221c - A Sherlock Fanfiction

John

"Sherlock?" I called. Mary and I hadn't heard from him in a couple of days, so this morning I went to go check on him. He wasn't in 221b. I started panicking, thinking he had gone back to that drug den. Mrs. Hudson came in.

"Are you alright dear?"

"Oh yes, I am, but I can't seem to find Sherlock anywhere. Do you know where he is?"

"Oh, I wasn't aware that he left! I'm sure he's fine. He's fine most of the time. Why don't you check 221c?"

I hurried over to 221c, and knocked on the door. No one came to get the door, so I just let myself in quietly. Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa, fast asleep. Allison was curled up in one of her big chairs. I cleared my throat, and they both awoke with a start. They both blinked sleep out of their eyes, and red hair and dark brown alike were disheveled and messy.

"Did I miss something?" I asked, kind of shocked. The look on both of their faces was enough to tell me that no, nothing had happened. Sherlock flopped back over, half asleep. Allison stood shakily and staggered towards the kitchen. She opened up one of her cabinets, and pulled out a box of tea. She filled the kettle and set it on the stove, which she then turned on.

A few minutes later, the kettle began shrieking, and she proceeded to pour it into a mug with a teabag in it. Another few minutes saw her once again in that big chair, curled up and sipping tea. She had an atrocious case of bedhead and her glasses were halfway down her nose. She had not said a single word this whole time, and I watched in silence.

Once the tea was gone, she spoke. "There. All better. I can't think first thing in the morning without tea first."

"I see." I nodded sagely. She pulled a pillow out from behind her, and chucked it at Sherlock. It bounced off of his head, and he rolled over to look at her. He was irritated.

"Say, what was that for?" he snarled indignantly and sleepily.

"Lazy arse."

"Excuse me?"

"Get up offa your lazy arse!"

"Speak for yourself!" And with that, he rolled back over. So she then chucked another pillow at his head. "FINE!" He shouted, standing up. He staggered into the kitchen and got himself some tea as well.

An hour later, we were all three sitting on the sofa in 221b. Sherlock had changed into a suit, and Allison was wearing the tightest skinny jeans I had ever seen, paired with a dark grey baggy jumper. She was barefoot, and was sitting criss-cross. Her long dark red hair was down, but the sides and top were braided back like Legolas's hair in Lord of the Rings.

She, at the moment, was attempting to fix Sherlock's unkempt hair. I was very surprised that he was tolerating it. Once she was pleased with the way his hair looked, I asked, "So why was Sherlock in your flat?"

She laughed. "This is funny. So I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of male, bare footsteps in my living room. I, of course, was afraid of a break in. I grabbed my gun, and made my way down the corridor. Now, mind you, I have terrible eyesight, and without my contacts or glasses, I can barely distinguish unique forms two feet from my face.

I heard my microwave going, and I entered the kitchen. A man was using my microwave. I told him to put his hands up and get down on his knees, and then he spoke, asking me if I really didn't recognize him. It was Sherlock. He explained that he had been doing an experiment in his own microwave, and his tea got cold, so he came over."

"And he fell asleep here?"

"Yes I did." Sherlock said, matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Felt like it. 221b was lonely."

"Awwwww." said Allison, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder. Sherlock grinned for a split second, and let out a little chuckle. Was that flirting? Were Sherlock and Allison flirting? I shook my head incredulously.

"What?" asked Sherlock.

"Oh, nothing." I said. He looked at me skeptically. I knew that he knew that I thought the two of them were flirting. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, I was right.