Rainy Days : A TeenLock Fanfiction

And So Their Life Begins

A week had passed, and Sherlock hadn't contacted John. Rather, John hadn't replied to Sherlock's texts. He couldn't be that terribly busy, he only had class four days a week. Sherlock stood, hands folded behind his back, staring out the window. Thin raindrops slid down the cold glass, Sherlock's breath gently fogging the surface. He knew John wasn't avoiding him or secretly hated him, he showed no physical signs of that. Sherlock heaved a sigh as Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs.

"Sherlock, what's the matter? Where's John, he hasn't been here all week?" She put the loaf of bread he asked for just ten minutes ago on the kitchen counter.

"He's not here."

"I figured he wasn't here, but is there something wrong? You should check on him."

"I've no idea where he lives."

Mrs. Hudson squinted at him. "You two are best friends and you've never been to his home??"

Sherlock gave her a grave look. Mrs. Hudson's expression softened. "I suppose some things aren't meant to be talked about, hmm?" And with that, Mrs. Hudson left Sherlock's flat, shutting the door quietly behind her.

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Sherlock Holmes had never known true boredom until he knew what fun was like. He never felt loneliness until he found out what "lonely" felt like. He always told himself that "alone protected him". This was no longer true. He was eating himself alive with questions about John's safety. He was rethinking his whole life. "I could have been normal," he whispered, staring at the blank red ceiling in a daze. All these years, he could have known friendship, maybe even love. He shook his head and closed his eyes. "Nevermind. I don't want to be like them. This feeling wouldn't be special otherwise."

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In John's absence, Sherlock read "The Rain" even more than he used to. He started to notice the symbolism in everything Karen Brown wrote. She was a genius, a proper artist slashing the brush across her canvas, spewing bright red paint all over the fragile pages and Sherlock's precious brain. He absorbed everything like a sea sponge, suckling and savoring every single word she had poured out of her being. He loved everything about her book, from the cover art to how the pages felt across his fingertips.

No matter how hard he searched, he couldn't find anything online about this mysterious Karen Brown. No blog posts, no information, no fans of hers except Sherlock.

She had a post office box written in the back of her book. Sherlock contemplated sending her something, but had nothing she would want. He wasn't too great with words.

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Let's hang out at my place today. -SH

I found this great restaurant while out walking the other day, let's go there sometime. -SH

It's called Venezzia's Pizza, heard of it? -SH

Do you not like the food there? -SH

Not today, then... -SH

John, are you okay? -SH

I'm worried, John, you aren't answering my calls or texts. -SH