SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

Case Closed (The End)

Months later, after things settled between Mycroft, Lestrade, and Alana's parents, Sherlock sat in his comfortable chair back at Baker Street, picking at his violin. It was a quiet day, but Sherlock didn't mind. After dealing with Moriarty again, his energy deserved a few months off. John and Alana were properly married in a quiet church in the country side. The two wanted as much privacy as possible, and Alana even requested to stay absent from the press as much as possible. Sherlock suggested the two find a separate flat, which they did-two doors down from 221B.

"What did you call this case, John?" Sherlock asked, drawing out a melodious note.

"I called it, Bermuda Triangle."

"How boring. But, it works. What happened to that lady-in-waiting?"

"She was caught, obviously," John replied through the clicking of his laptop's keys.

In an insulted tone, Sherlock snapped, "Don't say that."

"What?"

"That! That word I only use," Sherlock mentioned firmly.

"Oh, 'obviously?' It's not your word, Sherlock, it's the world's. I can use it if I like."

Sherlock stood up from his chair and walked over to John's laptop. “And what became of the boy? The one who owned the collie?”

Leaning back in his chair, John stretched and replied candidly, “Oh, the boy? Lestrade released him back to his parents, all depressed and sobby. Lestrade also failed to mention that they boy had kept saying that his dog was acting ‘all down and sad.’ That should’ve been a symptom, but, oh well.”

Sherlock stared down at the passage John had just typed and bobbed his head in shallow appreciation. "Do you think there'll be another case? Another big case?"

Using just his two fingers to type, John replied, "I don't know. Probably. Especially since Moriarty told you people will be after you."

Sinking back down into his chair, Sherlock placed a light finger against his bottom lip. Staring out into the room and letting his thoughts run away, he said to himself, "They'll come for me. How many are 'they'? Five? A dozen? A whole country?" Jumping from his chair, he ran up behind John and hovered. "I can't stand this. I must find out who 'they' are!"

Knocking Sherlock's face out of the way, John declared irritably, "Oi, back up, Sherlock! I can't type with you hovering over me. You'll find out sooner or later. Why don't you just sit back and let the case come to you."

"Oh! I don't work like that, John! I must find out!" Snatching his long coat, he pulled it on and thundered down the steps and out the door. He dashed down the street, his mind whirling. He didn't know where he was going, but he had to go somewhere where he could have nothing but his thoughts as his company.

As he strolled, his phone beeped. Groaning, he took it out and looked at the caller. He stopped and his brows furrowed. Instead of receiving one message, he received three texts, Scanning the names, he read: John, Lestrade, and Mycroft.

"Your dream came true, you bugger. I got a comment on my blog asking for you. Someone in America needs your help."

Sherlock opened Lestrade's.

"Do you know anyone named, Elliot Rawlings? He's an American and needs your help on something. Text me when you get this."

His cheeks crinkled in a smile as he opened Mycroft's message.

"America now needs your help...God bless them, indeed."

Sherlock dropped his phone back into his pocket and inhaled the London air. Smiling until his face hurt, he said to himself, "When one case closes, another one opens. Who’s got it better than me?" Sherlock looked off to the side and smirked. He knew the answer.

THE END