Texting Sherlock

Intruders

Individual Chapter

Sherlock had fallen asleep on the couch the previous night and John had dosed off in his armchair, the fire going in the fireplace on the cold winter night. They were woken up, suddenly, by loud banging downstairs and the abrupt closing of the door that led to the outside street.

"What was that?" John jumped up and in two steps was next to Sherlock, clutching at his right arm.

Sherlock looked down at him, obviously spooked and confused as to who would be downstairs at 3 o'clock in the morning.

"Will you go in to the kitchen and don't let them see you?" Sherlock asked, gently pushing John towards the general direction of the kitchen. He watched as John hit behind the wall, making sure he was out of sight and then quickly placed his violin on John's armchair and sat down in his own. He hummed a Christmas tune, staring into the fireplace. John held his breath, a couple of feet away, in the kitchen.

A man dressed in all black burst through the door to the flat, gun in hand.

Not a hired assassin, the suit is freshly pressed. Carefully manicured, indoor worker.

"Sherlock Holmes" the man spoke, gun pointed, "Hands behind your head please".

"And who may you be?" Sherlock asked, calmly.

"That is none of your business, please stand up so I can make sure that you're not carrying any firearms" the man rattled out an already prepared speech.

Sherlock, however, not wanting to risk getting hurt (or getting John hurt), stood up and let the man search his pockets. Of course, nothing turned up.

"Where is John Watson?" the man said, while patting down Sherlock's legs.

"Not here. Dr. Watson moved out a couple of weeks ago" Sherlock retorted, staring straight ahead.

"Have a seat Mr. Holmes" the man remarked and left the flat.

John peeked out from behind the wall and Sherlock shook his head, as if silently telling him to stay where he is. John nodded and hid behind the wall again.

"Mr. Holmes" someone walked into the room and Sherlock froze.

He couldn't believe what was happening, who was standing in his living room. He felt like he was unable to move, to breathe, to do anything.

The person walked through the room, moved the violin and sat down, crossing one leg over the other.

"I do hope this meeting can stay between the two of us" the visitor said.

John stood frozen in the kitchen, and he felt his knees buckle a little at the voice.

It couldn't be... It can't be... There's no way....

"I'm... You.... How....?" Sherlock asked, still in shock from whoever was sitting in front of him.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I know you are still the same, which means you can tell exactly how. It is so much easier than the first time" the guest laughed.

Sherlock looked at the visitor, dumbfounded.

John had to really hold himself together to not fall down in the middle of the kitchen. He leaned against the wall and squeezed his hands together into fists to keep the anger inside.

"You can't be here. You're dead. Why... did you lie? How... did you live?" Sherlock asked again.

John couldn't stand in the kitchen anymore.

He stepped out.

"You were dead. Dead. We got pictures. We got confirmation. Mycroft sent us a file. We got a video from the funeral. You were lowered into the ground. YOU. ARE. DEAD. And if you're not, I will bury you myself, YOU HAVE CAUSED SHERLOCK SO MUCH PAIN" John yelled, his voice probably waking up the whole neighborhood.

The guest turned their head towards John.

"Ah John. Nice to see you again" the visitor smiled, waving him over.

"Well, it's not nice to see you" John fumed, turning a little red.

He sat down on the edge of Sherlock's chair, feeling that if he didn't have something to sit on, he would simply fall over.

"I have decided to pay you boys a visit because I have.. a problem. As John so politely stated, I am supposed to be dead. That is true. However, someone has found out my problem and is threatening to expose me. If they do, my life will literally be over, and somebody will kill me, for sure. Sherlock, I do not risk turning to Mycroft but, seeing as we have a past, I am turning to you" the guest said.

[A/N: Make a guess right now as to who the guest is]

"I'm afraid I cannot help you" Sherlock said, blinking to regain his composure, he has never been this derailed, "I am not powerful enough without Mycroft's help and expertise in relocating people. You need his help and, unfortunately, I highly doubt that he will provide it for you. I would say that you can stay with us but, again, I am afraid that won't help you much either. Because of our past, I can call Mycroft and somehow convince him to help you but I don't think he will too keen to help you. I'm sorry. What do you want me to do?"

"That's what I thought you would say.. Or rather, I was afraid that you would say that. Mr. Holmes, your brother will not be able to do anything for me, he has already done everything in his capability. And now, I see that you can't help me either. Thank you for your time" the visitor rose and moved towards the door.

"Congratulations, by the way" they turned around and spoke to John, tipping their head a little, "I told you".

"What?" John retorted.

"Sherlock and you. I told you. All those years ago" the guest stifled a dry laugh, "Congratulations".

The guest left and quietly closed the door behind them.

"By God Sherlock. I can't believe she came to us" John said, looking at Sherlock who was still facing the chair in which the visitor sat just seconds ago.

Sherlock stood up, grabbing for his sheet music and searching through it. He found one sheet, put it on the stand, and picked up his violin. He started playing a graceful song, one that was soft and filled with pain that Sherlock was feeling at the time.

The title on the top of the music sheet read:

Irene Adler's Theme

[I <3 HEARING FROM YOU]
What did you think of this chapter? Did you guess who the 'guest' was? Do you have any suggestions for future stories?

-UL