221c - A Sherlock Fanfiction

Allison

The next day was boring, and I knew I wasn't the only one who thought so. I would continually hear violin music floating down from 221b. I was constantly at my piano or my cello, playing some of my favourite pieces.

On lonely days like today, playing music helped keep depression at bay, and kerb other threatening emotions.

"Yoo-hoo!" Mrs. Hudson walked into my flat. I was halfway through Arrival of the Birds for the fifth time in a row.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson."

"Are you feeling alright, love? I've never seen you like this before." she walked over to me and laid a concerned hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, well, you know. It's just one of those days."

"He thinks so too, I guess. But then again, he thinks that a lot. At least, he did until you moved in here. This has been happening less and less to him, y'know. I'll bet it's 'cause you're having a bad day, so he is too."

"I better go up and see him then," I said, stopping the piano piece abruptly.

Mrs. Hudson pulled me into a quick embrace, and when we broke apart, I grabbed my white fluffy dressing gown. I tied the sash, pulled on a pair of slippers, and bounded up the stairs to 221b.

"Sherlock." I said simply as I opened the door. He was standing in front of the window, and the light streaming through made his figure a silhouette. He stopped playing Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto abruptly, letting a note die off in a sort of squeal.

He turned. "Yes?"

I hung my head, and said in an almost whisper,"I lied."

"What?"

"I lied."

"About what?"

"Not to you, to my brother."

"Oh? About what?"

"About not being lonely." I rasped, hoarsely.

"I know." He set the violin down. "But I didn't correct you. I felt that it would have been rude."

I said nothing for a few seconds, and then finally, "Do you ever get lonely?"

"Yes. But then I call John or Mary. Or Molly, or Lestrade."

"Lucky you, you have friends."

"You don't?"

"No."

"I say you're wrong."

I looked up, a little surprised. "I'm wrong? Who's my friend?"

He crossed the gap between us, and held my upper arms, in a warm and friendly gesture. He looked into my eyes, forcing eye contact. "I'm your friend."

Then, he did a totally un-Sherlock thing. He pulled me into a tight embrace, and I buried my head into his shirt, wrapping my arms around him tightly.

I stood at the window of 221b, peering outside. "And she's coming to the door? No, she's walked right past. No, she's looking at flat numbers. Now she's backtracking. And she's found it." The doorbell rang once.

"Client!" chirped Sherlock, in a happy-as-a-lark sort of way. Rather uncharacteristic, too, I might add.

Four hours later, I was buried in paperwork. Client after client had come in today, each story more bizarre and complicated than the last. Sherlock closed the door behind the last one, and flopped down on the sofa with a sigh.

"Ally, I cannot thank you enough." he said. "That went much quicker than usual. I can see that your deductive powers are getting better."

I smiled, slightly embarrassed.

"No, I'm being serious. You were a huge help."

"Why thank you." I said.

"Allison, there is something that I have been meaning to ask you."

"And that is?"

"How high is your IQ, exactly?"

"175."

"HA!" he shouted, springing up off the sofa and pointing a finger at me. "176!"

"One IQ point means nothing, Sherlock." I muttered crossly.

"Yes it does! It means that I," he danced about the room. "Am smarter," he was really having a hayday. "Than YOU!" he pointed two fingers at me, like guns.

I glared at him. "I still maintain that IQ is a fluctuation."

"A whatnow?"

"A fluctuation. It changes. So, for all we know, I could be smarter than you."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Do you accept?"

"Hell yes."

The next hour saw us taking the same IQ test, so we could accurately compare results. We finished almost simultaneously.

"Well." I started. "I've finished."

"So've I."

"What did you get?"

"179."

I felt my face grow hot, and I didn't reply.

"Well then, what's yours?" he asked, somewhat jeeringly."

"178."

"AHA! Still! Smarter! Than you!"

"One digit means nothing."

"Oh-ho, wrong! One digit can mean the difference between life and death! You only get one first breath, and you only get one final heartbeat."

"Yes, but neither of those things have anything to do with how smart someone is!"

"But it still applies to us!"

"I REFUSE, ABSOLUTELY REFUSE TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT YOU ARE SMARTER THAN ME!" I roared in anger, flushing bright red.

"You better, 'cause it's true!"

"You insolent little-" I swore at him.

"True. And you're an arrogant-" he swore at me.