Constellations Strung With a Shooting Star | Sherliam

Chapter Fifteen

[yes ikik chapters have mainly been sherliam dates recently,,, enjoy the fluff while it lasts :))]

Sherlock's walk back to 221b Baker Street is embedded with grumpiness, his steps bitter and disgruntled. Such is a usual state for him to be in after any interaction with Mycroft, so the feeling is nothing new and he expected it. Even if their meeting this time wasn't quite as unbearable as most, it still leaves him with an unflattering taste in his mouth.

He can't shake the assumption that Mycroft knows something he doesn't, and he's being purposefully left in the dark. He should be able to tell, but when it comes to his older brother, any confidence he could possibly have crumbles into dust. He could only trust his gut, which told him that it's highly likely that Mycroft has extensive knowledge on the Lord of Crime's identity, at the very least. His suspiciously pointed questions sounded like a test the more the detective thinks back on it.

With a huff underneath his breath, he pushes his flat's door open, a tired and frustrated sigh heaving out his throat. "John, I'm back," he grumbles, the greeting flowing out like a second nature. But he isn't met with a response. Sherlock glances around the disorganized and cluttered flat, still misfortunately left without a trace of his flatmate's return. He mutters to himself, "What, he hasn't come back yet? Hell is he even doin', anyway?"

"Sherlock! " He's jolted forward as the piercing voice of Miss Hudson surprises him from behind, the noise hammering into Sherlock's ears. If anything will be the cause of his hearing loss, it wouldn't be old age; it would be Hudson. "I told you to take all of this rubbish out before you left! When in heaven's name are you going to clean?!"

Sherlock's lips fold over his teeth, and he forces out a weak chuckle. Right. He would say that he'd completely forgotten about it by accident, but he very well knows that'd be a lie. He purposefully chose to ignore the chore, and was planning to continue to do so. But his landlady's nagging is inevitable.

"I, uh..." The detective staggers, eyes darting across the room, "I suppose John might get around to it when he returns? Shouldn't be too long, now! Don't worry yer head, Miss Hudson," he attempts to beam a smile at her, but it works directly against his favor. The redhead scoffs and groans, raising her voice more.

"Oh, of course you'll make poor John do it for you, as usual! Lord above, Sherlock Holmes! If you don't do anything about these terrible habits, you can't honestly expect to settle with your soulmate! How on Earth is that supposed to happen when you can't even clean your own mess?!"

Sherlock groans quietly, itching his newly aching ears. He rolls his eyes and furrows his brows, glaring down at her. "'Habits'? Eh, like that'll ever get in the way," he shrugs carelessly, stepping forward and away from her in hopes of brushing her away. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't manage to work.

"It will! You keep the curtains shut tight even in late midday and coop yourself up indoors! And what is it you do inside? Shoot the walls and even blow up the entire flat!" Hudson shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance. "It surprises me more and more each day that there's actually a woman somewhere that will tolerate you and your nonsense! How a woman like that can exist, I'll never know!"

Holmes instantly bites his tongue, preventing any argument or correction from spilling. He will eventually have to correct her, but today would not be that day. And while there's a hint of undeniable truth behind her words, Sherlock chooses to ignore that portion.

He opens his mouth to respond, but Hudson shouts at him again, sending a nearly chilling trill down his spine. "All I hope for is for her to find you soon so she can settle you down properly! But you never make an effort to look for her!" Again, Sherlock is stricken with the itching need to correct her, instead scrambling out an agreement.