Pretty Stranger...Why Are You Following Me? (Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Ten

Third Person:

The wall blew out chips of plaster as Sherlock shot at it. A yellow smiley face was painted on the wall. It was about seven o'clock. John came padding down the stairs, rubbing his neck and yawning.

"What the hell are you doing, Sherlock?" John shouted at Sherlock, coming into the room slowly. "Bored." Sherlock stated plainly, firing another shot. "Why the hell are you shooting at the wall?" John shouted again. "Bored." Sherlock said again. "Stop shooting at the wall, Sherlock! You're going to wake up the whole bloody neighborhood!" John shouted, snatching the gun from him. "This is my gun." John stated, staring the the weapon. "What else was I supposed to use?" Sherlock shrugged.

"You weren't supposed to be shooting at a wall at seven o'clock in the morning." John replied. Sherlock shrugged and got up. He wandered around the room for a good thirty minutes while John sat down. "I haven't had a case in days, John. What am I supposed to do?" Sherlock asked. "I don't know. You could talk to you're girlfriend." John shrugged. "Girlfriend? What're you talking about?" Sherlock asked. "Emily. You know, the one you're always with." John stated. "She is not my girlfriend, John." Sherlock stated plainly. "She's pretty close." John muttered.

Four Hours Later:

"I need something to do, John!" Sherlock shouted, almost ripping his hair out. "Well, what am I supposed to do?" John replied. "Find me a case!" Sherlock shouted. "I looked already, Sherlock. There are any cases." John stated. "Look again!" Sherlock replied. John shook his head and left. "Where are you going?" Sherlock asked. "Away." John replied, locking the door.

Sherlock stood in front of the windows, trying to figure put what to do. All of the sudden, a loud noise occurred quite close. The windows shattered and Sherlock ducked, hitting the floor hard. The ringing in his ears felt like it would never stop.

Emily's p.o.v:

"Let me through! Let me through!" I shouted at the crowd of people. But they wouldn't move. "My friend is in there! Let me through!" I shouted again. I eventually had to start shoving people out of my way to get through. And then I saw Sherlock. He was covered in dust and glass cuts, a blanket over his shoulders. I ran over to him and hugged him.

"That hurts, Emily." Sherlock stated, wincing slightly. "Sorry, I'm just glad you're okay." I said quietly. John came running out of the crowd of people as well. "Sherlock," He panted. "Are you alright?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm perfectly fine, I don't see why everyone is making such a fuss." He stated. "You could've been hurt, Sherlock." I mumbled, looking down at my hands.

Two Days Later:

John, Sherlock and I were at the station with Lestrade and Donovan (despite her protests). We were looking at the phone from the very first case John and I had been on. 'The Study in Pink' as John called it on his blog.

"It looks exactly like it." Lestrade stated, throwing his hands up in frustration. "What've you got, Sherlock?" I sighed.

"New model, cleaner. No scratches. Its never been used." Sherlock stated. "So why would someone go to all the trouble to make it look like the old one?" John asked. The phone made a noise. I couldn't quite make out what it was, but Sherlock could. The phone came up with a picture. An old room. Peeling paint and plaster. Dusty floors that were most likely rotting. Then the phone rang and Sherlock answered it.

"You have twelve hours to solve my puzzle or this person dies." The woman said. She was sobbing. The line went dead. "What does this picture mean?" Lestrade asked. "It's a clue." Sherlock and I said simultaneously. We both looked at each other and I smiled and blushed. Then off we went. Trying to find the room.

We had found the room in the picture. It looked even worse than it had in the picture. But this time there were a pair of trainers on the floor. Purple, gold and white. They looked fairly new. Sherlock picked them up and examined them.

"What do you see?" He asked John. "They look like a new model. Fairly clean. I'd doubt they'd ever been worn." John replied. Sherlock shook his head and turned to me. "What do you see?" He asked. "They're not new, my brother, Kennan, had a pair. About twenty years ago. These are old, very old. Oh! Look! A name, I can't read it, though." I stated. Sherlock nodded and examined the name closely.

"Carl Powers." He said. "Didn't he die?" I asked. "Yes," Sherlock grinned, "twenty years ago. He drowned in a pool. But his shoes weren't with him. They were never found. So why are they here now? What do they have to do with this puzzle?" Sherlock stated, still grinning. "Maybe it wasn't an accident." John suggested. "Exactly."

Third Person:

Sherlock was in the lab at Saint Bart's, examining the trainers. Molly walked in, a man following her. "Sherlock," she said. "Yes?" Sherlock asked, not turning away from the microscope. "I'd like you to meet my new boyfriend, Jim." Molly replied, gesturing to the man next to her. Sherlock looked him up and down.

Gay.

Was the word that popped up time and time again. Jim walked behind Sherlock and looked at some of the things next to the microscope. He knocked off a dish and hurried to pick it up. "Sorry." Jim said. "Doesn't matter." Sherlock said. "I should probably go." Jim said, hurrying out.

Sherlock coughed and said, "gay." Molly looked at him. "Excuse me, did you say gay?" She asked. "Yes." Sherlock nodded. "He is not gay." Molly said. "Yes, he is. The bright colored underwear. The residue of lots of hair products. And judging by the fact he left his number underneath this tray, he's gay, Molly." Sherlock babbled. Molly stormed off.

"That wasn't nice, Sherlock." John said. "It was a courtesy, she was bound to find out sometime. Better now than later." Sherlock said.