221c - A Sherlock Fanfiction

Allison

We stood outside of Speedy's in the rain, Sherlock holding an umbrella for the both of us.

"How are we going to know who it is?" I asked, tugging at his sleeve. He pursed his lips.

"I think that whoever it is will find us instead."

"Maybe we should go inside." We did just that, and sat down. I was tapping the edge of the table. Typing my thoughts. Nervous habit. He grabbed my hand.

"Stop typing. Trust me, you are good enough at this. Don't doubt yourself."

"Sorry." He had read my typing. Upside down.

He started examining my fingertips, running his own against the pads. Scrutinizing them. "What are these scars from?" He was talking about the linear scars running across my fingertips.

"Cello."

"Cellos don't do that to you fingers."

"Well my parents went through a long and bitter divorce. Every night when they would scream at each other, I would play to drown out the noise and heal the pain. Sometimes I would play so long into the night that my fingers would bleed, and I would play again the next day. I only played as long as they fought."

He was silent, his expression unreadable. We sat in an uncomfortable quiet until our waiter came. He was average height, with a big smile and quick to laugh. He was left handed, based on the writing callous I saw on his left hand. 5'9". 140 pounds. Wore a size 9.5 shoe. He kept calling me 'Babe'. He was flirting, and it was cute, so I started flirting back. The entire time, Sherlock said nothing, but he looked peeved.

After about five minutes, Sherlock cleared his throat, and said to the young waiter, "Erm, has it ever occurred to you that I may like to order as well?"

"Oh, sorry sir!" The young man took his order and hurried off.

I took a sip of the water that had been brought to us, and looked at him. "What was that all about?"

"He kept smiling when you weren't being funny, and you did the same. He kept looking at your lips. He was facing you, not the both of us. He was flirting."

"Yes, I was aware. What was the problem?"

"It irritated me."

"What, are you jealous?"

For this he offered no reply. Our friendly waiter brought us our food, and later, the bill. I paid. On the back of the bill, a number was scrawled, hastily. The waiter winked at me as he left.

The number had a name written above it. Ryan Openshaw.

I was confused. The client had never shown up. They just simply never showed up. This was more complicated than I thought. I rubbed my temples and sighed.

"It doesn't make any sense, Sherlock!" I called down the corridor. He popped his head out from the toilet where he was brushing his teeth. He shrugged, and mumbled something in toothpaste-talk. "Why wouldn't they show up?"

My mobile pinged. I picked it up. Blocked number, once again. Mystery Mum. I opened the text. It read: Hello again. It was so nice to see you at Speedy's. Sorry I didn't show myself directly, but that would have alerted my enemies that I was nearby. Something of mine has been stolen, and I would much desire to have it back.

"SHERLOCK!" I screamed.

He burst out of the loo with a toothpaste goatee. "Fwhaf!?" He asked frantically, toothpaste-talk for 'what'. I showed him my mobile, and he said, "Fwewf ipf opfiouf fatf he fwaf in tanshew."

"What?"

"Fomeone if in tanshew."

"What?"

"Fome-"

"No," I cut him off. "I mean, what the bloody heck are you saying? Spit out the foam and wash your mouth, please."

He did as I said, and came back. "Apologies. I was merely excited. And you were clearly distressed."

"So, someone is in danger and therefore believes that text is the safest way to communicate.

"Yes, good."

"Okay. I will text them back." I sent a text that said Hello. What has been stolen? And how may I recover it for you?

My mobile pinged again. It was Ryan. "Who is it?" asked Sherlock.

"Ryan."

"Ryan who?"

"Our waiter from earlier."

"Oh. Him." he sniffed, contemptuously.

I rolled my eyes. "He wants to go to the cinema."

"With you?"

"No," I drawled sarcastically. "With Mrs. Hudson. Yes of course, with me."

"When?"

"Now. Bye."

"Bit sudden?"

"Eh." And with that, I left. I met Ryan outside of Speedy's. "Hello!" I cried cheerily. "Just get off work?"

He smiled and said yes. We went to go see an action film, and I returned to the flat late.

Sherlock was on my sofa with his feet propped up on my ottoman. I pulled off my army green anorak, with the cinch at the waist, and threw it at him. He deflected it, and I glared. "May I ask what that was for?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You were thinking judgey thoughts. It was annoying me."

"Judgey thoughts?"

"About me going on a date."

"Ah, yes. How was that by the way?" He smirked.

"Oh, you know. Fine. Nothing special. Just another boy, attractive by societal standards, who asked me out on a date."

"I see."

"Like I said, romance is overrated."

"Hm. Yes, you are right." He got up, skipping about the room. "Well, I was wondering, if you wanted to solve more crimes with me."