Breaking Point

Chapter 4: Un Beso

These chapters are so fun to write and so strange to read, and so freaking long!

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It was morning when John was rudely awakened by the sound of his flatmates voice.

“JOHN! SOMEONE’S THROWING ROCKS AT THE WINDOW!”

In an instant, John was back in the main flat room, a strange sight greeting his eyes.

It was a large rock, colored red, with a note taped to it. Around it were three other stones, all different colours, and all with separate notes. In the midst of the broken glass and shards of wood, stood sherlock, wrapped in his dressing gown and looking like he knew something John didn’t.

Well, not for long.

“It looks like you have an admirer,” Sherlock said, indicating the notes tied to the stones. All of them were addressed in loopy cursive ‘to John’.

“I do not have an admirer!”

“Yes, because that’s why they’re all addressed to you.”

“Shut up.”

Scooping up the stones, he set them on the table and turned over the first note. On it was a perfect impression of two lips in glossy red lipstick. Sealed with a kiss.

“You have an admirer,” Sherlock said, looking at the card over his shoulder as he swept up the broken glass.

The next two cards were the same. Finally, he flipped up the fourth card attached to the red rock. This is what it said.

“John.

How cliche can a romantic gesture get? Throwing pebbles at your window. Though, of course, these are rocks. I hope you aren’t next to the window when you throw these, and you don’t have a concussion, though I certainly won’t object if you do. You might need the time off after all.

With Regards,

O.”

John looked down at the cards. “O?”

Sherlock looked over his shoulder again. “Doesn’t that mean a kiss?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s probably it.”

Sherlock’s phone buzzed and he went to look at the newly sent text, while John poured over the letter. Sherlock opened the message and read it quickly

Did John enjoy his presents?

-M&T

Sherlock rolled his eyes before tossing his phone back onto the table. It wasn’t worth is time to reply. He looked up at John and then at the glass scattering the floor. “John.”

“Yeah?”

“What should we do about the window?”

“No idea.” John let out a frustrated breath as Sherlock’s phone went off. Grabbing it once more, he saw it was from Lestrade.

“Took you long enough. What’d you get from the print? Who is it?” Sherlock hurriedly asked.

“Sherlock. It’s yours. The print is of your left thumb. What’s going on?” Sherlock let out a yell of frustration as he hung up.

“Damn, those girls are clever. John, there was nothing on the print. It was mine. They must have taken it from the cup or something.” John shrugged, grabbing a broom and dustpan. “So, at least we know who the rocks are from.”