Mirror Image (Under MAJOR editing)

Prologue

Sherlock Holmes stood in his Navy blue silk pajamas and his dark blue robe, his hair askew as usual. His bare feet were cold against the carpet as he stood in front of his long window overlooking the London streets, his hands clasped behind his back. The sun was rising by now as John Watson walked out of his room in his usual dress apparel; dark blue jeans, loafers, and a button up light green shirt with a grey cardigan over it. His hair was brushed quickly, trying to somewhat clean up unlike Sherlock.

John made his way over to the kitchen and started heating up water for his tea. He looked over towards the window as Sherlock looked out of it, not recognizing the fact that John was standing in the same room. It was very quiet in the flat without Mrs. Hudson nagging Sherlock about his messes or as he called them "experiments". It had been hard for the past three months since Sherlock decided that he didn't want to work for Scotland Yard anymore. 

"I don't work for Scotland Yard and I most definitely do not work for Lestrade. Who thinks that?"Sherlock snapped around, seething at the assumption that he, the great Sherlock Holmes; deceiver of Death, was working for Lestrade.

John lounged back in his seat. "Well, Sherlock, pretty much everyone..."

"Fine!" Sherlock snapped, walking to his room, "Then, I'll just stop working! Consider me unemployed!" With that, he slammed his door to his room, starting the very long three months ahead...

Sherlock was peculiar like that. John turned to the boiling water, pouring it into his favorite mug and setting his Earl Grey teabag into the mug. He put his sugar lumps into it as well and went to sit down in front of his computer. In this short, fifteen minutes, Sherlock hadn't moved one bit.

"It is just so peaceful outside." Sherlock said, nonchalantly.

John looked up at him. "Yes, I suppose it is."

Sherlock kept to staring out the window at the few cars that drove down the street. "It is just so... unsettling. So many things that could be happening aren't. I have a feeling that something is happening..."

"And is that bad Sherlock?"

"I am not part of it! So many crimes that are happening... and to think that Anderson is on the case..." Sherlock spat. He turned around sharply, looking at his friend. "It is disgusting. It hurts that such an imbecile is in charge of a case in London. If he wanted to be in charge of something, go become a cabby." Sherlock walked over to the couch and flopped on it, curling into a ball, facing the back of it. John had thought ahead and moved Sherlock's gun so he would stop shooting the walls.

"Do remember that Anderson was the only one who thought you were alive. He looks up to you Sherlock."

"He should. I am so much better than him. I..."

"If you are so great, maybe go out now and stop being so stubborn." It still hurt John to talk about the fact that Sherlock was here and being himself when was dead. He swore he saw his best friend dead on the sidewalk three years ago. Then, he just decided to come back and act like nothing happened. It had happened and John wasn't going to let that go. He saw him... all the blood...

"How? I mean, I know, but..." Sherlock sat up straight. "I need a case John. I am dying of boredom. It is absolutely horrible."

"I know. Trust me. With you being so stubborn, we have no money for groceries, I barely have enough for rent. You are lucky I found a job. Just wait until Mary gets back. Then I can move back into my flat without being sniped out."

"I thought you had a job at St. Bart..."

"I got fired..." Watson cut Sherlock off.

"Or did you quit?" Sherlock asked.

"I got fired... end of story." John quickly took a sip of his tea. The tea scalded his mouth as he spilled it on the front of his shirt.

The real story was that after Sherlock's accident, that place brought back too many bad memories... the cracked cement, the blood stains, the horrible smell that was always there but brought back the sight of Sherlock on the cold white slab in the morgue with Molly who couldn't stop crying, although I guess she was in on it as well. He had to quit. Now, he was working at a car dealership, the worst job, he believed, on the face of the planet. He would be going back soon though.

"Okay." Sherlock laid back down on his couch.

"So, when are you going to go and tell everyone at Scotland Yard you are ready to stop being a nitwit and take a case? They have dozens that are worthy of your greatness." John asked. He was done with Sherlock's melancholic music in the morning and his non stop talking to himself in his room about things that weren't really even happening at night....

"Moriarty is still out there. He is watching and I need to beat him. He will not win. Protect people... protect Mrs. Hudson... protect Molly... protect John..."

It was making John crazy.

"Soon... soon..." Sherlock then stood up and grabbed his violin, starting his usual routine.