Royalty

Chapter 1: Just To Say Hi

I ended up staying with the Baker Street boys. I chipped in with rent when I could, but the two both would express they were glad to have me. I could put up with Sherlock more than anyone else, which John greatly appreciated, and I think Sherlock appreciated someone who'd recognize his intellect (and even out-think him every once in a while)

I helped out a lot with some of their first cases. Once Sherlock had explained to me the premise of "A Study in Pink" (Yes, of course I read John's blog), I noted how "rachel" must be a password.

During "The Blind Banker", I was, shall we say, less involved. But their first big case (other than the taxicab case) ... that one I was much more involved in.

"The Great Game".

On that particular day, I was enjoying peace and quiet. Key word 'was'. I had just had lunch at the deli just under the flat and, as I ascended the stairs, heard multiple gunshots from the floor above.

I sighed. Brilliant.

I hurried up the stairs to find Sherlock, sitting in his armchair and shooting up the wall, upon which a smiley face had been painted. I recognized the paint from Blind Banker.

There were two bullet holes where the eyes had been.

"Well now, that's a bit mean. Can't even see you anymore," I said. Sherlock sighed and rubbed his forehead like he had a headache.

"Bored."

"I know, but -"

Before I could stop him, he'd taken three more shots at the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?!" John's voice came from the stairs.

"He's -"

"Bored!"
"What?" John asked. Then Sherlock cocked the gun again, and John started "No -"

"Bored! Bored!" Sherlock shot the wall twice more before John managed to swipe the gun from him. "Don't know what's got into the criminal classes -"

"So you take it out on the wall?" I asked.

"The wall had it coming." He flopped dramatically onto the sofa. John and I exchanged a look.

"What about that Russian case?" John asked.

"Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder, not worth my time."

"Oh, shame!" I said.

"Is there anything to eat? I'm starving -" John began, starting to make his way to the fridge.

"John, wait, don't -" I stopped as I heard him curse.

"Sherlock, there's a head in our fridge!"

"Just tea for me, thanks," Sherlock muttered unconcernedly, flipping idly through a magazine.

I smiled, but then looked at Sherlock. "Sherlock, you should probably understand that most normal people don't put severed heads in their fridges."

Sherlock didn't even look up. "Well, where else was I supposed to put it? I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. Borrowed it from Molly."

"Well, fine, but at least don't shoot up the wall," John said, setting his coat down.

"Why not?"

"Because Mrs. Hudson is perfectly capable of starving us if she so wishes," I said, grabbing the spray paint can and making a mental note to hide it when I got the chance.

Sherlock didn't acknowledge the comment, but noted to John, "Saw you've written up the taxi driver case. A Study in Pink, nice."

"Well, pink lady, pink case, pink phone ... there was a lot of pink," I hear John explain as I go to grab something from the cupboards. I'm still hungry, despite the lunch at Speedy's. "Did you like it?"

"Ah, no."

"Why not, I thought you'd be flattered?"

"Flattered." Sherlock finally glanced away from the magazine as I walked back into the room holding an apple. "'Sherlock sees through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is of some things.'"

"I'm sure John meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way," I tease, flopping into Sherlock's armchair. He frowns.

"It doesn't matter to me who the prime minister is, or who's sleeping with who -"

"Or that the Earth goes around the Sun," I cut in.

"That's not important!"

"It's primary school stuff, Sherlock!" John argues.

Sherlock sits up, setting the magazine back on the end table. "Listen, both of you. This," he said, pointing to his temple, "is my hard drive. And it only makes sense to keep stuff there that's useful, really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters, do you see?"

I sighed, and John interjected, "But it's the solar system -!"

"What does that matter?! So we go round the sun, if we went around the moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make a difference."

"Still could end up being useful though," I note.

Sherlock sighs again. "All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." With that, he flopped back onto his side, facing away from the both of us. I kind of shrugged at John, and I could see his jaw tighten.

"Right." He stood.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked immediately.

"Out." John left without another word.

"Charming, Sherlock, well done."

He stood back up. "Oh, please. You understand that you can't just hope to fit the world into your memory."

"Not my point. Saying what you think? Fine. Saying it like the other person's an idiot? Not fine."

He ignored me and went to look at the window as John walked off. I heard Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs and turned.

She looked at me. "They had a little domestic?" I smirk and shake my head.

"Look at that Mrs. Hudson. Quiet. Calm. Peaceful ... Isn't it hateful?" Sherlock's voice came from the window where he stood.

"Oh, come on, Sherl, something'll happen soon." I smirked as he shot me a glare. He hates when I call him that.

"A nice murder, that'll cheer you up," Mrs. Hudson piped from the table.

"Can't come too soon," Sherlock muttered.

" - what have you done to my bloody wall?!" our landlady suddenly exclaimed. Both me and Sherlock smirked. "I'm putting this on your rent!" she finished before bustling back downstairs.

I glanced again at the smiley face on the wall, and Sherlock did the same, smiling sarcastically back. As he turned back to face the rest of the flat however, an explosion suddenly rocked the building, and both Sherlock and I were thrown forward.

I heard Sherlock groan and immediately forced myself back onto my feet. "Ah-!" I winced as I stood. I felt a sting on my cheek and a twinge in my ankle. Must have landed wrong. "Sherlock, you good?"

He's on his feet moments after I am, looking at the shattered windows and looking out across the street. "Hm? Yeah, fine - what was that?"

I joined him at the windows. "It looks like a gas explosion. Probably not that simple, though."

He looked at me and noticed something. "Are you alright?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine."

"There's a cut on your face from the glass, and you're limping slightly."

"Both are easily dealt with."

"Alright. Suit yourself."

Neither of us could have known what would happen next.