How They Met Alice (BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 43

(Alice’s POV; MORNING; 221B: )

 Sherlock was standing at the window in the living room and playing a sad lament on his violin. I sat in his chair with my knees up to my chin and a cup of tea in my hands. John walked into the room and sighed as he saw him. Mrs. Hudson walked across to the table and picked up the plates, looking at John pointedly as they both realized that Sherlock or I hadn’t touched our breakfasts. I knew why he wasn’t, and I found myself doing the same. Not because I missed Irene; because I wanted to support him. I know that sounds corny but it was true.

John hummed resignedly as he took his jacket from the back of the chair and put it on. Sherlock stopped playing and picked up a pencil to make a notation on his music.

 “Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven’t heard that one before.”Mrs. Hudson complimented.

 “You composing?” John asked.

 “Helps me to think.” Sherlock said simply. He turned back to the window, lifted the violin and began to play the same tune again.

 “What are you thinking about?” John asked. Sherlock suddenly spun around and put the violin down. He pointed at John’s laptop.

 “The counter on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.” Sherlock said rapidly.

 “Yeah, it’s faulty. Can’t seem to fix it.” John shrugged.

 “Faulty – or you’ve been hacked and it’s a message.” Sherlock suggested, pulling out Irene’s mobile. He pulled up the security lock with its “I AM ---- LOCKED” screen.

 “Hmm?” John asked.  Sherlock typed, ’1895’ into the phone. The phone beeped warningly and a message came up reading: ‘WRONG PASSCODE. 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING’. The enthusiasm in Sherlock’s eyes died again.

 “Just faulty.” Sherlock confirmed. I sighed as he turned away and picked up his violin again. I put my hand backwards over my mouth.

 “Right.” John confirmed, nodding slightly. Sherlock began to play the sad tune once more. “Right. Well, I’m going out for a bit.” John added. I stood up, wanting to go with him. Sherlock turned around and looked at me pleadingly. I sighed and sat back down, closing my eyes; he had had me up since early that morning, just wanting my presence. John turned and walked to the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson was tidying up.

 “Listen: Has he ever had any kind of...” He started quietly, sighing. “...girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?” He asked Mrs. Hudson.

 “I don’t know.” Mrs. Hudson admitted.

 “How can we not know?” John asked, sighing in frustration.

 “He’s Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?” Mrs. Hudson reasoned. I smiled at that. John did the same, but much more sad.

 “Right. See ya.” He finished. He trotted off down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock playing his violin at the window, and then left the room. I sighed again and  took a sip of my tea.

 “You’re worrying him, you know. He’s never seen you like this.” I said quietly. He stopped playing and turned his head to me the smallest bit.

 “Why would he worry?” Sherlock asked dryly.

 “Because you’re Sherlock. You don’t show emotions. You don’t... mourn. That’s what he thinks you’re doing; mourning.” I replied. He turned his head back and continued to play.

 (Third person POV: )

 Downstairs, John went out of the front door and pulled it closed. As he turned to go to the left, a woman was standing just to the right of the flat. She called out to him.