Cauldron-Born [SHERLOCK FANFIC]

Charlie Garner

That night, cold and thick with silence, Sherlock sat in his chair, palms against his lips, as his mind skipped through his thoughts. John was in the bathroom with Alana, who was tending his wounds according to his directions. Sherlock jumped to his feet and paced the room in tight circles, muttering once in awhile when he couldn’t think above his own assumptions and deductions.

In the middle of a string of ideas, there was a knock on the door that broke the silence. All heads turned towards the wooden entrance, each having their own image of whom or what was on the other side. Sherlock knew immediately and called out in a strained polite voice, “Yes, Mrs. Hudson?”

The door clicked open and Mrs. Hudson danced in, holding a chord in her hands. What Sherlock knew was on the other end made him stomp a foot. “Hello, Sherlock! This gentleman and his dog were out in the freezing cold, so I took them inside.”

Flipping a hand, Sherlock replied callously, “And what are they doing here?”

A large coonhound, sleek, defined, and muscular, squeezed in between the landlady’s rounded hips and the door and went straight to sniffing. Sherlock dove forward and caught the dog from plunging its muzzle into the rubbish bin. Holding the dog’s mouth shut with his large hand, Sherlock looked up at Mrs. Hudson desperately while she explained the situation in more detail.

“You see, Sherlock, Mr. Garner and his dog, Rene, and I were talking about you and I wanted to introduce him to you—that is, if you’re not busy.”

Lowering his eyelids and shifting his jaw in annoyance, Sherlock said, “Of course not. Why would I be busy in the middle of a case?” He released the dog and popped up to his feet. Turning his body towards the bathroom, Sherlock called out, “We have guests, John! Tell Alana to put on the tea or something.” Returning his gaze to Mrs. Hudson, he gave her a kinder smile, and said in a soft voice, “Now, where’s Mr. Garner. He’s awfully snoopy if it’s taken him this long to come up the stairs.”

“Oh, I pointed him out to the loo, he’ll be in here in a minute. His dog is nice, so, I’ll leave him here, if you don’t mind.” Mrs. Hudson handed Sherlock the leash and skittered out of the room, leaving the door partly open. Sherlock watched until she left, and when he saw that no one was present yet, he dropped the leash and tiptoed out of the room. He closed the door behind him and, hearing the dog slide to the floor in contentment, slipped towards the public bathroom.

Flattening himself against the wall right outside the door, Sherlock listened. He listened the shifting of weight and the pressure from the footsteps. He heard the faucet turn on and the stuttered breathing on the other side. Closing his eyes, he put together the visitor and had him figured out by the time the door opened. When the person stepped out, Sherlock grabbed him by the arm, spun him so that his back was pressed against Sherlock’s chest, and his mouth was covered by the detective’s hand. Pulling him aside into the shadows, Sherlock hissed, “I know why you’re here.”

The guest inhaled deeply and then let out a shuddering sigh. Sherlock removed his hand but not his grip. Whispering, Sherlock said, “You came back from Manchester, right? You smell of it! You haven’t visited London in awhile, perhaps you’re avoiding someone that lives in London. You’re obviously not married—but you’ve been around.” Sherlock stopped to chuckle sarcastically. “A boy as chiseled and anatomically attractive as you constantly has the ladies. You own a dog—a very well-bred dog that was given to you. You didn’t adopt it, it’s a perfect animal. Probably a childhood dog you were given to keep you company, especially since you’re the only child.”

“What?” the boy stuttered before Sherlock interrupted him.

“You’re twenty-two, went to Cambridge—your pin underneath you jacket and polo shirt gave it away. You must be proud—as well as embarrassed for not graduating.” Sherlock threw the boy out from his grip and clasped his hands behind his back. Knowing he had the stranger’s attention, he felt free to circle him without the fear of him escaping. “You’re clearly on your own, running—not away from something, not this time—but to something, or someone. You have a question you wish to be answered, but you don’t know where to look. You stopped here for directions and a place to stay for the night before you’re ducking out again.”