Intellect. (A BBC Sherlock Fan Fiction)

Intellect- FIVE

Intellect.

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FIVE.

'Feet,' Amy commanded.

Sherlock lifted his feet without looking up from his new book.  

'I don't understand it. Why couldn't he kill the baby? If he really was the best wizard how could he not kill a defenceless child?'

'Love,' Amy interjected, picking up empty Chinese food containers from the floor.

'What?'

'He couldn't kill Harry because of Harry's mother's love for him, so when Harry's mother cast himself between Voldemort and Harry, she set a sort of barrier between them. A barrier that Voldemort couldn't break, 'cause he could never comprehend the power of love. Understand it now?'

'Well that's a load of rubbish!'

'Well, it's a fictional book,'

'Not that. The love thing. Love is a chemical reaction. Endorphins released; causes a powerful feeling. Load of rubbish the whole "love" thing,'

'Well, you're entitled to your opinion,' Amy mumbled from behind the sofa.

'Yes, and my opinion is right,'

'You may think so, but many people believe in love. What's this?' She held something furry.

'A sock. You're one of those people,' he said, still reading.

Amy didn't reply, instead she cleaned up the rest of the grotesque things in the living room in silence and headed to the kitchen.

Sherlock threw the book to his desk, knocking other books and loose pages onto the floor. He cursed under his breath and looked to the kitchen. Amy was working away, a black bin bag in her hand as she swept the rubbish from the table an counter tops into it.

Sherlock counted himself lucky she hadn't noticed- the last time he had messed up a room after she'd cleaned it, she tore straight through him.

Jumping quietly from his seat on the sofa he grabbed the mess and stacked it tidily on his desk again.

He propped himself back down onto the sofa, glancing at the kitchen. Something wasn't right. The kitchen looked too... Bare.

Realisation struck Sherlock faster than lightning to a tree. All his experiments- gone.

'Amy, what have you done?!' Sherlock shouted angrily.

Amy jumped and whipped around to face the angry man before her. 'I, I tidied up. It's my job, isn't it?'

'You've "tidied up" my experiments! Weeks of research thrown into bin bags!'

'They just looked like rubbish to me! Mouldy banana skins, burnt pages in the fridge!' Amy cried in defence.

'You should have consulted me before touching ANYTHING! Stupid girl! Stupid, thoughtless girl!' Sherlock raised his fist-clenched hands above his head and brought them crashing down onto the kitchen table, making a plate clatter.

Amy winced at the noise, she thought she'd be the next object to be hit.

'Do you understand how long it took me to gather everything? MONTHS!' Sherlock hit the table again in frustration. Another clatter another wince.

'All my notes, effort, time- WASTED!' Sherlock grabbed the plate from the table and flung it at the wall.

Amy jumped and winced, letting a small sob out of her.

Upon hearing the noise in the kitchen of 221B, both Eleanor and John scramble from their hideouts- John from his bedroom, Eleanor from her own kitchen.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, what's going on?' John tried.

'Experiments are gone because of this incredibly thick girl!' Sherlock shouted in answer as Eleanor reached the room.

'I didn't mean to, no-one told me what they were, I just assumed they were rubbish,' Amy managed, though her mouth was thick and her cheeks grew sodden with tears. She was shaking.

'Look, Sherlock, she didn't know, you're scaring her- look,' Eleanor spoke cautiously.

'Those experiments were the only thing keeping me from constant boredom!'

'Yes, but you can always start new ones- those were getting outrageously out of hand!' John reasoned.

Sherlock stopped, staring from John, to Eleanor, to Amy. He tipped the kitchen table over and stormed out of the house without his coat.

John and Eleanor both rushed over to Amy and engulfed her in a warm hug. She broke down, for the third time since stepping foot inside the building, and buried her head between their shoulders, sobbing quietly, her breath hitching a few times.

She was glad she had friends like Eleanor and John; they made her feel safe.

*

As soon as Sherlock turned off the corner of Baker Street, it let down with a vengeance. He was soaked to the bone within minutes.

What was it with the rain these days? It was turning out to be the most miserable summer ever. And Sherlock was so bored he was about to do the last thing he could think of.

Feeling desperate, he hailed a taxi and was brought to DI Lestrade's personal home.

No one was home- the house showed no signs of use at that moment in time.

Sherlock swore under his breath; it was a sign. He shouldn't go looking for cases.

Deciding to walk back to 221B in the pouring rain was Sherlock's own therapy- he decided he'd better brace himself for what was awaiting him back at 221B. An angry John.

*

John paced the living room, glancing at the clock, the TV, out the window, anything to try and subdue his anger and worry about Sherlock.

He heard the front door click open and shut, and sat quickly down in the armchair, trying to look completely angry.

Sherlock staggered in whistling a made up tune.

'Where have you been? You're soaked!' John exclaimed, jumping from his seat.

'Oh, I went out. Lestrade wasn't home so I went to a pub. They have nice beer- I've not had nice beer in a while,' Sherlock slurred.

'Sounds like you've had more than one nice beer,'

'About six, maybe seven,' Sherlock picked up the skull on the mantelpiece and dropped it on his foot. 'Ouch!'

'Oh, I can't be hacked with this. I'm going to bed, Sherlock,' John grumbled and stalked off to his bed.

'Like a charm.' Sherlock, now completely sober, said as he sank into his armchair.