The city noise fills the streets as Willow unpacks the cabbie of her boxes. She didn't think she owned much, until needing to pack it all up. They held all her books, files from work, and trinkets from home. She has to buy new furniture for her new flat. A new beginning, Molly had called it when she heard the news. After Holmes and Watson solving the case, he decided to write about it on a blog. 'A Study in Pink' Watson called it.
Willow wears a light headband to keep her hair out of her face as she starts to move into the flat. Mrs. Hudson offered to help, but Willow insisted that she could handle it. To her, the boxes weren't much, causing her landlady to disagree.
She places a hand on her hip as she watches the raven-haired woman. "Are you sure you've got it? I mean, those boxes look mighty heavy." She says, watching her with a concern look a mother would give to her child.
"Don't fret, Mrs. Hudson, I have it handled." She reassures her, pushing in the last box into the flat. She lets out a sigh of relief as she looks back at the building doorway. "I believe I got all the boxes."
Right as she thought she was finished, a woman with dark red hair knocks on door that is wide open. Willow looks over and sees a familiar face in the doorway. She fixes her shirt slightly before walking over to her, smiling.
She returns the smile before bringing her into a hug, having her hug her back. After a split moment, she pulls away from Molly and crosses her arms. "I didn't think you would get here so soon."
She chuckles gently. "I thought I could come early, so I could help you unpack." Molly offers as she smiles at Willow.
"Of course, Molly." Willow turns around and leads Molly to her new home. Hopefully, she'll live here longer than just a couple of months. Willow isn't great at staying in one spot for so long. She used to live in Scotland for a bit, before moving back to London and then to France. Sadly, after her oldest brother passed almost a year ago, she's lived in London since.
Willow lifts one box onto the kitchen counter, cutting the tape with a box cutter, lifting the flaps. On the side of the box said 'Kitchen Supplies' such as plates, mugs, pots. Molly has already dived into a box as well, though finds herself in the first box full of books. She read a few covers. The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe. The Literature of France. Many more books of literature and poems. As well as some medical and forensic books.
"Wills, why do you have so many books? I've never noticed these." She asks, placing them down next to her. That was just the first box of books Willow owned.
Willow places a few plates in the cabinet before looking over her shoulder at Molly. "Those are some old books my brother used to own. I now own them because no one else wanted them." She explains, finishing out one box and starts to break the box.
Woods grabs another box, the side reading 'Family things'. She wasn't one to purge old things, believing that they own a part of the last owners' life. They all held memories and stories. She could never find herself to get rid of them.
She cuts the tape with a box cutter, opening the flaps of the box. Family pictures and old drawings when she was younger. She slowly grabs a small stack of the pictures, looking through them. They were pictures of when she was younger. One of the pictures caught her eye, causing her to smile gently at the photo.
In the photo were two joyful children as one leaned over the table, blowing out the candles mid-picture. It must've been the boy's birthday, as he was the one to blow the candles out. He had scruffy black hair. He always refused a haircut when it was time to trim it, He was always sad when he looked at himself through the mirror, He adored his long hair. In the picture, his hair looked freshly cut.
A little girl stood next to him, smiling brightly as he blew out the candles. Her almost black hair was French-braided for the occasion, wearing a small green dress. It matched well with her skin. Willow flipped the picture over, seeing the date. August 3rd, 1990. Finn's eighth birthday. The writing is in cursive. It was in their foster mother's handwriting.
Willow places the picture on the counter, grabbing another one under it. The little girl looked older, possibly in high school now. She wore a light dress with her books in hand and backpack on. Her hair was down with braids. As well as glasses sitting on her nose. She wasn't alone in the picture, a boy stood next to her. He was taller than her, wearing a loose shirt and black jeans. He only had his books in hand with his ruffled hair uncombed.
She turns the picture over, seeing the date August 31, 1997. Willow and her friend. Secondary School. It was in the same handwriting as the first picture. Memories of that day came rolling back to the woman.
"Alright, smile for the camera!" Her foster mother said, waiting for the two to look at the picture and smile.
Willow nudged her friend. "Come on, please, just this once?" She pleaded. "My mother will never let us go in if she doesn't get at least one good picture."
The boy rolled his eyes, soon facing the camera. "Why did I become friends with you again? You and your family are incredibly insufferable." Willow had pulled him in closer, smiling at him.
"Well, you would've failed that astronomy test back in Year Nine. You're just friends with me for the grade, Genius."
The boy perked up and nodded. "Sounds about right, yeah."
Willow chuckles gently as she places the picture on top of the first one. She turns her head to see Molly organizing her bookshelf. She's organizing them in alphabetical order, just how Willow likes it. "Oh, thank you, Molls." She says, grabbing her attention.
Molly shakes her head, waving her hand to dismiss her comment. "It's no problem! I enjoy organizing, especially books. Luckily, I know how you like them, so you don't get all nitpicky."
Throughout that evening, Molly and Willow were unpacking and laughing as old memories of their college years were brought up. The times they bunked together, to them being lab partners. Molly was her dearest friend and possibly closest she ever had. It moved to several glasses of wine and laughing at the smallest things.
It got dark when Molly looks at the time, still having a glass of wine in her hand. They both are sitting on the floor as if a couch would be there. Molly takes a sip, checking her phone. She almost spit it out, luckily not spilling any. "It's almost midnight." The redhead tells her.
Willow laughs softly, swirling the glass in her hand. "Really? We lost track of time, I suppose." She says, placing her drink on floor next to her before standing up. "Do you want to stay the night? London can get pretty crazy at night."
Molly tilts the wine glass up and finishes her glass of wine in a few gulps. She shakes her head and starts to stand up as well. "No, I can get a cabbie home."
Willow gives her a small worrying look. "I have space, Molly." She says. "I can sleep on the non-existent couch." She tells her, letting out a tipsy laugh.
Molly shakes her head, starting to grab her coat and purse. She hands the empty glass to Willow. "I'll get home safe, Wills. I'll text you in the morning, alright?" They give each other a small hug before Molly leaves.
Behind her, Molly shuts the door, making her way out of the flat and onto the London streets, trying to wave down a cabbie.
Willow looks down at her glass on the floor, picking it up. She walks over to the kitchen, placing Molly's glass in the sink and grabs the bottle of wine, pouring herself another glass. She grabs her phone, starting to play The Rolling Stones. The first song that starts playing is Beast Of Burden. The beautiful guitar stars, the drums rolling in after.
Willow slowly danced around her empty flat, singing along quietly as her wine swirled in the glass, almost like it followed her dancing. Willow brings the glass to her lips, taking a sip. She felt relaxed and calm finally. No one was asking her to do work or finish something that's as simple as clicking 'done'.
Unfortunately, that blissful moment went past as quickly as it came. A knock came from her door, causing her to jump slightly. She turned down the music on her phone, walking over to the door. She placed her wine on the counter, opening the door.
Sherlock Holmes stood in front of her, holding what seemed like photos of a brick wall with yellow paint. Willow smiles. "Ah, isn't it the sociopath detective, Sherlock Holmes."
"Highly Functioning Sociopath— May I come in?" He asks. He's wearing a blazer with a white button-up, having a few of the buttons undone. She shrugs, pushing the door open more.
"Sure, I've got nothing else to do." Willow says, moving out of the way to allow Sherlock in. She grabs the wine glass from the counter, taking another sip.
Sherlock closed the door behind him, examining her empty flat. It was bare with the smell of wine and books. For some odd reason, that didn't bother him. It also didn't bother him that he enjoyed the smell of wine and books. He looks back at Willow, seeing her sitting on the kitchen counter, drinking her wine.
"Are you drunk, Miss Woods?" Sherlock asks almost in disbelief that he caught her as she was relaxing. He never found her as a drinking type.
Willow nods. "Why yes, yes I am." She chuckles softly. "Want some? It's a Cabernet." She says, soon raising a finger. "Yes, I know, it's not the best, but it was all I had." Willow oddly knew what his comment would've been, surprising him slightly.
She places the glass down again, jumping off the counter. The woman walked over to Sherlock, snatching the photos from him without asking. "What have you got her, Holmes?" She asks, examining it. She saw the writing, thinking it was in a different language.
"Oh, yes, that. I wanted to see if you had any ideas on it. I... I need a second opinion to see if my theory works with this." Sherlock Holmes never admits that he needs help, but even when she's drunk, she could tell he needed it.
Willow ran her finger on the characters. "Whoever saw this had an idea on what they meant. They're numbers, but I don't know what you want me to do." She says, looking over at the detective. "Maybe they're like... Page numbers?"
Sherlock was fixated on her bookshelf, staring at a specific book. He mumbles under his breath, "A book everyone owns..."
"Pardon?" Willow asks, watching as he dashed over to the book, flipping through it. He extended his hand at her, wanting the photo. She hands him the photograph.
Sherlock snatched it from her grasp, flipping through the pages to one. "Do you have a pen— Give me a pen." He demands, causing Willow to run into her bedroom, coming back with a parker.
Sherlock started to write on the photograph under the characters. Willow leans over to see what he was writing. One... Mill... for... Jade... pin. Dragon den... black... tramway.
The detective paused for a moment, looking over at Willow. "Oh, you're bloody brilliant, Woods!" He exclaims, placing the pen in his jacket pocket, and places the picture in the pages of her book.
"What exactly did I do?" She asks, still confused on the whole situation. "I didn't do much, Holmes."
Sherlock looks down at Willow, noticing the tiredness of her and the need for relaxing. She was never not stressed and tired since secondary school. And the first time she gets to relax, Holmes comes barging in to questions and her opinion on a case she knew very little on. Though, her cluelessness helped him figure it out. He made things too complicated and required a second opinion, getting the answer.
"That's the point. You didn't need to do much, just a few simple thoughts." He says before heading towards the front door, opening it. Just as fast as he came, he was quickly out of her flat. As if she blinked, he's gone like that.