Short stories

Blood and Fruits

Sherlocks POV

He strolled leisurely down the streets of London. It was a beautiful morning. The crisp air was warmed slightly from the bits of sunshine that peeked through the usually cloudy and dull sky. The leaves, which were falling, were beautiful shades of yellow, orange, and red, like a small burst of sunset on each of them.

 As Sherlock made his way to the market, he couldn't help but notice that everyone left a wide ring around him, as if he were carrying a disease. They gaped at him, either in shock or awe or a mix of both. He furrowed his brow as a child practically threw himself out of the way as he walked by. He puzzled over this for a moment before he shrugged and kept walking to a stand with fresh produce.

 A teenager covered in acne, most likely no older than 16, was manning the cash register. Or at least that was what he was supposed to do. However, he didn't even look up as Sherlock approached with his items, instead bent over his phone, headphones in on full volume, so loud that Sherlock could hear a bit of the song. Sherlock stood there for a while before coughing when the cashier didn't notice him. Still no response. 

Scowling, Sherlock tossed the produce on the counter a little harder than necessary, startling the cashier into dropping his phone. The cashier, Lucas, according to his name tag, grabbed the phone, and stood, scowling. 

"Hey, what's the big ide..." He trailed off as he saw Sherlock. He gulped in fear and quickly averted his eyes. Sherlock frowned. His expression wasn't THAT scary, was it? Lucas quickly scanned his items, hands shaking slightly. What was this kids deal? 

"Have a good d- day, sir." Lucas mumbled. Sherlock didn't respond, just grabbed the bag and started walking back to his and John's shared flat, 221B Baker Street. He opened the door and set the groceries down on the table. 

"Oh, Sherlock are you ba...BLOODY HELL!" John exclaimed, jumping up from his chair where he had been sitting and blogging about the most recent case, which he dubbed 'The Speckled Bandit'. Sherlock scowled.

"What?" he snapped. John gulped. 

"You got a little..." he gestured all over Sherlock. 

Sherlock glanced down and finally remembered the blood that was coating all his clothes. 

He sighed. "It's not mine, if that's what you're wondering." he said, beginning to put the groceries away. For some reason, this didn't soothe John.

"Then who's is it?" John cried. Always overreacting. 

Sherlock sat in his chair.

 "Let's just say a little...fight." He poured some tea and raised the cup to his lips. Then he paused. 

"I won." he stated, deadpan. John just stared. Then he sat down, picking back up the newspaper. Since he moved in two months ago, he had gotten quite used to...occurrences... like these. 

"Bloody bastard." he muttered. And the two men sat in comfortable silence, John reading the newspaper, Sherlock somewhere in his mind palace, eyes closed. As they had numerous hours  before, and as they will for many more to come.

                                                                                                  End

soooooooooooooooooooooooooo what did you guys think?