This is a Sherlock (from the BBC show 'Sherlock') oneshot made in 2023
Enjoy!
Song suggestion: When The Day Met The Night - Panic! At the Disco
Triggers: None :)
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Dear Mr.Holmes,
My name is Y/n L/n, I would like to meet you.
I know you are a curious man, but I am afraid this meeting will bore you, for there is no case.
Simply interaction with another human being. As I can tell from your beautiful lament, that you are indeed bored and feel you would much rather leave your flat of 221B Baker Street.
There is a small garden near your flat, you know of the one, I shall wait there till noon today.
If you would like to get to know me, please come.
If not, very well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your afternoon.
Sincerely,
Y/n L/n.
This message couldn’t have intrigued the detective more when he received it from Mrs. Hudson that morning. He stood by the window, simply listening to the sounds the horse hair bow made against the steel strings of different sizes. The melody was the lament this Y/n spoke of, they were correct in their deduction that he was, in fact, bored.
The small piece of paper was not unlike any sketch-book paper, in fact it was sketchbook paper. The handwriting carefully planned out and thought through. But with a messy flare only an artist could conjure, the light smudges to the ink also provided this artist was either in a hurry, or simply thought it was an incredible edition to the hand crafted letter.
The detective placed the Violin on its stand, examining the envelope, his flatmate walking into the space and staring at him, a stern look on his face.
“You do realize it’s illegal to open someone else's mail?” He states, but the great deductive thinker doesn’t pay any mind to the question, continuing to examine the letter. “It's addressed to me.” He simply states, John reaches for the piece of sketchbook paper and Holmes grabs it, placing it in its envelope and placing it in his pocket. Looking towards the door.
“I have someone I need to meet.” He grabs his coat, placing it over the wine colored shirt he has on, laying the scarf around his neck swiftly, looking back through the opened door at John.
“Where are you going?”
The detective contemplates what he should tell his friend, flipping through ‘a meeting’ and it’s detriments, ‘a client’ and its detriments, and finally landing upon “Following a lead, I'll be quite alright on my own.”
He closes the door behind him, an unreadable smile on his lips as he waltzes down the stairs, approaching the door. The smile, he only got that certain smile when he received a case, something involving some complex murder, or a strange robbery.
His feet led him through the streets, the golden light of the now midday leading him to the small garden the letter had told him about, there he saw a figure, sitting, their clothes finely tailored and fitting them well. They sat and smiled at another figure that brought them a silver tray with an ornate teapot and two cups, they nodded at the server and laughed, sending them off. He decided to wait to see what this figure would do, examining every move they made, the slight tapping of their fingers on the green metal that feigned a look of lace, when they cupped two hands around the glass cup to make sure it wouldn’t crash to the ground, their eyes glancing at the watch around their wrist with a shake of their head each time. They knew he would most likely avoid the small green grove of trees with braces spread out like umbrellas, but they couldn’t help but want him to appear through the small pathway in between the trees. So they sat patiently, their fingers tapping less as the day went on, the many pots of tea they hand downed replaced by another in a few short minutes, and more laughter between the server and them.
The great detective made a decision when 11:58 came around, deciding to wait till the last minute to appear. The mystery figure in the grove refused to pack up their things till exactly twelve o’clock to leave, realizing the great detective loved the drama of others' habits, even the simple ones, such as packing up early.
He came round the corner at 11:59, just as Y/n suspected when he did not show first thing. They smiled softly at the detective, standing from the black metal chair, he couldn’t place the look in their eyes, the softness something new to him. He felt like they were playing coy. Knowing he would ask a question first, speak up first.
“Hello Mr.Holmes.” They said, gesturing to the chair in front of them, offering him a seat. “I must admit I thought a great detective such as yourself would be more punctual. But then the world must wait for genius, must it not?”
They placed themself softly in their seat, examining the great detective as he took his infamous scarf and coat off, laying them on his arm neatly.
“You insult my intelligence.”
The figure seated in the chair gives a small huff of laughter, looking at the detective's pupils as he stares back, he notes the small stains on their hands from ink, and the nearly unnoticeable smell of graphite in the air.
“No, because we did not wait for genius, it fell into our laps, and here you stand with that very same genius, but honed so incredibly you are perceived as more than a genius, you are perceived as a god.”
The detective shakes his head, eyes unable to remove themselves from their gaze. The turmoil inside of him unnerving, and yet the utter brilliance in their words a calming sensation. He feels… seen, in a way noone could see him before.
“You look lost, Mr. Holmes.”
He is recalled to the present as he remembers the written letter, the ink on their hands, and finally, sitting on the table, the bag with a small notebook placed neatly inside of it. An author, not a visual artist.
“I am not a god.”
They cross one leg over the other, taking a sip with both hands clasped carefully on the ornate glass before speaking, a soft smile on their lips.
“No, but others see you as such.”
He listens to these words carefully, remaining attentivley silent, Y/n knows what is happening and leaves him in his mind for as long as needed.
“What do you perceive me as Mx. L/n?”
They sent him a smile yet again, they did that frequently. Smile. Their eyes lit with this particular smile. He simply stared. He felt intrigued, less bored than he was that morning. They seemed… equal to him, though he knew there was noone below or above him, but he felt he finally met his match.
“I perceive you as human.”
The detective shows shock for the first time during this conversation, and Y/n’s smile only grows, he doesn’t believe anyone has seen him as that, a human, in their first conversation. So his features go just the slightest bit slack and his posture grows tense. Causing a small and bubbly laugh to emerge from the figure at the table.
“You are shocked, Mr. Holmes.”
At their words he regains his composure, body growing slack and features turning back into the familiar stone that those around him were used too.
“Why did you call me here?”
They take yet another sip of their tea, giving it a slight face of disappointment. Before returning their gaze to the man before them.
“To chat, Mr. Holmes, you are lonely.”
“I am not lonely.”
“How would you know?”
Again, shocked. The great detective finds that their eyes when they speak, are firm grasps to the reality he believes, yet when the words reach his ears he is torn away from it. Y/n’s eyes were not a gateway into their soul, rather a reflection of the gateway into his. They were fascinating.
“You cannot know loneliness without first having friends, Mr. Holmes.” They give him a knowing smile, a feature of them that he would much like to see again. Someone knowing what he’s going through… it was a rare and strange occurrence. “Would you care to know what loneliness is like?”
“For what reason did you call me here?”
They spread their arms, gesturing all around the two, the golden light on the leaves echoing through each other and finally landing safely on the ground in the clearing.
“To offer you a chance at being human, to connect as others connect. Though if you prefer we could simply deduce each other as we already have and call it there.”
Holmes seems agitated, but is truly simply intrigued by this whole ordeal, he replies shortly.
“That would be ideal.”
“Yet you haven’t shared your deductions yet.”
“I haven’t had space too.”
“That hasn’t stopped you from sharing deductions before.”
Y/n smiles sadly at the consulting detective. Offering him yet another chance to walk away.
“You can state your deductions now, Mr. Holmes, but you will never learn more of me than what you can perceive.”
He pauses, the great Sherlock Holmes pauses, till finally he places his jacket on the seat across from them, sitting comfortably in it. He looks to the figure in the seat across from him. Lacing his fingers and asking the first question.
“What can you deduce about me, Mx. L/n?”
“You were incredibly bored this morning, your posture and your playing provided that. Your companion, John Watson? His blog confirmed this. You are currently intrigued by this entire scenario, as well as slightly shocked. You have a habit, Mr.Holmes, nearly unnoticeable, but you survey the room when you enter, not just habits of an acute detective, but a habit of a younger sibling. You have an older brother, correct? He must have scared the living wits out of you when you were younger.”
The figures' eyes flick over him one last time, their eyes landing firmly on his blue moon flavored irises, the connection between the sugary treat and the sour detective causing them to laugh.
“I was wrong when I said you were lonely, Mr.Holmes. You are not lonely.”
He traces over the figure across from him, their outfit perfectly tailored and the color complementing their skin, their features perfectly fitting their voice. It seemed as though they had simply materialized from his mind and into the world.
“What am I then?”
“The moon, Mr.Holmes, stuck in the sky with the stars around him, but never close enough to any, but one, to truly be known.”
“Why invite me here then?”
The smile returns as the sun blazes behind their features, a small laugh, yet again, however constant it became, left their lips and they shook their head.
“I appreciate coming down to my level, Mr. Holmes. But we both know you do not need to. You can answer that question yourself.”
Shock. Again, shock. Anyone around him would have asked him to play coy further. But not this one person, in a garden, providing him with coffee. But he was serious. Why invite him here if he wasn’t close enough to know anyone?
“I’m afraid I don't understand, Mx. L/n.”
He takes a sip of his coffee and the figure rests their chin on their hands, elbows firmly planted against the table as they lean closer to him.
“Because a moon needs the sun to be seen by the Earth.”
A smirk applies itself swiftly to their features, an irritating warmth growing around the two. The detective feared he may be catching fever, which would be incredibly rare but he still held that more responsible than what was occurring. Y/n knew what it was, the warmth, keen to emotions and ever responsible for so many of them.
“I am the sun you’ve waited for, and I can help you shine.”