Loving a Holmes

The Fall

Since our last few cases Sherlock's popularity and requests have skyrocketed. It seems as of late we have always had a case, which is great for Sherlock's mental state, not so much his psychically one. However, I had managed to get the boys to take a break from this cases for a few days, at least. Sadly, this gave Sherlock time to go through the tabloids. I can hear him complaining about it as I exit the bedroom Sherlock and I have began to share. "Boffin. Boffin Sherlock Holmes."

"Everyone gets one eventually." John doesn't even look up from his paper.

I look at the two of them, as I rub my head and lean on the arch way from the kitchen. "One what?"

"Tabloid nickname. SuBo, Nasty Nick, Shouldn't worry, I'll probably get one soon."

Sherlock points to one of the tabloids in front of John. "Page five, column six, first sentence." John glances up at Sherlock, before looking through the tabloid. At this point Sherlock as also picked up his dear stoker and started complaining as well. The two of them talking over each other. "Why is it always the hat photograph?" Sherlock begins to abuse the accessory.

"Bachelor John Watson."

"What sort of hat is it anyway."

"Bachelor? What the hell are they implying."

"Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?"

"It's a deerstalker. Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson."

"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do? Throw it?"

"Confirmed Bachelor John Watson."

"Some sort of death frisbee." Sherlock looks over the deerstocker. "It's got flaps, ear flaps it's an ear hat." Sherlock tosses the hat to John.

Sherlock skims the hat across the room to John, As I step into the room. "I told you two, you needed to be more careful."

"What do you mean, more careful?"

I sigh softly and pick up the hat, John had placed on top of the tabloids. "I mean this isn't a deerstalker now, it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you're not exactly a private detective anymore. You very close to being famous."

"Oh, it'll pass."

John stands up. "It'd better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they'll turn on you."

Sherlock has placed himself in his armchair, looking over at John. "It really bothers you."

"What?"

"What people say."

"Yes."

"About me? I don't understand. Why would it upset you?"

I sigh and turn heading back into the bedroom, regretting talking the boys into taking a few days off. A few days later Sherlock is working on some experiment while I am sitting in his armchair reading 'Little Women,' by Louisa May Alcott, and John is reading the newspaper, across from me, when Sherlock's phone trills again, and again.

After a few more rings John gets annoyed by it and goes to get the phone. "I'll get it, shall I?"

He picks up the phone and checks the messages on it, his face slowly fills with shock, I glance up from my book. "John, what is it?"

John turns and takes the phone into the kitchen, holding it out to Sherlock. "Here."

"Not now, I'm busy."

"Sherlock..."

"Not now."

"He's back."

Sherlock immediately lifts his head and takes the phone, his eyes widen upon seeing the message, as he sinks back into his chair, staring off into space. I walk into the kitchen behind John. "Boys, what's going on?"