221c - A Sherlock Fanfiction

Allison

Hey y'all! I regret, and yet at the same time, rejoice, to tell you that this is the last chapter of this story. It's a long chapter, I know, but I saved the best for last. Thank you so much for all the reads and votes that all you have given me, it really means a lot. 

A special thanks to SherlockKingkiller for helping me whenever I needed it, for ideas, and most of all, for writing for Mycroft. 

Sherlock and Ally's story isn't quite over, although this one might be. I will be writing a collection of short stories about the Holmes family soon, and it will be posted eventually. Comment or message me with ideas for short stories if you have any!! I need ideas!!

Don't forget to comment your favorite part in the whole story once you are done reading this section!!

Cheers!

-Lai

"Hoo hoo!" Mrs. Hudson called as she knocked on the door, which in turn, knocked me out of dreamland.

The knocking was so ear-splittingly loud... "Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," I said, sitting up and stretching. That was when I realized that I was on the sofa, and a half-dressed Sherlock had served as my pillow. Why was I on the sofa? And why was my head on Sherlock's bare chest? The events of the night came back to me, and I let out a groan and flopped over, my head hitting Sher in the stomach.

"OOMPH!" he said, waking up immediately. Upon wakefulness, he began to blink rapidly.

"I fixed you two some breakfast," she said, setting down the tray which she was carrying.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." I said, reaching for a biscuit. "Good Lord, I have an awful hangover," I said, cradling my head in my hands.

"Ditto," grumbled Sherlock, pouring himself a cup of tea. He took a sip and winced. "My head..." he said, in a low moan.

I laughed, and then winced, remembering my own hangover. "Remind me never to get drunk again..." I said.

"It was your idea," he grumbled, taking a swig of tea. The resentment on his face was so intense, it was almost comical.

"Aye, that it was." I said. "Oh, crap!" I exclaimed.

"What?" asked Sherlock, annoyed by the loudness of my shout.

"I still have my contact lenses in!" I said.

He let out a snort.

I ran to the restroom, and got my contacts out as fast as I could. I put my glasses on, and checked my appearance in the mirror. My hair was fluffy, and I looked like crap. I was hungover after all.

I came out of the restroom, and Sherlock was standing up, holding a cup of tea. "I don't see why you hate wearing your glasses so much," he said. "They don't look bad."

"No, you know exactly why I hate them."

"Yeah, true." he said, shrugging. "Perhaps the better thing to have said is that I don't understand."

I shrugged, and picked up the newspaper that Mrs. Hudson had brought in with the tea. The story on the front page had something to do with a triple homicide. "Sherlock?" I called, holding up the newspaper.

"It was the brother," he called back. "I already read that."

I chuckled. He was good.

It had been about three weeks since we had gone out that one night, and Sherlock and I found ourselves as Scotland Yard.