I moved into the apartment next door to John and Sherlock a few weeks ago now. I've gotten to know them pretty well and I'm very pleased I met them, even if it is in a strange way. Walking up the stairs in my onesie with my toothbrush in my mouth my hand raises up to knock on the newly 'painted by me' door. Yawning a bit I try to keep all the toothpaste in my mouth as Sherlock opens the wooden entry into the sea-scented room. Smiling up at him he moves out of the way and I move inside and sit in the sink the minty substance from my mouth.
Turning around I smile warmly at Sherlock as his lips also turn upwards and look into my eyes with a glimmer of happiness hinted at his own. His feet move on their own towards me as he is covered in his bed sheet as I blush a little, noticing how dangerously low his sheet was getting. John comes walking through the door talking about some patient that annoyed the hell out of him from his tiring night shift. Suddenly he stops busily putting down his bags and sorting out the medical folders he had to bring home, he holds a grey-brown folder and looks up at up and notices how our chests were almost touching from the closeness.
Blushing deeply I clear my throat and turn my head to the side and start to make a coffee on the bench as I take the cup from Sherlock's hand and start to make his new cup of coffee. I glance up at him as I work away at the coffee, a small smile gracing both of our faces.
"So how long have you been here Lace?" John asks as I move my gaze to him briefly.
"In London you mean?" John nods in response.
"Not very long. I travel over the world for work. I'm actually a painter." Smiling John nods.
"Oh right. So what do you paint? Just the museum kind of stuff or..?" Laughing a bit I shake my head.
"No No dear, I am a person who paints what they feel in their mind and heart combined. Not many painters do that nowadays but that's how it was for my second cousin and for my previous ancestors."
"Sounds very beautiful," Sherlock comments as John looks at him surprised in his answer.
"Yes, it does. I've got-" I start to talk before a large wave of smoke and glass comes flying in through the window with flames pouring into the apartment with a mind murdering sound that instantaneously screamed through the apartment.
I land on the floor with my body covering Sherlocks so he does not get injured as John hides behind the table he knocked over for protection. Having been in the war, he knew his skills. And having been in the war, I knew mine. I stand up quickly and run to the window through the flames to see if I could find anyone. The street was almost bare as people had run from the sound and the faint call of a siren could be heard. Fun. Anderson would be here soon.
Slowly walking back I look over to John while calling out "Doctor Watson are you alright?"
Cautious of his own body Sherlock sat up taking his time and looked at me a little shocked, but nowhere near as shocked as John looked.
"Major General?" John spoke huskily towards me as I nod.
"Yeah. Long time no see. I'm surprised you didn't recognize me at first." I say while laughing a bit
"What a peculiar day this has turned out to be," Sherlock says with a chuckle.
"Are you all right though?" I ask as they both nod in response "good. John, where is your first aid kit?" I ask just as the tiny echo of a haunting voice rings throughout the small airy building. As it gets louder I make out the voice and figure out the words the torturous sound is making...
"Disss me"
"Did huessss me"
I tighten my eyes shut as I wait for the four words to be spoken fully, my face dulling in fear as the scent of the fresh ocean has turned to one of gas and debris.
"DID YOU MISS ME?"
Frantically looking around the room along with John and Sherlock we try to find the source of the voice. Instead of the horrible vial creature we were praying not to be here, we find a microphone in the middle of the shattered glass on the dirt covered floors. Luckily because it was just a microphone, It could have just been a voice recording of Moriarty with some sick bastard deciding to play a prank on us. At least that's what all of were hoping it was.
Sherlock slowly makes his way over to me and holds my arm softly with his hands. His hair was a mess and his body was covered in dust and random crap that had flown through the when the apartment was hopefully pranked on.
John walks to me and gently holds some tweezers and starts to pull out a thin shard of glass in my arm that I didn't know was inside of my arm. Nodding at him in thanks I smile and gently place my hand over Sherlocks, the hardness of his face helps to show how worried he is about me. His eyes gently raise to my own, locked eyes as I give him a reassuring look.
Sherlock, completely unbothered by his chair being covered in shards and daggers of glass he decides to walk over and sweep it off of his seat and parks his behind into it. Laughing a bit I watch him with warm eyes accompanied by a sweet loving gaze. Slowly John approaches me.
"I think you should tell him" He smirks before walking away and patting my back as my face reddens. Distracting myself I start to clean up the mess on the ground, moving the table upright and fixing things as I notice Sherlock had sent a text to the police saying for them not to come. After a bit of maintenance work, everything should be back to normal. I thought.
