John opened his eyes to a cottage surrounded by long grasses, wild flowers, an old cobbled path, and a faded white picket fence. Sherlock had left him in the car to sleep while he went out to the temporary home and checked it out. It was definitely rustic, hadn't been upgraded or at the very least painted, in about 15 years. John rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes and unbuckled himself before hopping out of the vehicle to find his friend. His feet walked cautiously upon the old, brick pathway that was clearly done by a previous owner of the house.
He opened the unlocked door, wincing at the creak of the rusty hinges. John called for Sherlock who replied from the dust-covered kitchen. He was sitting at a table with a worn out cloth over it, a freshly-brewed cuppa tea in front of him. Sherlock had to make it for himself that morning, given that Mrs. Hudson hadn't accompanied him on the trip so there was no way she would've been able to make him tea and biscuits.
"Good morning John. How was snoozing in the car? Bad for the neck I presume." Sherlock asked.
"Yeah, morning. Now that you mention it, I do feel a bit of a crick in my neck." John rubbed the back of his neck.
"As I predicted. Anyways, we've got work to do. You get to drive out of the house and into town. Run some errands or whatever it is you do in the daytime."
"Uh...my job? Is there any food in the fridge? Because I could go food shopping if you want me out of the house that badly. What will you be doing? Sitting idly?"
"No, absolutely empty fridge. And I guarantee you, I will not be sitting around while you are gone."
"Why can't I stay? Last time this happened you jumped off of a building."
"Well I can't jump off of a tiny two-story cottage and fake my death again. It's not nearly high enough. I'd only cause profuse bleeding and a moderately serious head injury at the absolute most."
"Whatever. I'll go. Do you need anything?"
"No, I'll do my own shopping once I find time."
"Uh, I could shop for whatever and you could get exactly what you need when I get back."
"Yes, but you don't approve of what I put in the trolley and force me to put it away like I was a child. And then you get mad when I try to help the world out."
"Because we don't need six packages of biscuits and three bags of sugar along with some bottles of chemicals just for your morning tea and experiments." John continued, "Plus, you pointed out that the cart had reeked of marijuana and traced back the scent to the shop manager who got fired. Then you managed to shut down the shop since the other employees couldn't be trusted."
"So? I helped protect customers from the members of the staff who were clearly high."
"Sherlock, just tell me what you need and I'll get it."
"Iodine bottle, women's eye or eye brow makeup, Lysol cleaner specifically with bleach, extremely strong hair gel, and...I know there's one more thing...oh! Of course, I need honey instead of sugar for my tea. The one that comes in a ridiculously unrealistic bear-shaped bottle."
"Alright. I'm hoping this is all for a case, not making me look odd."
"It is. Do hurry up now, John. Ta-ta, see you later!" Sherlock waved as he shoved his friend out of the door, tossing the car keys into his coat pocket.
John's eyebrows furrowed at his strange partner's body language and shrugged it off as usual. It was just weird that Sherlock kicked him out of the house, almost literally, when he had to talk to someone alone. He thought it was going to be Moriarty since that was who had shown up the last time. Or possibly Sebastian Moran. John only hoped that the detective would be alright but still felt pissed at hm for being so annoying.
Sherlock glanced outside of the window when the car began to pull away from the makeshift driveway. As soon as the car had disappeared from sight, he stood up and left the cottage in a light jog in order to reach his destination fast enough to eventually arrive at home before John would. His long legs provided him with large strides, allowing him to get to the place in just over half the time it would take a regular person.
He stood in front of a small, white chapel with stained glass window along the back walls and dark wood pews. It was late morning on a Thursday, so no people were supposed to be inside. But one person sat at the very front of the bright room in total silence, waiting for the detective to make the first move in the modified game of chess. It had taken him but a moment to recognize the only person in the long room, although he did know who it was even after practically four years.
"I never trusted you. And I was right." Sherlock spoke in his deep voice, not even startling the mysterious figure.
"I did give you a chance. But I believed that he was in a relationship with me and I owed him favours. Now I get to pay the price for asking so much of him." A woman replied.
"Kitty, nothing has changed. He's back to his job, I'm alive, and you still repel me. Even more now since you switched from a journalist to a fanfiction author. Always trying to fake being a fan of mine, aren't you, Miss Riley?"
"I've told you, this is only because I have to pay him back."
"Does it matter? Of course not, since your newspaper probably hires anyone who can type and you needed the favours."
Kitty shut her mouth, not able to come up with a better reply, but turned to see more of Sherlock's face when they talked. He smirked at his small victory and continued with the conversations. She stood up, preparing a full-blown speech before yelling at the blunt detective.
"Uh-! Before you say a word, tell me how he hired you."
"I believed his Rich Brook story and he told me to write this short story. I agreed to do it and he paid me a couple hundred pounds per chapter written. But he stopped me at some point and vanished. Then one of his "voices" called, telling me that you were here to talk to me."
"And here you are now. Relocated in a country you don't even know the language of with no proper job."
"Ha, and what gave that away?"
"Clearly, you don't know French. And the way you dress suggests a very laid-back job, if any. But the balance of probability rules against a job with that level of casual style and you didn't have to clear a schedule to talk to me."
Kitty nodded, still impressed in her on-going awe at his observant talent. She stood up to gain proximity towards Sherlock and stared into his colour-changing eyes while speaking. He looked down at her, since she was quite a bit smaller, and boredly awaited for her to talk about her life. He predicted this from basic human nature and the way her frame stood in front of him.
"I at least have friends and people I can trust. All you have is John Watson, but he isn't here now. There is no way you could save him or vice versa in this moment." The second fanfiction writer said before backing away to reveal two tall, burly, dark men and a shorter, sharply-dressed one a little ways behind them.
