Why Sherlock?

The Great Game {1}

(F/N) = Friends Name

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. A click sounds and a familiar soft voice comes through the phone.

"Hello? Who's speaking?" Her voice radiated throughout my heart and cleared all of my negative thoughts from these past few hours. It definitely was a good idea to call home.

"Yes, hi mum. I'll be headed back soon, I'm heading out on the first flight back." I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, hoping she would be happy upon hearing my voice after this time I've been away.

"Oh! (Y/n)! How have you been? You haven't called in a while and I was worried about you." She sounded worried, but happy nonetheless.

"I'm fine... I just miss you and our flat... And London and-"

"I know. I miss you too." I smiled sadly and stopped fidgeting with myself, overcoming my fear and replacing it with small confidence. "You can come home whenever you're ready. I'll clean out your room tonight, dear... A lot has happened, we need to catch up."

"Thanks, mum. I love you."

"I love you, sweetheart."

*Time Skip*

After packing everything and finally getting a ticket back home, I asked my friend to take me to the airport. I had double checked that I didn't leave behind any of my suitcases or my guitar. I make a mental note to myself that I had to say goodbye to my friend, and that it was important that after I move back to London, I shouldn't get too attached to people. They all leave eventually anyway.

He looked at me with a goofy grin and pulled me into a very warm and supportive hug. With his long (h/c) hair falling over his shoulders, he buried his head into my neck. It was something he's done since I met him. I've never really had a problem with it, but I never wanted the hug to last too long.

"(F/n)."

"(F/n)." He hummed in response but didn't pull away from the hug. "(F/F/N). Do you want me to miss my flight?"

"Preferably, yes." He chuckled, let go, and pushed his nerdy glasses back up slightly with a hint of a smile. He was very friendly, affectionate, hilarious, and smart... When he wanted to be. It was like I had my own Dean Winchester, but taller… and longer hair.

"I-" I began, but was interrupted by the intercom.

"Last call for passengers boarding flight 4. Please board your plane at door 15." (I don't know how airports work so correct me if I'm wrong)

"I have to go." I turn to look for the door that I was supposed to go into when I was stopped with a hand on my shoulder. I turn to see (F/n) holding a small, wooden box.

"Here, I bought this for you... As a goodbye present, I thought maybe you'd like it." He smiled politely and handed me the box.

I opened it and it began playing my favourite piano piece. "Oh... A music box." I shut it after it stopped playing its sweet sound and look up at him.

"W-well, do you like it?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck. I shake my head and his smile almost instantly disappears.

"I'm kidding, I love it." I smile and pull him into a last hug. "Thank you." I say and pull away, sniffling.

"Oh, don't cry..." He says, wiping away a tear that fell. I roll my eyes and clear my throat. "Yea, whatever, nerd. Go home and watch Doctor Who for the umpteenth time."

"Goodbye, (Y/n)." He says after chuckling for a moment.

I turn around and head to the doors and hold up a peace sign. Pulling my purse strap tightly to my shoulders, I clutch my music box tightly while boarding the plane back home. I'm off on a new journey back home. An incredible one that even I couldn't have foreseen.

*Time Skip*

"So, how was Florida, dear? Meet anyone interesting?"

She gives me a sly smile. We were in the back of a cab, on our way back to the flat from the airport.

"Actually, it was fun, lots of different weather." I giggled. London was almost always the same weather, allowing me to wear nice clothing without sweating profusely. "And I made a few friends..." I glance at the music box I was holding. She notices and points to it.

"Was he sweet?" She asked.

"Yes..." I blushed lightly but dismissed any affection towards him. "He was, but we were never... Anything more than good friends. And I like keeping it that way." Alone and protected.

"Well... If I were you, dear, I'd stay open to relationships." She says, winking. "There may be someone available."
      
"What are you talking about?" I ask, hesitantly. That's never a good sign, mummy winking and talking about boys.

"You know the Sherlock fellow that I've been talking to you about?" I nodded. "Well, he stays in 221B, and I thought about it, how you two could be a perfect couple." I open my mouth to speak but she continues, "And you both are really smart and if I do say so myself, he is quite handsome, (Y/n). But he is a bit strange, he's into all that crime and murder, like you." I nodded again slightly, contemplating if she called me strange.

"So is he with Scotland Yard?" I ask.

"Well, no, that's not as how he puts it."
      
The cab stops in front of the flat and I pay, grab my suitcase and guitar and follow mum up the stairs.

"How does he put it, then?" I ask as she unlocks the door and I set my stuff down. She closes the door behind me.

"Consulting Detective. Would you like to meet him?"

I nod and follow her up the stairs to 221B. A man with dirty blonde hair opens the door to 221B and angrily storms down the stairs.

"'Scuse me, Mrs..." He says apologetically, avoiding my curious eyes.

"Oh, sorry, love." Mum chuckles as he passes her but turns her head and looks at him in concern as he hurries down the stairs. She comes to the living room door and knocks. A man lying in a robe on the sofa stretches his legs out straight and turns to look at us, but then looks away again, uninterested.

"Have you two had a little domestic?” She asks, walking into the living room and cleaning off a chair.

Flailing to get himself upright, the man stands up off the sofa and takes the shortest route to the left window, which is walking over the coffee table, just as the downstairs door opens and closes. He gazes down at the street, most likely at the other man who just left.

"Look at that, Mrs.Hudson." He scans the street, seemingly annoyed. "Quiet, calm, peaceful." He grimaces and drags in a long breath. "Isn’t it hateful?"

"I’m sure something’ll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder... that’ll cheer you up." She chuckles slightly as she heads back to the door while 'Sherlock' mumbles.

"Murder?" I ask quietly, interested, causing Sherlock to turn and walk to the middle of the room, in front of me and the coffee table.

"Hey. What’ve you done to my bloody wall?!" Mum yells, throwing an arm up to the wall.

Sherlock quirks a smile and turns around to admire his work. It had a yellow spray painted smiley face filled with bullets on its eyes and mouth, and one where a nose would be.

"I’m putting this on your rent, young man!" She says angrily, storming off down the stairs. That seems to happen a lot here.

Sherlock grins over again dramatically at the bullet smiley face, then sighs and turns his gaze to me just as a massive explosion goes off in the street across from us. The windows blow in and the blast hurls us both towards the side opposite of the window and to the floor.

"Oww...."