221c - A Sherlock Fanfiction

Allison

My head felt thick. "That seems like a good idea, John." I said. "I don't want one either." I rubbed my eyes. "What time is it?" I asked no one in particular.

"Oh crap!" exclaimed Greg as he looked down at his watch. "It's eleven o'clock at night. I got somewhere I gotta be." He got up, and staggered to the door, before sitting back down again. "Y'know what, maybe not. Maybe I'll just stay here. How's that sound?"

I elbowed Sherlock. "Sher, he's super pissed."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Really, Ally?" he asked, sarcastically. "I thought maybe he had just stayed up too late."

I glared at him. "No one needs your sarcasm, Sher." Then I said, louder to Greg, "Hey Greg, wanna stay for some Christmas carols? I was just about to get my cello, and Sherlock and I were going to play together."

"We were?" asked Sherlock. I elbowed him, and with an oomph, Sherlock said again, "I mean, we were."

"Okay," Greg conceded, and promptly fell asleep on the sofa. I rushed down to 221c, and lugged my cello back up the stairs.

Sherlock picked up his violin, and began to play Deck the Halls. I joined in after the first verse. Soon, people began making requests.

"Play O Come All Ye Faithful!" called Mary. So we did.

"Auld Lang Syne!" called Molly, so we did.

"How 'bout Carol of the Bells?" asked John.

"How'd you know that song was my absolute favourite Christmas carol?" I asked John. Then, I turned to Sherlock and said, "C'mon, do you know that one?"

Sherlock nodded. "I do, in fact."

I struck the few opening notes, and Sherlock quickly joined in. It was beautiful! I absolutely loved the way the violin sounded with my cello. Otherworldly and ethereal, almost. When I struck the last note, everyone began to clap. "That was the best one yet!" said John. "Really beautiful, you two."

Everyone had left, including Greg. We were sitting on the sofa of 221c, thinking together. I was pressed into Sherlock's side, and he didn't seem to mind. At least not yet.

That man was like a cat. His gaze was cold and calculating, yet he could be the generator of great affection. He was very nitpicky, yet also very messy. He would only allow certain people to touch him at certain times. Yes, Sherlock Holmes was a cat.

"Penny for your thoughts..." I murmured.

He drew a sharp breath in, but didn't say anything for quite some bit of time. Finally, he said, "I was thinking about you."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"What were you thinking about, about me?"

He let out a low hum. This whole time we had not even turned to look at each other. "I was thinking about how you change everything. Happy Christmas, Allison Cooper." He stood up, and kissed the top of my head.

Then, without another word, he left.

I change everything? What the hell was that supposed to mean? What the bloody hell?

I woke up, and dragged myself out of bed. I put my glasses on, and staggered into the kitchen to make myself some tea.

Tea.

I needed tea.

I was soon sitting on my sofa, sipping tea and feeling quite pleased with life. It was the day after Christmas, and I had nothing to be upset about.

As my eyes were closed, I was aware of my door opening and Sherlock coming into my living room. "Traded one addiction for another?"

I opened my eyes languidly, and took another sip of tea. "Hm?"

"Well, the reason why my drug usage bothers you so much is because you yourself were once a drug user, weren't you. Cocaine, was it?"

I nodded.

"Yes, cocaine. Anyway, you drink tea with just about every meal, and almost always at any given point in between. I'd say you have an addiction."

"I can stop any time. I am not addicted to caffeine." I said, defiantly.

"Hm, no you can't. That's what all addicts say."

I took another sip of my tea. "I suppose you are correct."

"Of course I am." he came over and sat down next to me on the sofa. "I like it when you wear your glasses."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It makes your eyes look even bigger."

"I hate glasses."

"Oh really? Why?"

"They fog up, slide down your nose, don't give you any peripheral vision, cause acne, make me worry, chip, break, and all sorts of annoying things."

"Oh. I wouldn't know."

"No, how could you? You have excellent vision."

He drew his lips into a fine line, blowing air out his nose. He was all done up and ready for the day, whereas I was in my pyjamas, wrapped in a blanket and a bathrobe, hair unbrushed, glasses on, and tea in hand.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he looked at me and smirked.

"What?" I said in mock indignance. "Am I not attractive dressed like crap?"

To this he gave a little chuckle. "Don't worry. You...."

"Look like a movie star, I know."

Sherlock snorted.

"What, do I not look like a movie star?"

"No."

"Fine then," I said, fake pouting.

He smirked. "Want to help me with a case?"

"Of course! You don't even really have to ask!" I cried, happily.

"Alright then. Go get dressed and meet me up in 221b." And with that, he swirled out of my flat and up the stairs. I watched him leave, then trotted into my bedroom after gulping down the rest of my tea.

I came up the stairs, and Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, pictures spread about him. On the wall there was one of those webs with the red yarn and the pushpins that linked all sorts of events, places, and people.

I smiled.

This looked like fun!