to give him a moment to compose himself. "She has been missing for more or less a week, Mr. Holmes. We've searched everywhere but... no matter how much I try, I'm simply not a detective" He confessed. He truly had tried and it was evident with the frustration that had been formerly visible on his face. John had most likely done everything in his power to find her but as he said, he was a doctor and not a detective. Sherlock was the detective. 

The once lit cigarette that had been held between Sherlock's fingers the entire time had finally fallen from it's once high and mighty position and collapsed to the floor, it's burning fire fading out into nothing but a roll of paper and embers. Sherlock pondered, Why on earth did this have to happen to the very people he cared about? Especially those that are completely innocent? His hands balled into fists for only a split second. He knew deep down that he couldn't be wavered by overwhelming grief.  Although the raven haired male wanted to so badly, he also knew that now was not the time to be wavered by emotions. If they were to find her as quickly as possible, they must work strategically and make haste.

William stepped closer to Sherlock to place a comforting hand upon his shoulder. He knew that despite the man hiding it, he was sieving with anger, confusion and frustration. A bystander, a good friend, had gone missing and from what it seemed, without a trace. A kind woman taken from a place she both loved and thrived in much like how a flower that once bloomed would also be plucked from that very place. 

It seemed that their journey back to London was just as eventful as their lives had been in the past: for a detective's life is full of woe.