How Sage Became a Holmes//book the first (A Sherlock BBC Fanfiction)

John Watson

Sherlock spent the next hour or so playing his violin.
Or rather he'd play a for ten minutes or so, then set down the instrument and pace the flat for another ten to fifteen minutes, mostly muttering incoherently.
I swear, he's like a neurotic puppy dog at times.
I had found myself some cereal in a box under the table and sat eating it, perched on the table with my feet on one of the chairs. I had just finished organizing Sherlock's books by subject and alphabetically, a feat which he wasn't able to appreciate as he was currently to submerged in his own little Sherlock world to take much notice. He'd realize it in an hour or so. Suddenly, my phone buzzed and a text from Mycroft popped up on the screen:
-Dinner in forty five minutes-
I downed the milk in my cereal bowl, then put it in the sink. I grabbed my coat and opened the door, glancing at Sherlock.
"Going back to Mycroft's. I'll be back in a few hours with a suitcase." He nodded.
"I need to go to the morgue." He said. "I may or may not be back when you return."
"All right. Text me if a case pops up." He nodded, striding over to his laptop and booting it up. I put my coat on and ran down the stairs. "Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson, I'll be back." I called on my way out the front door.
The air was nippy, and I fumbled to button my coat with one hand while hailing a cab with the other. I gave the cabbie Mycroft's address, and was off.
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Dinner time consisted  mainly of Mycroft interrogating me as to what I was up to with Sherlock (even though I knew he had to know. He's Mycroft) to which I stated the truth (minus the plotting against him), saying that all I had done was help him unpack since I just needed to get out of the house. After dinner was finally over, I rushed upstairs to my room and plopped a suitcase onto my bed. I threw in the various necessities; toothbrush, hairbrush, clothing, shampoo, my makeup bag, as well as a book, my phone and charger, and some headphones. I zipped up my suitcase, and grabbed a pillow from the head of my bed, placing it on top. The upstairs bedroom of Sherlock's flat was equipped with a bed and such, but if he was hoping on finding a flat mate, I would probably be put on the couch. I put on my coat and texted Sherlock saying:
Ok. On my way, unless I get stopped or caught
To which he simply responded:
Ok.
-SH
I went over to my top dresser drawer and fished out enough money to pay for two taxi fares. I then shut it again, glanced around my room, and decided there was nothing I immediately needed. Besides, I'd most likely be back sooner than I wanted anyway. I looked at my phone to see it wasn't even six o'clock. We'd had an early dinner, and it was still light out. However, I grabbed my suitcase and pillow and tread lightly downstairs. Peering around the corner into the lavish entryway, I could see there was no one in view. I tiptoed out the door, closing it slowly behind me. There was no possible way for Mycroft to miss the fact that I was leaving, but I could avoid immediate confrontation. I hailed my third cab that day, cringing at the thought of the dent this was making in my savings, and gave the cab driver Sherlock's address. I was constantly checking my phone, hoping that I wouldn't get a phone call from Mycroft demanding I come home. My plan if it happened was to either
A) ignore it
B) answer and refuse to come home
or
C) lie about where I was going (a hopeless and stupid plan since he knew everything) Or potentially the last two, if the occasion arose.
I arrived at Sherlock's flat just in time to see the front door closing. I bounded up the sidewalk (after paying and thanking the cabbie) and opened the door. I nudged it closed with my foot once I had pulled my suitcase in behind me, and then not-so-gracefully clambered up the stairs, wrestling with the awkward weight of my suitcase behind me. As I reached the top of the stairs and came into the flat, I was surprised to see not only Sherlock, but both Mrs. Hudson and another man. Oh gosh, not with another man; just a man, Sherlock and Mrs Hudson in the flat...oh never mind, you know what I mean. Sherlock turned to me.
"Ah! Sage! I see you've escaped the clutches of Mycroft." He smirked sarcastically. I nodded, chucking my pillow and suitcase onto the sofa. "Sage,  this is Doctor John Watson, he's my new flat mate. John, meet Sage." I extended my hand, and the doctor shook it, smiling at me out of the corner of his mouth.
"Hi."
"Sage Samuelson." I said, despite Sherlock already introducing me. I did what Sherlock was always badgering-I mean encouraging me-to do, and I attempted to deduce John. I noted he was about 5' 6" (four inches shorter than me), had short cut sandy grey hair, and the way he held himself clearly said military. As he'd been introduced to me as "Doctor" I assumed army doctor. He had a cane that he leaned heavily on when walking, but his stance when standing said that he almost forgot about it...curious. What it could mean, I had no idea. Despite his military stance, he seemed to survey his surroundings with the hint of a look that suggested he was unsure, maybe feeling out of place; but I could tell he was far from a timid man. As Sherlock bounded around the flat, (tidying up? I wondered if John had made a comment about the mess) John turned back to me and said
"So you uh, are you related to Sherlock? Or are you just his friend?" I smiled. "And what's with the suitcase?" He added, nodding towards the sofa.
"I'm his brother's ward." I said. "So I'm kind of Sherlock's niece, but not really. And you could say we're friends. I help him with his work." Sherlock muttered something too quiet for me to understand, but I assumed it was some smart-ass remark. Probably something about not having "friends." I walked over to my suitcase on the sofa and unzipped it. "As for this, Sherlock and I have a recent deal, where he's going to allow me to follow him around while works cases. Which often means multiple day of research and what-not. So as long as you don't mind, I'll be popping in and out as I please." I grinned at the thought. This will be fun. John shrugged.
"I don't mind in the least." He said. Just then, Mrs Hudson bustled in from the kitchen. She'd been attempting to tidy up too, an admittedly daunting task.
"What do you think, Doctor Watson?" She asked. Without giving him a chance to answer, she added: "There's a bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing two." I tried very hard to burst out laughing, and the sound that escaped my throat resembled a goose being strangled. The doctor's face grew puzzled, and Sherlock ignored us altogether.
"Of...course we'll be needing two..." Said John.
"Oh, don't worry dear," assured Mrs. Hudson. "There are all sorts 'round here. Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones." She whispered this last part and disappeared back into the kitchen, her hands on her hips. "Oh Sherlock, the mess you've made!" She exclaimed. I followed her over to the sink, and the two of us started to wash up the few dishes that had already piled up.
"I looked you up on the Internet." I heard John say to Sherlock. They proceeded to converse slightly, and after rinsing the last dish, I traipsed back out to the living room, plopping myself down on the sofa.
"What about these suicides then, Sherlock?" Asked Mrs. Hudson. "Thought they'd be right up your alley. Three in a row, exactly the same!" I looked up at Sherlock, who was staring out the window.
"Four." He muttered.
"What's that?" I piped up. He turned on the ball of his foot and faced me.
"There's been a fourth." As if on cue, a tall, grey haired man I knew to be D.I. Lestrade bounded up the stairs and into the flat. "Where?" Inquired Sherlock.
"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." Replied Lestrade, slightly out of breath.
"What's new about this one?" Asked Sherlock.
"Yeah," I put in. "You wouldn't come to him" I jerked my head towards Sherlock. "if there wasn't anything different."
"You know how they don't leave notes? Well this one did." My eyes lit up as I turned to Sherlock and I wiggled my eyebrows at him. I was absolutely itching to jump immediately into the action, and I could tell Sherlock was trying to control his excitement as well. "Will you come?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, a note of desperation in his voice.
"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind."
"Thank you." Lestrade quickly nodded to Mrs Hudson and me, and was off. As soon as Sherlock heard the front door close, he jumped up, exclaiming:
"Brilliant! Yes!" He grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around as I giggled. "Four serial suicides and a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" He grabbed his coat and pulled it on. I got mine off the back of the sofa and did the same.
"Mrs Hudson, we'll be late." I said.
"Might need some food." Sherlock added.
"I'm your landlady dear, not your house keeper."
"John, make yourself at home, have a cup of tea." With that, Sherlock grabbed my hand and pulled me down the stairs. We ran halfway down before he put his hand up, stopping me in my tracks. Upstairs we heard John yell,
"Damn my leg!" I jumped and looked at Sherlock questioningly.
"That's my cue." He said as he hopped up the stairs two at a time while pulling on his gloves.