Johnlock ~ Here For You

Distractions

Somewhere in London, Sherlock was in a world of his own wandering the streets. He shivered, in his haste, he had forgotten his coat, and his thin shirt felt like ice against his skin. Trying to ignore the cold, he rubbed his hands together, hoping to gain some sensation back into his fingers. He wasn't sure what the plan was when he had left the flat earlier, all he knew was that he had to get away. The question was, what was he escaping from? He had never been one to confide in anyone. Growing up he had always felt alone, despite always being in the proximity of his brother he had never opened up towards him. So why now? Why was he opening up to John, his roommate of all people? If he could never bring himself to be vulnerable around his relatives since childhood, it made little sense why he was acting this way now. He had only known John for around a year and he had already seen more into the dark corners of Sherlock's mind compared to everyone else combined. Frankly, it terrified him, what he needed was a distraction.

There were always people who wanted his help and it meant there were always cases to be solved. This didn't mean they were cases he wanted to solve, he relished a challenge, something exciting to keep the boredom away. Rarely he was presented with such a case, more often than not he'd solve five cases without ever moving from his chair. To others this was extraordinary, to him it was a Tuesday. Before John moved in this used to frustrate him, now he half looked forward to these cases, purely just to show off how smart he was. Sherlock paused the realisation knocking the wind out of his lungs, what was wrong with him? He felt weak, no longer feeling the cold, no longer feeling anything. With his knees feeling like jelly, he reached out to the wall on his right, the bricks coated with a thin layer of frost. As he leaned against the wall the frost melted against his shirt damping the fabric and sending a chill through him.

Previously he had never cared how people perceived him, he knew he was smart, a genius even but he'd never cared if people saw him this way. Sherlock had NEVER cared, yet here he was caring whether John thought of him as smart. It had never bothered him when he had been referred to as a psychopath, after all, they were wrong he wasn't a psychopath at all, he was a high-functioning sociopath. One would realise that If conducting the right research, but was he? He was high-functioning yes and he had always swayed away from societal norms, he was societally inept, exceptionally high IQ, and was never in touch with any emotions. It was true that he consistently showed no regard for right and wrong and constantly
ignored the feelings of others, but lately, he wasn't ignoring them... at least not all of them, apparently not when it came to John.

Sherlock wasn't sure how much time had passed lost in his thoughts, the last time he retreated into his mind palace seven hours had passed. Sherlock patted his pockets in search of his phone, but he came up empty, he must have left It back at the flat, damn it.  Where was he going again? A distraction, that's right. Hopefully, it wasn't too late to turn up at someone's residence. They wanted his help surely the time he offered his aid shouldn't make a difference. No one had offered anything worth his time and talent over the last few days but something was better than nothing.
Since most things would take him a mere few minutes to solve, Maybe he needed more of a physical case rather than an intellectual one. Only one case sprang to mind, Mrs Butterworth had been having issues with her pigs disappearing, making way on foot he should make his way to her apartment fairly quickly.

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock stood outside a rather neglected door, the black paint that once clung to the wood was now peeling revealing the previous colours underneath. It's a good job I don't do this for the money he thought to himself. Sherlock knocked on the door and waited patiently. After what seemed like a lifetime the door swung open. The lady that stood before him couldn't have been taller than five feet, her hair was mostly grey with a few stands of golden blonde streaked throughout. She had dull brown eyes and huge round glasses. Despite this Sherlock suspected they didn't help her sight much based on the constant squinting she was doing.

"I wasn't expecting you today. I received no phone call indicating you were even taking the job. Do you realise the time? Four O'clock is the time I normally go off to play bingo young man! Some warning is expected for next time." Next time? How could she possibly think She would need my services again?

"Apologies Mrs Butterworth, my phone died. Do you want my help regarding your missing pigs or not? I don't particularly care to be here, I have other cases, good luck finding someone within Scotland Yard who would even take you seriously." Sherlock said in a huff.

"Oh, are you that Sherlock fellow? I was told you would never take my case as it is too boring. I assumed you were the cleaner I had hired," her voice held a tone of annoyance.

"Well, I'm not a maid so do you want my services or not?"

She sighed, loudly, and beckoned him inside. Her apartment was small which was typical for London, what wasn't typical, however, was the back garden. Being a ground-floor flat with little space it made no practical sense that it even had a garden, but Sherlock wasn't here to question the layout. Like the front of the apartment, the outside also looked neglected, there were weeds everywhere apart from a small section at the bottom. There It was just pure mud.

"Right, I'm off to bingo, enjoy." And with that, she was gone and Sherlock was left to his own devices...