The Science Of Second Chances//Book Two

Chapter 3~ Royalty Calls

Teddy's P.O.V

I sat in my new chair at my new table in my newly furnished kitchen with a newspaper in my hand. Not Mycroft's chair at Mycroft's table in Mycroft's kitchen, no. My chair. My table. My kitchen.
After how many weeks living with my big brother I was now in my new flat. Everything belongs to me (except the lamp in my bedroom. I took that from Mycroft. I don't think he knows.)

Leaning back in my chair and appreciating the fact that I could now move my left arm without feeling a sharp pain explode in my shoulder I unfolded the newspaper. On the cover was a very nice photograph of Sherlock and John. I smirk, noting the hint of annoyance in Sherlock's eyes as he stares, frozen, out of the paper. John looks fine, no hint of annoyance on his face at all. I stand, staring at the picture as I walk over to the kettle and begin making myself a coffee.

"Morning," I hear John call from the hall, his head poking through the doorway.

"Hey," I reply, walking over to him with my coffee and newspaper. "Have you seen this?"

He takes the newspaper from me and grins.

"Nice picture," he says.

"Love the hats," I giggle. He rolls his eyes, zipping up his jacket and handing the newspaper back to me. I walk back to the kitchen, chucking the paper onto the table and look over my shoulder.

"Want a cup of tea?" I ask.

"Oh, no thanks. Actually, I better go," he says.

"Where are you going?"

"A case. Some dead guy in a field. We got told about the case yesterday," he tells me.

"Hmm, sounds interesting," I reply.

"Wanna join?" he asks.

"Sorry, John. Lestrade's expecting me in at work. Anyway, I thought Sherly would be help enough. Why do you need me to go with you?" I ask.

"Sherlock isn't coming. He's currently still asleep. Apparently this case is a six and he's not going to leave the flat for anything less than a seven so he's sending me out with my laptop," he sighs.

"Well, have fun," I reply. He gives me a smile then leaves.

Walking into the bathroom I turn the shower on, undressing quickly. With my eyes avoiding catching my bullet wound in my reflection I get into the shower, standing under the hot jet of water. As I wash my hair I can't help but wonder about where Jim is at the moment. Was he planning anything else for Sherlock? Probably. And who was it that called him? A few days after I first woke up in hospital I had asked John what had happened after I was shot.

"Well, we all heard that click," he told me. "Sherlock turned the other way and took a step forward to where the noise had come from. He didn't see you get shot, and if he had I don't think he could've done anything. Moriarty was back in the room. I jumped into the pool to save you then dragged you out. You had managed to swallow a hell of a lot of water and your shoulder was a mess. While I tried to get you to wake up Moriarty and Sherlock were having a stand off. Moriarty had all these lasers pointing at us, threatening to end our lives. Sherlock had his gun pointing at the bomb, threatening to not only kill us three but Moriarty as well. Honestly though, I wasn't concentrating enough on that. You were losing a lot of blood. Then Moriarty's phone went off. He took the call and then... and then he let us go."

John and Sherlock both don't know the person who called Jim but whoever it was they saved our lives.

I spent a long time in the shower wondering about Jim, the caller, work and anything else that happened to pop into my head, like the fact that I didn't have my beloved trench coat with me anymore. Jim must've taken it, along with my top and jeans. Creep.

Stepping out of the shower I wrapped a towel around my body and walked into my bedroom, pulling on some clothes and tying my hair up into a pony tail. After applying a bit of eyeliner, eyeshadow and lipstick I grabbed my bag and left my flat, locking the door behind me and heading upstairs.

"Hello Teddy," Mrs Hudson greets me, coming down the stairs with a basket of laundry.

"Morning Mrs H," I say.

"How are you dear? How's the shoulder?" She asks.

"It's good," I smile, "How's the hip?"