Just Your Average Annie (A Sherlock Fanfiction)

• One •

To : John Watson
From : Annette Anderson

Hello. My name is Annette Anderson,  but please, call me Anne. I used to go to school with Sherlock a while back, but I lost contact with him after graduation. Is there any way I could get in contact with him? If he asks, tell him it's from Annie. He'll know who it is.

To : Annette Anderson
From : John Watson

It's nice to meet you, Anne. As for your question, I'll get him to send you an email when he gets back to the flat. It's not often that I meet someone who's friends with Sherlock. You are friends, right?

To : John Watson
From : Annette Anderson

I'm not quite sure anymore. We used to be, though.

To : Annette Anderson
From : John Watson

That's reassuring. You don't know how many enemies of his I've met.

To : John Watson
From : Annette Anderson

Oh, don't worry. I've met my fair share. I'm not surprised that you've met them. Which ones did you meet?

To : Annette Anderson
From : John Watson

Jim Moriarty and Charles Augustus Magnussen, to name a few.

To : John Watson
From : Annette Anderson

The Charles Augustus Magnussen? Why am I not surprised? Oh, I'm sorry for having to leave so suddenly, but my cousin just got home from work. Maybe we could continue this conversation again some other time?

To : Annette Anderson
From : John Watson

Of course. I'll talk to you later, Anne.

To : John Watson
From : Annette Anderson

Goodbye, John. Talk to you soon.

■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■

John Watson had just finished his last email to Anne whenever his flatmate decided to make his presence announced.

The door flew off its hinges, startling the sweater-loving blogger, and Sherlock and an unidentified man rolled into the room. A swift push in the jaw and punch in the skull made the other man fall limp. Satisfied,  Sherlock rose from his place on the floor with a smirk.

His face fell back to its normal emotionless look, however, when his eyes landed on John.

"What are you doing?"

John blinked rapidly, not expecting the question, but not completely alarmed. He was used to this kind of behavior. After all, his flatmate was Sherlock Holmes.

Abandoning the stranger on the floor, Sherlock approached John with a deducting stare.

"What do you want to tell me?" Sherlock asked, unable to figure out who his friend had been emailing. "Who were you talking to? What did they want?"

Sherlock was now standing directly in front of John, only pausing to yank the computer out of John's clutches before dashing across the room.

"Sherlock!" John called, chasing after him. "Sherlock, wait!" He dashed down the stairs, stopping halfway when he saw the detective frozen at the bottom of the steps, staring at the computer screen. "Sherlock, what is it?"

"Annie," he breathed, looking up at John. "How did you get in contact with her?"

"She emailed me," John explained with a smile, watching Sherlock scroll through the previous emails with a strange look on his face. "Who is she?"

Sherlock remained silent, shoving the computer into his friend's hands before shoving past him. By the time John reached the top of the steps, Sherlock was already walking back down the steps, phone in hand.

"Sherlock?"

John sighed, closing his computer and rushing to catch up with the detective.
■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■

The pair found themselves seated at their usual table at Speedy's. John was on his computer, trying to contact Anne, and Sherlock was on his phone, texting Mycroft.

Number. Now. - S.H.

What ever do you mean, brother mine? - M.H.

Give me her number. I know you have it. - S.H.

Who's number? - M.H.

Annie's - S.H.

Sherlock waited impatiently for his brother's answer, noting unhappily that his brother must not have what he wanted, considering the silence.

What brought this up, Sherlock? - M.H.

She emailed John just this morning. - S.H.

Then email her. - M.H.

Sherlock frowned, glaring at his phone as if Mycroft could see his reaction. Knowing him, he probably could. And judging by the camera Sherlock had seen in the very corner of the room, that's exactly what he was doing.

Almost as an afterthought, Mycroft sent him another text.

Send me her email. - M.H.

Sherlock did as he was told, knowing Mycroft would probably use it to find their once best friend. And however impatient Sherlock was, he knew he shouldn't worry. Mycroft was probably searching for Annie that very instant, considering she was not only close to Sherlock, but also Mycroft and Sherrinford.

The detective would probably receive her cell phone number by the end of the week, although if she was anything like she was in the past, it may even take his brother a month.

Sherlock turned his phone off and slipped it into his pocket, taking a small sip of his coffee.

Yes, Mycroft would find her in good time.

There was nothing he had to worry about.