yellow

Sunday

A/N basically ily all a lot and I'm on a writing spree today wooo

Sherlock arrived at 221B Baker Street at exactly noon. John was already grinning as he let him inside.

"This is...nice," Sherlock said, looking around at the flat. He was most interested in that Crosley record player in the corner. Beside it lay a box full of vinyls in alphabetical order. It was obviously John's.

"My room is upstairs," John pointed, "but it's messy. I didn't have time to clean it."

"It's fine." Sherlock looked over at him, calculating the amount of dusty pink colouring plastered to John's cheeks.

"Um." The blonde boy rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Do you want anything to eat or drink?"

"No."

"Okay."

"You have a lot of vinyls," Sherlock mentioned, dipping a finger into the J section.

"My mum was a musician before she died."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. She didn't really associate herself with my father and I, so I didn't know her that well."

Sherlock ran his fingers to the W's. He plucked out a record self titled with 'Eleanor Watson'. Her blonder than blonde hair hung around her oval face, showing off her beautiful smile. The crinkles around her grey eyes were prominent, and she looked happy. Eleanor held a Gibson guitar, fingers curled around the strings methodically, like she was strumming a chord.

"How did she die?" Sherlock inquired.

"Overdose on heroin."

Sherlock pretended not to think about the pink and purple bruises littering the inside of his arms.