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

In Which We Discover Sage is Overprotective and a Hairpin is VERY Important

We made it back to 221b just after 1:30 that morning. Sherlock wanted to race off to Scotland Yard to meet with inspector DIMmock (John just said I have a very dry sense of humor. I could say the same for you, Watson.) but John persuaded him to wait till daylight. I crashed on the couch, but being the idiot I am didn't set my alarm. So...I woke up at 9:30 in the morning to find Sherlock had already gone to Scotland Yard AND the morgue, and I was also late for school. Oops. I decided to play hooky for the day, so I stayed and helped Sherlock with research. He also said that the Inspector was delivering all the book from Lukis' and Van Coon's apartments; and we had to sort through them, find any matching ones, and decided if they were the book Soo Lin Yao was talking about.
Well how hard could that be?
Very hard it turned out. And time consuming. Very time consuming.
Early that evening, two police officers brought the books, and they didn't seem to stop. Crate after crate was brought up to the flat and placed on the floor. I eyed them skeptically.
"Sherlock," I said. "This...is going to take days."
"Not days, Sage, be realistic." He retorted, picking up a crate and poking though it. "We can probably be done by morning if we don't stop." I raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "All night?" He looked up at me.
"Yes, got a problem?" He challenged. I pursed my lips.
"Nope." Guess who'd be skipping school again.
"So, the numbers are references." Said Sherlock.
"To books." Added John. Sherlock nodded.
"To specific pages and specific words on those pages. "
"Right, so...fifteen and one, that means..." I flipped through a random book I plucked from the top of a stack.
"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read." Answered Sherlock.
"Okay. So what's the message?" I asked
"Depends on the book." Sherlock replied. "That's the cunning of the book code. Has to be one that they both owned." John looked around despairingly at the mountains of books.
"Okay, right. Well, this shouldn't take too long, should it?" he muttered sarcastically. Sherlock took a handful of books from his crate and carried them over to the dining table. I did the same and made my way over to the couch, making myself comfortable, when in came Inspector Dimmock. He held up an evidence bag, addressing Sherlock.
"We found these, at the museum." He said. He handed the bag to Sherlock, and I could see it contained the photographs of the cipher which Sherlock had been showing to Soo Lin. "Is this your writing?" Dimmock asked.
"Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us." John answered. Dimmock nodded and turned back to Sherlock.
"Anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean?" I tried to hold back a scoff.
"Some silence right now would be marvellous." said Sherlock without looking up, before either John or I could respond.

The night dragged on painfully slowly, I think John and I consumed a good six cups of coffee each. Morning dawned, and I was this [ ] close to falling asleep sitting up. Sherlock strode over and dumped another eight books on "my pile" and I groaned, looking up at him. He raised an eyebrow.
"Had enough of detective-hood, yet?" He challenged, but I could tell he was fighting back a yawn. "Ready to go back to Mycroft?"
"Ouch, that hurt." I mumbled, somewhat incoherently. I yawned loudly, and stretched, my back cracking. I stood up, surveying the living room. Books were scattered everywhere; over the table, all over the floor, and empty crates were scattered about. Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair and looked around at the crates as well. He sighed, just as an alarm went off on John's watch, who sighed tiredly and buried his head in his hands. I walked over and patted his shoulder.
"There, there." I said somewhat sarcastically. "I'm sure work will go just fine." He groaned in response.
I now also had a decision to face. Go to school and die of exhaustion, or not go to school and risk the wrath of Mycroft.
I decided that death was better.

After an absolutely torturous day at school, I dragged myself back to the flat. Throwing myself down in a kitchen chair, I checked my phone. I had four missed calls and two texts from Mycroft.
-Sage, I suggest you don't skip anymore school in the future- one from yesterday read. I rolled my eyes. That man. He was really creepy sometimes. He knew way too much.
"Mycroft after you?" Said Sherlock, coming in the door. I nodded, my eyes closed. I opened one to look at him. He was carrying a grocery bag, which he set on the table before marching over a crate of books.
"Where have you been?" I asked.
"To get milk." He responded simply. "You and John consumed most of it last night in your coffee." Oh, right. The gallons of coffee that I drank. That probably explained why I felt so...jittery all day.