221c - A Sherlock Fanfiction

Allison

I lay awake in bed, thinking. How was it that Levi Redenbacher got himself brained and then stabbed with a fire poker? Why?

Stupid.

Why did people always go around getting themselves killed?

Well I guess if people didn't make nice little murders, then Sherlock would have a heck of a time trying to make a living.

He couldn't be a teacher, he was too much of a prick. He couldn't be anything that has to do with public relations, he didn't have the social awareness.

As I contemplated the finer points of my boyfriend's personality, sleep crept up to the edges of my mind, and slowly claimed my thoughts.

My eyes snapped open. A new day!

Ugh.

When was I ever this cheerful?

When Sherlock made you that apology, that's when.

Shut up me.

I shook my head as if to clear it of my thoughts. Sherlock. He would be wanting coffee. Knowing him, however, he was probably still awake.

I walked over to my coffee pot, and brewed a nice, strong pot. I poured us both a cup, putting two sugars in his and half of one in mine. I would drink it black quite often, but whenever I had the time I often added half of a sugar. I liked it just a tad bit sweet.

I carefully carried the two steaming mugs up the stairs to 221b, pushing the door open. Sherlock was asleep on the sofa with a book open on his chest. I smiled. He looked so cute and peaceful, with his gorgeous dark curls. His sharp angular cheekbones stood out in the low light, casting a shadow on the rest of his face.

I set the coffees on the the low table, and gazed at Sherlock, contemplating how to wake him up. I finally resorted to running my hand down his arm and murmuring his name.

He stirred, and opened his eyes slowly. "Good morning," he said, in a low voice, just barely loud enough to hear.

"Good morning."

"What time is it?"

"Six o'clock."

"Mm."

"What?"

"That's early."

"Not for you and me."

"Not for you. When I do sleep, I typically sleep in."

"Oh, apologies."

"You couldn't have known." He swung his legs and body up into a sitting position. "Anyway, I want that coffee." He picked up the mug and took a big sip.

I sat down next to him on the sofa, and we relaxed down into the plush fabric, settling up against one another.

It was a Saturday. I wouldn't have any people to teach or YouTube videos to film, so I could have a nice, quiet day at home with my boyfriend. It was going to be a good day, I could feel it.

"I didn't think so..." I could hear Sherlock talking to himself as he arranged the pictures on the floor once again, drawing his little web.

I came out of his bedroom and looked at him curiously. I had been changing into decent clothes for the day, and was not wearing a shirt. I didn't even really think about it, I just went out into his living room in only my bra. Granted, I was wearing trousers.

His eyes raked up and down my form and he smirked. "I thought you were getting dressed."

"Clothes are overrated," I said, sitting down next to him.

He pushed me back into a standing position. "No, they aren't. Go put a shirt on."

"Says the man who went to Buckingham Palace in nothing but a bedsheet."

"I was proving a point!"

"And so am I!"

"Please put on a shirt." he said. Only it wasn't a suggestion, it was a demand.

"Fine," I said, drawing it out in exasperation. I went back into his bedroom, and picked up the jumper I was going to wear today. It was burgundy and cable knit.

I came back out, fully clothed. I put my hands on my hips. "Better?" I drawled.

"Much." he confirmed.

"That's a little hurtful."

"How so?"

"Do you really have to ask that?" He ignored me and went back to arranging his little web. I sat down next to him, shirt on. "So, any suspects?"

"...No..." he said, absentmindedly. "No, that's not what I need to do."

"Hello? Sherlock?"

"But if it was the brother..."

"Sher! Sherl! Sherly! Shezza!"

"No, it couldn't have been the brother. Maybe the maid?"

"Earth to Sherlock Holmes!"

"Definitely not. She was at the pub..."

"DON'T PUT ME ON MUTE, SHERLOCK!" I roared.

He looked up in shock. "What did you say?"

"I said not to put me on mute!"

"Sorry. It's a habit."

"Well it doesn't sit well with me. You can put Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary, Greg, or Molly on mute all you like, but don't put me on mute." I said, thoroughly irritated.

"I'll try," he said, halfheartedly.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Seeing as it was around noon, and I was starting to get hungry, I decided to go out for lunch. I told Sherlock that I would be back soon, and asked him if he would wand me to bring him something to eat. I got no reply, so I assumed it to mean yes.

Upon my return, takeout in hand, I discovered Sherlock hastily ripping open envelopes with a letter opener. He was still in his pyjamas, and hadn't shaved. He didn't even acknowledge my presence as I came in through the door.

I sat down on the sofa and began to eat the Chinese food I had taken home, when suddenly, Sherlock lept to his feet, with a cry of "OF COURSE!" and ran towards the door. I sighed, rolled my eyes, and watched to see what happened.

He was wearing socks, so he didn't get very good traction on the floor, and was running with a bit of difficulty. He wrenched the door open, and proceeded to run down the stairs. At least, started to, before his socks gave way on the slippery stairs, and he disappeared from view.

I heard a series of bangs, thumps, and OOMPHs before it all stopped. I started laughing uncontrollably at his predicament, but then stopped when he didn't say anything for a whole minute.

Oh crap.

Oh crap.

He's hurt.

I ran down the stairs to find the idiot lying on the floor, out cold. There was blood seeping out from under him. I flipped him over carefully, to discover that the idiot had fallen on his letter opener after he had hit his head on the stair railing. This could be serious. I needed to call John.

I pulled out my mobile and dialled the doctor.