The Fall - Sherlock Fanfic 2

Chapter 2

'Oh, hey, Charlotte,' Said John as I walked in, two boxes stacked carefully over my arms, my head just bobbing over the top. I could see the now-familiar apartment in front of me. The comfortable chairs were sat in the room, the same place as before. Sherlock's skull was on the mantlepiece - the skull that Sherlock talked to whenever he got bored, or whenever he needed to think out loud, but not to John - I swear, so stiles it was there, sometimes it wasn't. Either way, I liked the skull. Don't ask why. Mrs Hudson was downstairs with a friend, and Sherlock was sat at the desk, staring blankly at the computer, his head resting on his interlaced fingers, as usual. 'Need any help with the boxes?'

'I don't think so,' I replied. 'I think we're alright... Mycroft and Izzy are just there.' I nodded towards the stairs.

Izzy's head appeared on top of two boxes, and Mycroft was carrying two guitar cases and a violin case, a flute case's strap slung over his shoulder. I had a lot of clothes, but the things I was wearing were my favourites. I had brought all of my clothes, my iPad, a bunch of books and my kindle and iPad, a LOT nail varnish (I hated having un-painted nails.), some extra hair dye for when my hair grew out too much, my sheet music, a pencil case full of guitar picks and my four instruments (I wasn't exactly going to bring the piano...). John had screwed two guitar holders into the wall of the room that would be my bedroom, cleared space for my amp (which was already there, with the blue lead curled on top of the heavy black box), put up shelves for the violin and flute cases, the stand and the huge piles of sheet music, and had put in a bed, wardrobe and empty cupboard for me to put my stuff in when I got there. Sherlock, being such an amazing new dad, had not helped in the slightest.

John went and carefully took the guitars from Mycroft. 'Well... You weren't kidding about the musical stuff,' he said.

'Yes, well, I'm sure she would have brought the piano along, too, wouldn't you?' Said Mycroft, rolling his eyes at me.

'Yeah, I just ran out of hands to carry things.' I said simply, raising my eyebrows. 'Shall we stick these boxes in my room, then?'

'Yes,' replied Izzy.

We went into the room, Sherlock still not moving, and Izzy and I stacked the boxes in a corner, whilst John and Mycroft placed the instruments on my bed. 'Damn,' Izzy muttered. 'Those boxes weren't even that heavy, but my arms hurt.' There were small marks in her wrists from where she was carrying the boxes.

'Well,' said John, sighing slightly. 'We should unpack all if this stuff, get it out of the way, then.' We all nodded in agreement.

My room needed up looking quite nice, actually. The guitars hung next to each other on the wall, above the amp. On the wall perpendicular to it lay the flute and violin cases on top of the two shelves. The wall opposite was taken up by the wardrobe, which had been filled with clothes, and the final wall had the window on top of a cupboard with the hair dye, sheet music, stand and guitar picks in. My picture of me and Izzy in a frame was on the windowsill. I had posters of The Wanted, 30 Seconds to Mars, Ariana Grande and Little Mix, along with pictures and blown up posters in the cupboard, too, and I was going to put them up when I could be arsed (which probably wouldn't be very soon).

We went back into the other room, and Sherlock hadn't moved an inch in the hour that we had spent faffing around with all of the stuff in the bedroom, which had included a lot of unnecessary moving things around and acting like completely retarded freaks... Well, that was mainly me and Izzy. John and Mycroft had just stood there, trying (and failing) not to laugh at our inappropriate behaviour.

'Well,' muttered John. 'At least you got up to get yourself a cup of tea.' He looked down at the china cup.

'No,he didn't.' Mycroft and I said simultaneously. John and Izzy looked at us questioningly. I rolled my eyes.

'Mrs Hudson made it for him.' I said. I couldn't be bothered to explain the whole thing, and Sherlock saved me the trouble by speaking at last.

'Oh, good, you're done. Well, nice seeing you brother. Good afternoon.' This was a clear dismissal - and I could see why.

Sherlock wanted his brother to leave because, though he hid it well, he was itching to claw my mind of every little detail of his brothers behaviour over the past few years - because about two years ago, Sherlock had leapt suicidally from the roof of St Bartholomew's hospital to his own death.

But he hadn't died.

He still hadn't told anyone how he did it...

Anyway. His leg was twitching slightly - I slight shake, moving about a millimetre around every ten seconds. His jaw was held tight - he wanted to say something to me. And then there was fact that I just knew that he would want to know every little thing about how his brother had been acting when away from him.'

'Goodbye, Sherlock,' said Mycroft, and he turned to me, smiling. 'Goodbye, Charlotte. I hope to see you soon.'

I smiled at him, then turned to Izzy. We just looked at each other for a second, then tears began flowing from both of our eyes, and we hugged each other tight, as if we would never let go. But, we did. We had to.

It was a weird story, the reason that I had decided to come and live here, in London. I knew it was something I had to do, but I still felt upset after Izzy and Mycroft had said goodbye, and turned around to leave.

'Bye.'