~Jax's POV~
I sat in the chair as I waited. They had informed me that I was to pack the things that I owned, which wasn't much. A few books that I was willing to take, it wasn't practical to bring all of them. Probably because there was too many of them, and that I remembered every word of every book that I had ever read. I also packed a few clothes, a box of paints and pencils, and a few sketchbooks. I was dressed in jeans, combat boots, and a grey t-shirt. My hair fell in waves down my back. I twirled my ring around my finger. I was anxious to get out of this place, even though the place they were relocating me to probably wasn't much better. Out of all the places I'd been, I had stayed at this one the longest. And it wasn't as good as it seemed. The door beeped and slid open. Dr. Harrington entered the room, a scowl on his face. I smirked. I loved seeing Dr. Harrington in a bad mood.
"It's time to leave." He said sourly. I hopped up from my seat, tossing my bag over my shoulder. I threw him a wink as I passed him, skipping up the stairs. Behind the wrinkles and the glasses, he was an awful person. When I reached the top of the stairs, all the scientists that knew about me were there. There were lined up, their hands folded in front of them. Their faces were blank. As I walked past them, I threw hot glares their way. I hated almost everyone in the room. I spotted Tom and a ghost of a smile crossed my face. He smiled at me. I shook his hand.
"I'm gonna miss you, Jax." He said sincerely. I chuckled.
"Thank you, Tom." I said. "Take care of yourself." After one last smile at each other, I turned away. Tom had always been nice to me. I noticed the two men standing by the door next to Dr. Harrington. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson stood there, watching me. They saw all that, didn't they. Dr Harrington crossed over the file cabinet by the door. He pulled out a key and unlocked it. He slid it open, revealing the only items from my past. The drawer only contained five items. I felt Sherlock's and John's eyes burning into me as Dr. Harrington started to hand me the items. The first, was a leather jacket. I brought the fabric to my nose and inhaled deeply, the familiar smell washing over me. I shrugged the jacket on as he handed me the next item. It was a silver cigarette lighter. I stared at it for a moment before slipping it into my pocket. The next item was a laptop. It was black and thin. I snatched it from his hands and shoved it into my bag. The next item was a bottle of pills. It was unlabeled and had been opened many times. I grabbed it. The last item was by far the most important. And the most painful to look at. Dr. Harrington reluctantly handed me the brown Swiss Army knife. I flicked it open, staring at the blade. I watched the light glint off the blade for a few seconds before putting it in my pocket. The familiar weight of the knife on my hip reassured me. The memories that were connected to each item flashed before my eyes. I pushed them down as fast as they had surfaced. What were these memories you ask? Well, that's my business isn't it.
"Ready?" Dr. Harrington said irritably. I narrowed my eyes at him, and walked over to the two men escorting me to my new location. We silently walked down the hall, our footsteps echoing. As we walked, I fidgeted anxiously. I couldn't wait to get outside. We reached the door and Dr. Harrington led us out. As the cold air hit me, I took a deep breath. The first time I had breathed fresh air in a long time. Dr. Harrington looked me in the eye once we got to the car.
"Goodbye, Jax." He said, monotone.
"Oh, please." I spat. He had the nerve to pretend he had feelings.
"You are a despicable human being and I will never forgive you." I snarled, ducking into the vehicle. After a minute, Sherlock and John entered the car. Sherlock started the engine, and we drove away from the building that I had grown to despise. The first few minutes of the drive were silent, the hum of the car the only sound breaking the silence.
"What was that about?" John asked curiously.
"What was what about?" I replied.
"You said you'd never forgive him. What exactly did he do?" John said. I stared blankly out the window.
"That's none of your business." I said. John dropped it. I whipped out my knife and ran my fingers gently across the blade.
"Do I need to be nervous about you and that knife?" Sherlock asked. I looked up at him. He watched me through the rear view mirror.
"There would be no point in killing you, Mr. Holmes." I said.
"Why is that?" He said.
"Because you are the one driving." I replied. After a long period of silence, I spoke.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"221B Baker Street." Sherlock replied. Very specific, I thought. I viewed my mental map of the city. 221B Baker Street is an apartment building. There must be some kind of mistake. I kept quiet until I could figure out why he had given me that address.
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We arrived at our destination. As I exited the car, I scanned my new home. My face contorted in confusion. It wasn't what I was expecting. I was expecting a big white building, with high security. I was expecting a barbed wire fence and guards. I was not expecting a completely ordinary apartment building on a completely normal street. Sherlock and John entered the door marked 221B. I stood there, still confused. The two men looked back at me.
"You coming?" John asked.
"I don't understand." I admitted. They looked at each other.
"This is just an ordinary flat." I said.
"Yes." Sherlock said. I narrowed my eyes.
"Well, what am I doing here?"
"You'll be living here." Sherlock said, following John inside the building. I followed him, closing the door behind me. When we entered, an old woman with short graying brown hair stood there.
"Mrs. Hudson, have you prepared that spare bedroom?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, Sherlock it's just upstairs. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" She said. She smiled at me warmly.
"Mrs. Hudson, this is Jax." Sherlock said. I shook her hand. She giggled.
"What an interesting name." She said. I smiled halfheartedly. Sherlock and John led me up the stairs. They entered a room with damask wallpaper. John looked back at me.
"Your room is just upstairs." He said.
"Wait," I began, starting to piece things together. "You two live here too?" Sherlock plopped down on an armchair.
"Yes, and so do you." He said. I stared at them for a while before Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs.
"Your room is upstairs, dear." She said, leading the way. I followed her. Up a few steps was a door. She pulled out a set of keys and unlocked it. Inside was a small bedroom, with a door connecting to the bathroom. The walls were painted green, the floor wood. A large bed was against the wall in the center of the room. There was an empty bookshelf in the corner, as well as a desk and a dresser. I set my bag down on the bed, surveying the room. The window was unlatched. No cameras hidden in the corners. I could walk out of this room as easily as I had walked in. What was going on here?
"You'll have to share a kitchen with the boys." Mrs. Hudson said.
"That's fine." I said, still examining the room. I heard her heels clopping down the stairs. I stomped down the stairs and into the boy's flat. There were both sitting in their chairs calmly. John was typing away at his computer, and Sherlock was drumming his fingers on the armrest.
"Alright, what's going on here?" I demanded. They looked up at me.
"What?" John said.
"There is only one lock on the door, the window is unlatched, and they are no cameras in the room. I could walk out of it without a problem." I said.
"Yes, but you won't." Sherlock said, rising from his chair. I titled my head.
"And why is that?" I asked.
"Because you have nowhere else to go." Sherlock said. "And you know that others are still after you. You wouldn't be so stupid to leave out into the open alone." I looked down, because he was right.
"You are able to stay here through Mycroft. He has a big role in the British government and can make practically anything happen." Sherlock explained.
"Mr. Holmes-" I began before I was cut off.
"Sherlock, please." He said. I exhaled.
"Sherlock, you mean to tell me that I will be living here with you and John just because your brother said so?" I said.
"Yes, that's about right." Sherlock clarified. This must be part of some experiment. Fine by me. I would take this place over the facility any day. I nodded my head and sat down on the couch by the two armchairs. I watched as John typed away at his computer and as Sherlock tapped his feet impatiently on the floor.
"Very clever, John." I said. He looked at me.
"Pardon?" He asked.
"The hiding place for Sherlock's cigarettes. Very clever." I said. John smiled at my praise.
"Thank you." He said, resuming his typing. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at me.
"You know where they are?" He said.
"I don't know, I noticed." I said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He leaned forward in his chair.
"Tell me." He said simply.
"Nope." I said, popping the p. He rolled his eyes in annoyance. I sat back in my seat, listening as Mrs. Hudson's tv rambled on downstairs.
"So, this is what you guys do all day?" I said. "Not very interesting."
"I assure you, life here is anything but boring." John said. I nodded my head, looking around the room. I analyzed what they had been up to the flat. Scattered papers, open boxes. Sherlock's been looking for his cigarettes. I noted down escape plans if they were needed. Windows could be easily opened, and someone could maneuver down to the sidewalk. My stomach growled loudly, interrupting my thoughts. It was so loud that Sherlock and John looked at me.
"What day is it?" I asked.
"Thursday." John answered. I nodded as I got up and went to the kitchen. Test tubes, Bunsen burners, and microscopes covered the table. I examined the various substances in the test tubes. Harsh chemicals, I noticed.
"What are you working on Sherlock?" I asked, wafting one of the substances.
"Just something for the blog. I'm studying how certain chemicals and poisons react with blood at different temperatures." He explained. I set the test tube down.
"I read your blog. Quite impressive." I said, looking in the fridge for something to eat.
"Really? Hear that John. Quite impressive." He quoted. My stomach growled again, making them both look at me.
"When was the last time you ate?" John asked.
"Oh, I'd say around Monday." I said. John stood up from his chair.
"You haven't eaten since Monday? Alright, come on Sherlock get your coat. We're going out to eat." He said, shrugging on his jacket. Sherlock got up and put on his coat, weaving his scarf around his neck. I followed, my stomach gnawing on itself. We caught a cab, and John took us to a local restaurant. We sat in a booth in the corner of the restaurant. We ordered our food, then sat there awkwardly.
"So, do you solve crimes often?" I asked, trying to fill the silence.
"When someone emails us or Lestrade has a case." Sherlock said. Greg Lestrade. Late forties. Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard. Smoking habit. Wife having an affair with a PE teacher. His file flashed before my eyes. A few minutes later, the waiter came with our food. John and I attacked our meal, while Sherlock sat there staring at the wall. After I had scarfed down my food, I looked at Sherlock's untouched plate.
"Well, you're not going to eat that." I said, sliding the plate over to me. He didn't protest. I had a conversation with John about their annoying habits that might get on my nerves while living there.
"Sherlock plays the violin." John explained.
"That's quite alright. I enjoy violin music." I said. Just as John was paying the check, Sherlock's phone beeped. He looked at the text, then jumped up from his seat.
"Lestrade's got something." He said, making his way to the door. John grabbed his jacket and raced after him, with me right behind him. We hailed a cab and sped to Scotland Yard. As we approached Lestrade's office, people stared at me as we walked down the hall. Sherlock is here often, so people recognize him and John. They stared at me curiously. We entered Lestrade's office, where Sally Donovan was standing by his desk. They looked up as we came to stand by them. Greg and Sally stared at me.
"Who's this?" Lestrade asked. Sally stood with one hand on her hip, her eyes running up my body. A man came into the room.
"Anderson, so good of you to join us." Sherlock said, not sounding pleased at all. Anderson's eyes looked me over.
"What's your name?" He said, slinking over to my side. I scoffed. Low IQ. Sleeping with Sally Donovan. I looked over at Sally, who was looking at Anderson disapprovingly.
"You're certainly quick to move to another woman." I said. Their faces contorted in confusion.
"Excuse me." Anderson said.
"Your deodorant and body wash is for men." I said.
"Of course it's for men!" He said.
"So is agent Donovan's. And going by the state of her knees and the markings on her neck I'd say she was over at your place last night." I said. I saw Sherlock smirk out of the corner of my eye.
"Oh no, not another one." Donovan said irritably. I smiled innocently. Anderson ducked out of the room, his cheeks reddened from embarrassment.
"Looks like you've got a freak to keep you company." Sally snapped at Sherlock. She stormed out of the room. We turned to Lestrade.
"This is Jax." Sherlock said. I nodded once in acknowledgement. He stared at me for a moment, thinking. He snapped out of it.
"Right, the case. There was a murder, in a residential home." He said, showing a picture of the crime scene.
"It was the brother." Sherlock said. Everyone blinked and stared at him. Except me. I just grinned. He's quick, I thought.
"Boring, not worth my time." Sherlock said, walking out of the room. I followed behind him as John and Lestrade stood there, dumbfounded. I walked beside Sherlock as we traveled down the hall. He flipped the collar of his coat up.
"Fantastic." I said simply. He looked at me.
"Pardon?" He said.
"I said, that was fantastic. I didn't think anyone else could do that." I said. I had always longed to meet someone who could do what I could do.
"Don't act like you haven't figured it out." He said. I smiled a little, genuinely smiled.
"Yes, I did. But just a few seconds after you did." I admitted. John caught up with us, out of breath.
"S-Sherlock..." He tried to catch his breath. "You can't just leave me there." He stuttered out. Sherlock continued walking. We walked out of the building, and made our way back to Baker Street.