Silence Falls on 221B

Silence

Rain tapped quietly on the window of the flat.  John Watson hurried inside, shaking off his wet coat and stomping out his boots on the mat in the doorway.  Carrying the milk he went out for upstairs, he saw Sherlock draped across the couch; his eyes closed.

John raised his eyebrow as he walked passed, headed for the kitchen.  After placing the new milk in the fridge, he walked back to where his friend lay.  Sherlock's right hand covered the crook of his bent left elbow, the rest of his arm lay against his chest.  His hand cradled the spot where he usually placed a nicotine patch.  Sighing, John unbent the arm to take a look.

"Sherlock, what are these?" he asked, confused by the seven black tally marks where the hand had covered.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes looking exasperated.  "I don't know," he sighed.

"Well did you put them there?"  John raised an expectant eyebrow.

"I don't know."

"How can you not know, Sherlock?  It's your arm."

The man just stared straight ahead, his dark brown curls pushed aside.

"What do they mean?" John asked, confirming his colleague wasn't high.

"I have no idea," he sighed, looking utterly put out and tired.

John examined the marks, noticing a black marker in Sherlock's other hand.  "So, you did do it then?"

"Do what?"  Sherlock looked back at John.

"The tallies," he pointed at the black marks on Sherlock's forearm.  "you did them."  He reached and took the black marker.

"Why would I tally on myself?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing at his forearm.  "Oh, look at that."  He took back the marker to fiddle with.

"Well why would you?  That's what I asked," John retorted, shaking his head.

Sherlock shrugged, thinking.  Taking a deep breath and still fiddling with the marker, his eyes drifted back to where they had previously rested in the corner.

"I don't understand," John sighed, still looking at the marks.

"John," the consulting detective murmured, eyes locked on the corner, "get my phone."

"Where is it?"  

"Right by your foot."

He handed it to the man distractedly.

"No, no I need you to send a text to someone for me."

John rolled his eyes, but opened up a new text message template.  "Alright, what should it say?"

Sherlock slowly made an eighth tally mark on his arm without taking his eyes from the corner of the room.  "Say:  Silence has fallen.  Eight marks.  Come quickly."

"What does that even mean?" John chuckled, typing in the words.

Sherlock didn't turn.  "Just address it to 'The Doctor', it should already be in my mobile," he murmured quietly.

John sent the text, looking up at his friend.  "What's the Silence?"  What do you mean it's here?  Sherlock-"

The consulting detective clapped a hand on his blogger's shoulder as he moved to look around.  "Promise me you won't look around, John."

"What?  Why?"  John looked surprised.

"Just,"  Sherlock gritted his teeth, frustrated, "just promise me you won't look around.  Don't move until he gets here."

"Who?  Who is going to be here?"  John asked, thoroughly confused.

"The Doctor," Sherlock sighed.

"Doctor who?"

"Promise me!"

"I promise."  John frowned, but didn't move.

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief.  "I can't forget again," he whispered, writing a few keywords on the back of his arm; his eyes remained on the corner of the flat.

"Are you going to explain to me what's going on, Sherlock?"

A whirring, scraping noise sounded from the street infront of the flat.