Case Closed | Moriarty The Patriot

Chapter 9

"I would've written to him, but I didn't knew where to send anything. I'll admit that it hurt when your family just disappeared. I loved your parents," Phoebe spoke softly, reading a couple letters, deciding that they were too boring to catch Sherlock's interest for now.

"I'm sure they'd love to see you again one day. You could probably go to dinner one night. They would be thrilled. My mother always loved having you around," Sherlock admitted.

"You wouldn't come with?"

"Would you want me to come?" Sherlock looked at her as he set aside the letter he had been reading. "Aren't I just an annoyance to you?"

"Well I was just an annoyance to you growing up, yet you kept me around," Phoebe shot back with a small smile. "I still care about you, and why wouldn't you come with me to visit your parents?"

"You know I was never as close with my parents as you are with yours. I don't just go over for dinner," Sherlock replied, picking up a telegram.

"Well you can this once," she said to him, bumping his side lightly. "Then I'll never make you do it again."

"Alright, fine," Sherlock gave in, cracking a small smile.

"Thanks, Sherly."

He huffed but nodded, bumping her back with a light chuckle.

🔎

Phoebe was down in her flat baking, trying to clear her mind as she normally did.

She could hear the faint sounds of Sherlock's violin, swayiing and dancing to the serene melody as she moved about her kitchen.

She always found his playing quite beautiful when they were kids. Of course he had gotten better with time and practice.

The sound stopped abruptly and Phoebe looked towards her door, wondering what had happened. Maybe he just ran out of inpiration to play? Maybe he had a client come up?

She was pulling out the pie that had been in her cookstove.

As she was about to set it on her table to cool down, she heard a gun shot, followed by three more.

Phoebe practically threw the pie on the table before grabbing the nearest utensil to her, which happened to be a spoon, and ran upstairs.

She saw Miss Hudson with a pot on her head and a frying pan in hand while John looked confused as he ran down the stairs.

"John! What's going on?" Martha asked as she looked at the doctor with worry.

"I'm not entirely sure. But I definitely know where it came from!" John said before he burst open the door to the living room of 221B. "Sherlock! What-"

They all stopped at the sight before them. Sherlock sat hunched in his chair, one leg propped up on the seat as he kept his head down with his hand on the back of his neck. His gun laid on the floor in front of him.

"It appears we've discovered the triggerman," John said as he stepped forward.

Phoebe sighed before turning around after hearing footsteps coming up the stairs. SHe saw Lestrade and motioned towards the living room.

"I heard shots! Are you all right?" The inspector asked as he looked at the four of them.

"Well, we are, but Sherlock..." John trailed off as he looked from the inspector back to Sherlock.

Lestrade hummed as he approached the consulting detective. "I see. So the shots were from you?"

"Yeah, to get you to come up," Sherlock replied as he kept his head down. "You're far too predictable. At this hour, you're off duty, getting a routine trim at the nearby barber."