Just Your Average Annie (A Sherlock Fanfiction)

• Six •

"Annie!" Karla called from front of the house. A suitcase was in each of her hands, another sitting on the floor in front of her. "Are you ready? The taxi's here."

"Coming!" Annie yelled. She reached down to grab her suitcase by the handle, pulling it behind her when she exited the room. "Sorry, I was just making sure I hadn't forgotten anything." Karla simply smiled.

"Don't worry, I understand," she replied. She kicked the door open with her foot, holding it open as Annie walked outside. Karla was quick to follow.

During their last phone call, the Holmes brothers had insisted that the two fly to London, where they could keep an eye on Annie. It had taken some persuading, but Mycroft insisted that they mustn't worry, after all, he would handle all of the details himself. Annie hadn't doubted him for a second.

"Coming?" Karla asked, breaking Annie from her thoughts. Her friend nodded, shoving her bags in the trunk before slipping into the back seat. Karla entered the back a moment later.

"I'm coming, Sherlock," Annie whispered, her lips stretching into a smile.

■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■

Meanwhile, back at 221B Baker Street, a certain DI was standing in the doorway of the flat, observing the youngest Holmes as he ran about the place, fixing this and that. Mycroft was off in another room making an important phone call, (most likely pertaining to Annie's flight), and John was sitting in his armchair, reading the newspaper and sipping a cup of tea.

"What's going on?" Lestrade shouted, startling John, who promptly dropped his drink and jumped from his chair. He turned to face the intruder, only to relax and bend over to pick up the broken shards of china when he saw who had spoken.

"Sherlock," John answered, standing up and sitting the paper down on the table. He made his way to the kitchen, tossing the remains of his teacup in the trash before making his way back into the living room.

As soon as he entered the room, Sherlock scurried past him, before promptly turning on his heel to face Lestrade.

"Ah, Graham," Sherlock greeted, only somewhat paying attention to him. He thrusted a pillow at Lestrade, who started at him, confused, but caught it nonetheless. "Be useful and put this somewhere. God, there's not enough time-"

"Sherlock," John called, an irritated look on his face. Taking the blanket out of Sherlock's hands, John spread it out along the back of the couch and turned back to face him. "It's fine, everything's just fine. Now go get some rest, your going to need it."

Sherlock sighed, giving John a defeated, but internally greatful, look. He mumbled a thank you under his breath as he exited the room (not that anyone could hear it, of course).

"Has he been like that all day?" Lestrade asked, looking at John in confusion. John only nodded, taking the pillow from the detective's hands and setting it down on the couch. When he was done, he took a seat in his chair, inviting Lestrade to take a seat also.

"We're meeting her at the airport at five, if you'd like to come with us," John mumbled, rubbing his eyes as his head pounded. "I could use the help." Lestrade remained silent, taking his words into consideration.

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, the man without a heart (as he so wonderfully put it) had a friend. Not only did he have a friend, but said friend was a female, and said friend was someone other than the famous blogger, John Watson. And he had the chance to meet her.

There was no way Lestrade was going to pass up this opportunity.

"I'll be here at four," he announced after a few minutes in silence, getting up to make his leave. "Good luck, Dr. Watson."