Guns, Games, and Mutual Appreciation ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book I}

Chapter 28- SOS

Millie's POV

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"Bored."

"So are we Sherlock, but we're not complaining," says John, turning over another page in his newspaper.

"It's been almost a week John! Nothing! Where's a good serial killer when you need one?" 

I laugh, then hastily turn it into a cough.

We're silent for a bit, with the exception of rustling paper.

Then-

"Oh!"

"What?" I ask, propping myself up on one elbow to get a look at the headline that's got John's attention:

Baker Street Romance? The mystery girls of 221B.

And underneath there's a picture of me, walking into the apartment with Sherlock and John, then Irene, eyebrows raised over her sunglasses, exiting the building.

Two unidentified women have been seen entering and leaving the home of Sherlock Holmes and companion John Watson. Much speculation has been generated over their relationship with the Private- "consulting" corrects Sherlock, reading over my shoulder-"detective and his bachelor friend, contradicting previous 'gay rumours'-" 

"That'-" says John, snatching the paper from my hands. "Is enough reading for today.. gay rumours?! Oh for god's sake- Sherlock, did you-"

He's cut off as Sherlock's phone begins to buzz. 

"John, get that for me?" he says lazily, plucking violin strings with disinterest.

John looks like he's going to complain, but gets up regardless, and picks up the phone.

"Oh... it's a facetime request.. should I cancel- oh my god, it's Irene- Sherlock!"

"Answer it," Sherlock says, not moving. He continues to look bored, but the pulse at his temple and set jaw tells me otherwise.

John flips the phone round to Sherlock, who deftly answers the call and regards the video unsmilingly.

"Hello, Sherlock. Long time no see," trills Irene's voice from the phone.

"Yes."

"We should catch up...all of us, you, John...Millie. What do you think?" she asks.

John's trying hard to look like he's not watching.

"Sorry. Busy," says Sherlock shortly.

"Oh come on, you owe me dinner," she purrs.

"No, I don't."

Pause.

"Please?"

Suddenly John stands up, and takes the phone from a surprised Sherlock.

"Of course he'll come. We'll all come. When do you need us, Irene?"

Need us? I frown at his odd choice of words. 

"Saturday, next week? You know what, forget dinner. How about we go for a swim?"

"A..swim?" says John, confused.

"There's a swimming pool at Starling Cross. Closes at eight."

"Oh, I know the place. Me and Sherlock... we've er..been there before.."

"Yes. Well how about you meet...me, at nine... it'll be completely deserted. We can... catch up."

Sherlock and I exchange completely blank and equally quizzical looks.

"Yeah-sounds good. We'll be there. Promise."

"Alright. Bye," she says, smiling, before cancelling the call.

We gape at him. He looks at us, seriously. Something's wrong.

"Irene was signalling. SOS- three short blinks, followed by three long blinks, then three short ones. They use it in the army," says John, grimly, then: "The swimming pool? Do some deductions Sherlock- it's the same swimming pool...the bombs in the coat, the snipers, remember? Coincidence?"

"Moriarty," says Sherlock, quietly.

My head snaps up. John nods. I looks at both of them, lost. 

"I'll fill you in, later," whispers John, gesturing to Sherlock who's resumed his position on the sofa, violin clasped to his chest with interlocked fingers.

Oh the irony, I think, satire lacing my thoughts.

Things are far from boring now.

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