221B

Chapter 9 - A Study in Pink

Kate:

Sherlock had left me to unpack my few belongings and when I had finished I sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what the hell I was doing here.

I barely know this man. And I'm moving in with him. Oh yeah, and he's on the brink of becoming famous, nearly forgot that last detail.

What am I doing here? Why did I agree to any of this?

Then I hear a gunshot.

I bolt upright and listen carefully, holding my breath.

I hear another gunshot seconds later.

I swiftly grab my gun laying on the desk, quickly checking if it's loaded. It is, so I silently cross over to the door and down the hall as another gunshot sounds throughout the flat.

"Sherlock?" I hear John call from downstairs.

When I approach the slightly closed door to the living room where the gunshots are coming from, I hear Sherlock's voice.

"Bored." After every gunshot, his voice the same dull tone clearly indicating he means what he says.

I nudge the door open the rest of the way with my shoulder and point my gun to the center of the living room where Sherlock is standing with a gun in his hand.

"Bored." He says again, then shoots at the wall across from him with his arm behind his back. He stops and looks at me. "Oh, sorry did I disturb you?"

I lower my gun, breathing a sigh of relief, placing the gun in the back of my jeans. Probably not the smartest thing to do-especially with a loaded gun. But it's not like I'm going to go around someone's flat carrying a gun my first day, right?

I hear John coming to the top of the stairs.

"Sherlock?" He calls, then comes next to me. "What the hell are you doing?" He asks when he sees the gun in Sherlock's hand.

"Bored." Sherlock says, and shoots the wall carelessly.

"We have a case!" John says.

"No we don't, I don't even know if it is a serial killer John! How can we possibly have a case?"

"Multiple people are dead because of-"

"The pills! Yes, I know, but I don't have any ideas at the moment, this case is boring!" He shoots the wall again.

I look at the wall and see a crooked yellow-outlined smiley face on the wall with bullet holes in the lines.

"Is it Sherlock?" I hear Mrs. Hudson call from downstairs.

"Yes Mrs. Hudson, it's all fine Sherlock's just...being Sherlock." John answers.

"Do you shoot?" Sherlock ask, gesturing to me with the hand holding the gun. "I see you own one, but do you shoot?"

"Yes."

"When did you learn?"

"18th birthday, my father taught me."

"Wanna give it a go?" Sherlock offers me the gun.

"What?" I ask.

"Shoot the face." He gestures to the wall with his other hand.

I walk over next to him and face the wall.

Sherlock offers me his gun.

"No thanks," I say, taking my gun from the back of my jeans. "I've got my own."

I point the gun at the wall. "You're sure?" I ask. "That this is alright? I don't think-"

"It's fine."

"Because you're doing it." John says.

"Exactly."

I pull the trigger and the bullet hits the nose on the smiley face.

"Not bad" Sherlock comments. "Not bad at all."

"I barely aimed, I should have aimed more."

"Clearly you don't need to." He states. "How's your hand-to-hand combat?"

"You've already seen it."

"I mean when you're not fighting off drunks."

"Oh, then I don't know."

"Well you'll need to find out at some point, when we solve crimes we might get into some situations that may require self defense."

"Other than a gun?"

"Yes. Do you have a knife?"

"A pocketknife."

"Even better. That'll come in handy, keep it with you. Same with your phone and gun."

"Why didn't you tell me this when we first started solving crimes together?" John asks.

"Didn't know as much then as I do now." Sherlock answers simply.

Then one of them get a text. Sherlock retrieves his phone from the coffee table behind us.

"Finally! The game is back on!" He throws off his robe and quickly crosses the room, putting his coat on. "Katherine, John, get your coats, the case is back!" He ties his scarf around his neck and flies out of the room and down the stairs.

John and I stare at each other for a second and then run after Sherlock, grabbing our coats along the way as he suggested. Luckily my phone was in my back pocket so I constantly had it with me. John and I meet Sherlock on the sidewalk just outside 221B, Sherlock hails a cab and jumps in. We follow him inside and Sherlock tells the driver where to go.

"Another one was murdered." Sherlock says. "Some business woman, but Lestrade sounded even more urgent than he usually does so it must be something, otherwise I most likely wouldn't care and wouldn't come."

"You would come no matter what." John says. "Because you love it."

"I'm probably one of the few people in the world who actually enjoy work."

"Work? You don't get paid." I say to Sherlock.

"Hm, po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe." Sherlock replies.