SuperWhoLock: Demons Run [COMPLETED]

Chapter Three

London, England

Doctor John Watson turned the corner and strolled down Baker Street with a grocery bag in each hand, taking his time. He was in a very good mood today - he'd gotten out of work early and the sun was shining in an azure blue sky, which was unusual for gray and dreary London. He swung the plastic bags in his hands and took a deep breath of the fresh, clear air.

He went up the steps of flat 221B and inserted his key into the lock on the front door. As he was stepping inside, he paused to stare at a statue sitting in front of Speedy's Sandwiches.

Odd, he thought. Mrs. Hudson must've bought that while I was at work, because it certainly wasn't here this morning.

He closed the door behind him with his foot and slipped his keys back into his pocket. "Sherlock!" he called. "I'm home!"

His flatmate didn't respond. Inwardly, John sighed. But he was having a good day and he was determined not to let the surly detective ruin it. He trotted up the stairs, the groceries in the bags jostling around. "Sherlock?" he asked as he entered the kitchen. "I brought groceries."

"Good, good," a deep voice muttered. Sherlock Holmes wandered into the kitchen, dressed - surprisingly - and with a surly look on his face. John opened the fridge to load the groceries inside.

"It's quite nice out today," he said. "Maybe we could do something outside..."

"I'm not interested in any outdoor activities except for solving cases," Sherlock spat. "You know that, John."

John didn't take any offense at his friend's rude tone. By now, he was completely used to the mood swings that accompanied lulls between cases. He pulled a plastic container out of the fridge and looked at it. "Do I even want to know what's in this?"

"Just leave it there," Sherlock grumped. John obediently put the container back as Sherlock sighed and moved into the living room.

"Bored," he groaned, flopping down onto the couch.

John finished putting the groceries away and dropped the plastic bags into the trash. He searched for a topic of conversation that wasn't likely to lead to Sherlock exploding. "Did Mrs. Hudson buy that statue?" he asked eventually.

"Statue? What statue?"

John half-entered the living room, leaning against the doorframe that led into the kitchen. "The one right outside. You know, the angel, that looks like it's crying."

"I haven't noticed any statue," Sherlock grumbled. "And I notice everything. Are you sure you didn't just imagine it, John?"

"Maybe you haven't seen it because you haven't gone outside," John suggested. He turned around, meaning to take off his jacket and hang it on the back of a kitchen chair. "Besides, I don't think I would imagine-"

He stopped midsentence and stared down the stairs. At the bottom of the flight, right inside the front door, was the angel statue.

"It's moved," he said, completely baffled. "How has it moved?"

"Don't be silly, John, statues can't move."

John turned back towards the living room. "It was outside, right in front of Speedy's Sandwiches, and now it's inside," he said. "Look, see, right at the bottom of the-"

He let out a startled yelp and scrambled backwards. He had turned to point down the flight of stairs and come face-to-face with the angel statue, which was now at the top of the stairs, barely six inches away from him. "What the bloody hell-!"