Holmes away from Home

Surprise, surprise

Hello all! Right, this chapter is dedicated to the Sherlock to my Moriarty, you know who you are girl, because on the contrary to her thesis, I did not cry at 'Alone on the Water'.

-----------------Izzy's PoV----------------

The week we were spending at 221b was drawing to a close, and I - well, everyone here - couldn't take it any more. The sheer amount of sexual tension that crackled in the air between Sherlock and John whenever the other was in the room would be enough to drive anyone over the edge. And when they made eye contact, you could be riding a robotic unicorn while drinking 100% pure sunshine and doing limbo under their eye level for all they cared.

It. Was. Infuriating.

So I decide to take matters into my own hands and make a few calls to America. I found the perfect time to do it when John and Sherlock were out on a case, and Cecilia was busy thrashing Mycroft at chess. I lay on my bed, and pressed in Sofia's number. She picked up after a few rings

"Hey, Ghost Leopard!"

I smirked at her nickname for me.

"Hey Fire - Breathing - Bitch - Queen."

We had gotten our nicknames from a book series we both liked. (A.N. Throne of Glass series. Just. Read. Them.)

"Am I right in thinking this isn't a social call?"

"Yeah... anyway I need advice on how to get two people who are simply perfect for each other to hook up."

"You called the right girl. Details? Names? Ages? Do they complete each other? Is one of them taken? *Gasp* Are they soul mates?"

"Names: John and Sherlock. Ages: ummm... thirties? Forties? Yes, they complete each other, yes, probably soul mates. Neither taken, though John has had a string of girlfriends. They are flat mates if that helps."

"Two guys? I ship it already! Gay ships are totally yay ships, am I right?"

"Get on with it."

"Awwwwwwww, you're no fun. Anyhoo, get them in one heck of a serious argument. Feelings always come out through arguments, and if they are really soul mates, their bond will be stronger for it."

"Thanks Sofia, you are literally amazing."

"Tell me that when they're all hooked up and ready to go. Au revoir, mon amie."

"Adios, amiga mia."

I hung up. It was time to call in on Molly. I rushed downstairs and put on my converse and jacket (leather, TopShop, simply unbeatable) and called a quick goodbye up the stairs. I flagged down a cab and told the driver to head to Scotland Yard. The scenery was pretty nice on the way, nothing like New York. But, soon enough, we had arrived, the driver was paid, and I was climbing the stairs to the pathology department. Molly was there, using a pipette to drop a clear liquid into more clear liquid. She greeted me with a friendly smile.

"Oh, hi Izzy how can I help you?"

"Molly, I need a severed head."

"I'm sorry?"

"A head. Severed. I need one."

"Any particular reason, or is it just, you know, a spontaneous 'I need a severed head' kind of a day?"

"The sexual tension between John and Sherlock is draining my very life force."

Molly paused, her pipette and beaker momentarily forgotten. The tilted her head to the side in thought. Finally, she shouted:

"IAN! WHAT DID WE DO WITH THAT HEAD FROM LAST WEEK?

---------------Cecilia's PoV--------------

It was all going well, apart from the John and Sherlock situation. Molly and Greg were lovely, Mrs Hudson made the most delicious scones ever, and for all his big talk, I could beat Mycroft at chess any day. He was still a worthy opponent though. I was completely absorbed in the game, I was aware that John and Sherlock were out, Izzy had popped out at one point and come back in with a large 'Freed of London' bag (honestly, that girl and her dance kit) and had immediately gone to the fridge. But then, oh god Mycroft's pawn was about to check my queen oh god oh god oh phew he didn't see it. I beat Mycroft for the fifth time that day with one swift flick of my bishop.

Mwahaha.

John and Sherlock came through the door just in time to give me a round of applause.

"Cecilia, please keep on beating Mycroft regularly, it is doing wonderful things for his ego." Sherlock exclaimed, smiling as if he'd been given a wonderful birthday present.

Mycroft just huffed, and sank lower in his seat.

"Do you lot want tea or coffee or whatever?" Izzy called from the kitchen.

Everyone yelled their orders through, but a moment later all we could hear was a scream so piercing, the windows were probably shattered streets away. We all rushed to the kitchen to see what was the matter. Izzy was standing near the open fridge, hand over her mouth, pointing at...

... A severed head.

John looked at Sherlock so fiercely  that if looks could kill, Sherlock was already six feet under. He beckoned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, can we talk?"

He looked around.

"Upstairs?"

Sherlock nodded and followed. Soon we could hear the sound of raised voices floating down the stairway. Izzy grabbed my hand and we crept upstairs, Mycroft following at a safe distance behind us. John and Sherlock were having quite the heated conversation.

"Sherlock, you put a bloody severed head in the bloody fridge when we have two bloody thirteen - year - olds staying!"

"I will say it again, I didn't put it there!"

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really!"

"Well then, who else would put a severed head in the fridge?"

"The twins might have done it!"

"The twins? Really? You aren't fooling anyone Sherlock Holmes!"

"Then maybe Mycroft, to frame me and put me in a bad light with the twins."

"Why would he want to put you in a bad light with the twins?"

"I don't know!"

"Oh my god Sherlock you are so infuriating! Sometimes I could just - UGH!!!"

"What, John! What could you just do?"

"This!"

And in that instant, John grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his shirt, shoved him up against the wall, and kissed him. After a few moments, Sherlock kissed him back.
They stayed there for a good 30 seconds, before Mycroft cleared his throat and tapped his umbrella against the floorboards. They pulled apart, looking sheepish. Sherlock gave a small wave. Izzy turned the camera off on her phone. The silence was eventually broken by Izzy punching the air and shouting:

"I WILL SHIP IT UNTIL IT SINKS!!!"

Thoughts? Right, I'm not going to say anything except this: I don't do kissing. Or romance. Or feels. I fell asleep during TFIOS. I have cried once at something that wasn't an injury. So, yeah. I know. There's a special place in hell reserved for me, it's called the throne.
Thanks,

Tiger xx