Sherlock Holmes- Meet me on Waterloo (A Sherlock Holmes Fan Fiction)

Chapter Twelve

“Evan, did you find Cheryl in the database?” Sherlock was lying back on the couch with three nicotine patches on his right arm, at which John had shook his head in exasperation, Sherlock’ voice sounded airy and I was almost positive that the nicotine had gone straight to his head.  “Not yet, I wanted to know who Millie Hartley was, wait a second and I’ll start on Cheryl.”

“Millie isn't important, search for Cheryl.” He told me impatiently- I didn’t like being told.

“Well I think Millie is important so go back to your patches and think about the carpet.” I rebutted and John got up and went to make himself a drink, when he came back he had two coffee’s in hand, mine was black with two sugars- John had learnt fast. Sherlock smelt coffee and I saw his brow wrinkle with his frown. “John.” He spoke calmly without moving, I was sitting on the couch next to the one he was sprawled on and had the laptop on my lap. “Yes Sherlock?” He replied.

“Coffee.” He stated and I smirked.

“No.” said John as he sipped at his own cup in a tone that discouraged rebellion; however this was Sherlock Holmes we were talking to.

“No?!” He asked incredulously and John replied.

“As your doctor Sherlock, the answer is no.”

“But why would I be asking my doctor for coffee?” He asked getting up but I huffed out a sigh and stood, pushing him back down onto the couch. “I’ll make it.” I said looking over my shoulder to John and winking where Sherlock wouldn't see. He didn’t smirk and to his credit didn’t show any sort of smugness. I walked into the kitchen and pulled out the coffee. I got the teaspoon and dropped two spoons of the rich smelling granules into a mug and poured out the water from the still steaming kettle placed in three sugars and carried it to the consulting detective.

“Here you go,” I passed him the coffee and he placed it down on the table and sat back, during the short intermission he had picked up the laptop- his laptop and was scrolling down the list of information that I’d found on Millie Hartley.

“Irish, born in Dublin. None of its important.” He quantified boldly. I looked disapprovingly at him.

“What did she do for a job?” I asked. He scrolled down a little further and found what I wanted.

“Occupation- Chef, well looks like I was right about something,” he picked up his coffee and took a sip. He swallowed and his face screwed up. He didn’t look up but I knew he had figured out that the coffee was decaffeinated.

“Why would he kill the cook?” John asked with obscene stupidity both myself and Sherlock looked at him and sighed.

“How pleasant it must be to not be me.” He mused. “If she was just a cook then she had obviously seen something that she hadn’t meant to have seen, otherwise the killer wouldn't have risked killing Millie.”

“Cheryl meeting someone?” I asked him.

“That or Miss Berkeley was already dead and Millie saw the killer in the act.” He responded, but shook his head. “No it has to have something to do with the kitchen, that’s where we found the note.”

I frowned and turned to him, “Um and what note is this?” I asked looking questioningly as Sherlock’s fingers tapped away at the keys moving steadily more rapid, he didn’t reply so I looked to John he opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock cut him off.

“The one John found in the kitchen- it’s on the table.” He replied suddenly, looked at me smiled and then went back to typing. Ever the unpredictable one. I shrugged and walked over to the table by the window.

The note was almost illegible, and the person who had written it was clearly distressed when they had.

I could make out the words ‘wait’ and ‘hand’ but that was all, not that that was all that I could make out but rather it was the only words on the slightly torn and coffee stained piece of basic A5 pad paper. Sherlock was speaking in the usual half dull half excited tone that he did when he was putting things together but I didn’t need to pay attention. There was something more important in my bedroom.

I ran down the four carpeted stairs and had the key to the drawers in my hand, but there was no need.

“Bugger.” I whispered looking at the open drawer. I knew that I had left it closed and locked so more importantly why had Sherlock been in my room.

“Sherlock!” I shouted up the stairs, and hopped up with frustration moving me.

“Shhhhh I’m busy.” He said, looking at the carpet intently, as if he was searching for something.

“Sherlock you went in my room.”

“Oh for god’s sake Sherlock,” John sighed exasperatedly.

“You took my rope I wanted it back and I wanted the rest of my note.”

“Your note?!” I demanded. For a second my anger was about to get the best of me but I took a deep, steady breath and let it out.

“Yes my note.” He looked at me his eyes dropped less than a millimetre and his finger twitched minimally towards his pocket, barely noticeable but still noticed in the periphery of my vision, “I told you I was taking it.”

“When,” I tested with an amazing amount of patience.

“About an hour ago.”

I rolled my eyes at the ceiling, “I wasn’t in an hour ago.”

“Well I did ask you, it’s not my fault if you didn’t hear.” He stood up and clapped his hands decisively together. “As you two refuse to give me caffeine then I will have to go myself and get some.”

“Alright something first though.” I pushed him back onto the chair and pinned him onto the couch. He looked absolutely horrified and John’s eyes popped out of his head. I stayed there for a few minutes, Sherlock’s hands held in surrender (and possibly shock) over his head, One of my hands was on his chest and the other was searching in his pocket, my leg leant against his, pushing them against the front of the couch so he couldn’t move them. I found my part of the note and placed it in my own pocket, as an after-though I ripped all three nicotine patches off his arm and jumping off Sherlock chucked them in the bin, in one swift motion. “Are you sure, Sherlock?” I asked.

“Sure about what?” John asked clueless as to what I was referring.

“I'm positive.” Sherlock replied, he knew exactly what I was referring to, the mere fact that he hadn’t moved when I’d pinned him however protested against his sexuality; I was no fool.

“Well as much as I enjoyed that I need some sleep- Goodnight.” With that I left the room, both men frowning at me as I left. I enjoyed leaving people confused; it kept me from getting bored.