Red (Sherlock BBC)

Case One: Part Three

A/N: So many ideas, so little time. XD

"Lollia?" My voice wavered slightly as I opened the door to our apartment. I wanted to run; I wanted to do something- anything- but I was unable as I stuck in this dream sequence. I could see the light pouring in from the windows of our Italian home of six years. I had just returned from taking Jack to the vet, and he was healthy so far. His FIV disappeared into maturity, which was a good thing, and now he just had his annual check ups. "Lollia?" I asked again, suspicious. She wasn't in the living room. "Lollia, mi amore? Where are you?" I called. The apartment was unlocked, that was a certainty. I tried everything I could to not relive this moment. My breathing grew laboured fast, panic setting in as I recalled this moment. I knew what was going to happen next. She was going to-

Gasping for air, I sat erect, eyes wide and fingers clutching a piece of fabric. My body now alert and awake, I tried my best to process my surroundings. It became a way for me to grip myself to the present, and at that point it was just routine. Sound. Busied cars passing by the street. A different column of sound. My breaths were ragged, my heart audible in my ears. No paws, no ticks.

Touch. Aforementioned fabric between my fingers. Clothing rubbing against my skin. Warmth. The sinking of cushions. Stiff joints. Dehydration. Hunger. No blanket, no cold. Scent. Cologne, familiar. Sherlock's? I could also smell the scent of some kind of tea, warm and ready. No chemicals, no cat litter. Taste. Previously mentioned coffee. Dehydration. No chemicals.

Sight. Dull wallpaper. Fireplace. Sherlock, looking at the wall. Books. A desk. Chairs. Various papers on the wall above the fireplace. A cup of tea on the coffee table. Conclusion: Unfamiliar. My breathing calmed as I realized where I was. 221B Baker street. I'm at Sherlock and Watson's.

"So you're awake now?" His baritone voice inquired, tone monotonous and disinterested. He could see the panic on my face when he turned, I knew, because he approached me carefully, kneeling beside the sofa. "Do you recall where you are?" I nodded.

"2-2-1-B Baker Street." My voice was hoarse, accent irritatingly thick. My throat ached. He nodded, expression showing slight relief.

"Good." Blinking, I noticed my glasses were on the table. I reached over and put them on, pleased by how much more clarity I could see. The paper on the wall were clues, I could now discern, and the fabric draped over me was Sherlock's long coat. Looking over to the man, blinking once more. "It's five in the afternoon. You managed to get at least three hours, though I doubt they were restful." I froze. Did I sleep talk? As if sensing my fear, he shook his head. "You mumbled a word over and over, but I was unable to understand what it was." A relieved breath escaped my lips. "Would you like Mrs Hudson to make you some supper?" Tilting my head in confusion, I raised my eyebrow. "My landlady. Nice woman. I helped put her husband to death, you know. Very grateful." Understanding, I made a noise. "I'll go get her. Sip this tea in the meantime." He handed me the tea I could smell earlier, and I nodded, looking between him and the cup. "I didn't make it, don't worry." A smirked played upon my lips before I sipped it. Disgusted, my face contorted. He chuckled. "I'll inform Mrs Hudson." With that, he left. Smiling, I contemplated the events that occurred.

Sherlock actually made sure I was alright. Though, he likely does the same with Watson, be he ever ill. Or, perhaps it's because he does similar as I? I didn't bother trying to figure it out- as I stated before, Sherlock Holmes is an enigma; an enigma I happen to have had the pleasure of working with.

Sipping the disgusting warm tea, I nonetheless enjoyed the sensation it sent down my throat. Steps creaking outside the flat, I figured it was Sherlock or this Mrs Hudson person. True enough, there were two sets, and upon looking, I saw an old lady, about three inches shorter than me, smiling down at me with a tray in her hands. "Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you! Sherlock and John have talked about you! You must be Dylan!" Nodding my head, I smiled up at her. She was so nice. "Here. I've made you some soup for when you woke up. I hope tomato is alright." Never breaking eye contact, I grinned up at her.