The Flatmate (SHERLOCK fanfiction/nanowrimo2013 winner)

simon's place

Simon swerved into a gravel parking lot and stomped on the break, sending everyone jolting forward. "We're here, lads."

The passengers looked out the windows at a huge brown barn. Vines scaled up the sides and trees hovered over it like claws. It was a rather ugly barn, and it made the others question Simon's sanity. Though it wasn't shared verbally, they all wanted to believe it was just the armory and not a cottage.

"This is my home," Simon said, sliding open the large barn door. "It's not much, but it's got a loo, a kitchen, and a bedroom. All a man needs, aye?"

"Why do you live way out here?" Charlie asked.

"I thought you've been to my house?

"No, this is the first time."

Sherlock carried John in and immediately went upstairs to the loft where he placed him on the bed. The window upstairs was closed, but when he opened it, a mass of tree branches crowded the view. Sherlock gasped in disgust and pulled the window shut, hiding the rotten view. "How nauseating."

"Do you like the view?" Simon asked, stepping off the stairs with a cup of something in his hands.

"No."

"I was being sarcastic. I know its filth, but it's all I got."

"How did you get this? Handed down a relative?"

"Yes," Simon replied, slightly surprised.

"Your grandfather, perhaps? This was once a large estate, but then it was burnt down by a fire. I saw the large patch in the distance, tragic. All he had left was this barn. He handed it down to you because he figured you would be the only person out of all his grandchildren that would put it to use."

"What makes you think there were other grandchildren?"

Sherlock turned and pointed to a cracked portrait on the wall. "I observed. It's not science."

"Yeah, whatever. So, what's the plan, chief? I got all the gear in the car, all we got to do is roll."

"What are you drinking?"

"Water."

"Oh, can I have some?"

"Of course, you can." Simon stood up and made his way down the stairs.

Sherlock waited until his head disappeared before ducking under the bed and pulling out a shotgun. He assumed there was once since the shells sat on the cupboard opposite of the bed. Grabbing a few shells, he loaded the two barrel shotgun and went over to the top of the stairs. Aiming down at Simon's back, he cocked the gun. Simon spun around. The sound of clay shattered on the ground and water trickled onto the dark floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Simon said, his hands in the surrendering position.

Charlie passed by and jumped at the sight of an aimed weapon. "Sherlock?"

"Why are you carrying Andrew Brooklyn's notepad?"

Stuttering, Simon said, "What do you mean? It was in your back pocket." Simon looked at Charlie for support. "I didn't know about this."

"I gave it to him," Charlie interrupted, "I pick-pocketed it off Andrew. He attacked me at the shore."

Moving the gun to Charlie, Sherlock's brows bent. "Why didn't you kill Andrew, Charlie?"

Simon snapped his head at Charlie. "Why didn't you?"

"Oi! Don't you turn on me, mate!" Charlie defended. "I was lucky to get out with half of my life."

"I'll take the other half if you don't explain," Sherlock threatened.

Shaking a fist, Charlie shouted, "You're the great detective! Why don't you deduct the situation, aye? Instead of jumping to absurd conclusions and pointing a gun at us! We've done nothing but help you, why are you treating us like this?"

Sherlock placed his finger on the trigger and his jaw screwed shut. "Why are you two helping?"

Laughing at the strange conversation happening, Simon replied in a high-pitched voice, "Why do you think we are? We're trying to help you, Sherlock."

"You can put the gun down," Charlie suggested in a calmer voice. He began approaching Sherlock, "I know you're upset. I think I know why."

"You don't know anything," Sherlock said, lifting the barrel so that it was leveled with Charlie's heart. "I don't know if I can go on."

"What's wrong with John?"

Throwing the shotgun onto the floor and kicking it down the stairs, Sherlock yelled, "He's not moving!"

Simon ran up the stairs and pushed aside Charlie just enough so that he could look upon the motionless doctor. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," Sherlock mumbled. "Oh God, how strange that sounds? I don't know what she gave him. But he's not going to wake up."

"Maybe he's not dead. Maybe it's something else?" Charlie said, scratching the back of his head in thought. "I don't know, Sherlock, everything's-I don't know. I'm tired of this."

"Then go home, then!" Sherlock yelled, giving Charlie a firm push.

"Oh, now we're resorting to childish shoving? You were always immature." Charlie gave him a sneer and began walking down the stairs before stopping in his tracks. An epiphany came to mind and he ran back up the stairs just in time to stop Simon and Sherlock from chewing each other's heads off. "Oi! Listen to me."

"Why?" Simon shouted.

"Because we can figure out how to save John."

"What? Before we go and attack Andrew? If we don't come sooner, he'll find us and kill us all. Forget the whole 'saving the whole world' idea! It's all bollocks!" Simon shouldered past Charlie, but didn't get far enough to escape what Charlie had to say.

"We've got Andrew's book. Perhaps it'll say something of how to get John out of his coma, yeah?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled the book out. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're an idiot," Charlie stated, quickly adding a smile afterwards so not to encourage the wrath of Sherlock. "Here's what we'll do, I know more science than Simon so I can stay behind with John. And if he wakes up in time, we'll come and meet you with a new package of armory."

"Package of armory? Who says that?" Simon criticized with a scoff.

"I do, now, does that sound good?"

Sherlock remained silent before adding, "Find Molly, she'll help you."

"Wait, hang on, where would I find her?" Charlie's excitement dropped and turned into that of a child not wanting to do their chores.

"I don't know. But track her down. I'm sure Simon's got more things hidden in this place than we imagine, right?"

"Of course," Simon said with a smile. "I'm loaded with anything you want, Charlie. Just be careful to set everything non-traceable."

"That's possible?"

"I'm a hacker; why else did you guys hire me?"

Smirking, Charlie said, "We could've used those skills earlier."

"Which bit would that had come in handy? All right, I'll leave you to it. Come along, Sherlock. Let's roll."

"Take care of my flatmate," Sherlock said, following Simon down the stairs.

"I'll keep you updated. Wait, Simon, where do you keep everything?"

"Downstairs, it's not hidden behind anything secretive. You won't miss it."

"All right, thanks."

"No problem." Simon gave him and thumbs up and the detective and he returned to the car. Charlie remained in the loft, thinking of how he would most efficiently rescue Molly, revive John, and then meet the others just in time for the finale.