[Complete]
Sherlock was not one for relationships. Ever. No exceptions.
Well...maybe one.
Melody Winters was the one person to turn the Consulting Detectives head, despite being just about the only one not intending to. So what happens when Melody...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Since their coffee date one month ago (yes, it was evidently a date), they have seen each other quite a few more times. In total, they had gone for dinner at a fancy restaurant in central London, twice, had coffee in a different cafe, and surprisingly, Sherlock had agreed to go ice skating. Although, it was clear to Melody that he instantly regretted the decision the moment he walked onto the ice. Clearly, the one thing that he definitely was not good at, was ice skating.
And at three o'clock in the morning, they were still on the phone.
One other thing that they had frequented, was talking on the phone. It didn't matter to them what they were talking about, and that much was obvious, because each of them would throw in some absurd topics to keep the conversation flowing smoothly, not that they had to try that hard to get along. It also didn't matter to either of them, the time that these phone calls took place. As long as they were speaking to each other, they didn't care about losing sleep.
Tonight, just like some other nights throughout the past month and a bit, John could hear Sherlock's muffled speaking through the floor. At first, he just assumed that he was speaking to himself, because really, it wouldn't be that hard to believe. Unlike other nights, this one he seemed to be overly cheerful, which perked Johns interest. So, tonight he decided to try and see if he could hear what Sherlock was speaking about.
He lightly crept down the stairs to the main floor of their flat, through the kitchen and down the hallway. He didn't dare stand too close to the door, for Sherlock would surely know that he was there if he got too close. He could work out some of the words that he was saying, and when he walked slightly closer to the door, Sherlock's words came out clearer. 'Oh, no, not that. Never again. I hated that so so much, it was such a bad idea.'
...
'What made you think that I could ice skate?'
...
'Huh, yes, well i'm glad that one of us enjoyed it.'
...
'No, that does not mean that we can do it again.'
...
'No, nope, you will not charm your way into making me endure that torture for the second time.'
John was now positive that Sherlock was speaking to someone on the phone. The question now, was who? He had no idea who it could possibly be. Who would have been ice skating with him? John thought that that person must have been pretty important to Sherlock to make him go ice skating.
At that moment, the doorbell sounded, and John quickly rushed down the hall, making sure to still tread lightly, so when Sherlock came out of his room, it would look like he had just woken up to the sound of the door. They bump into each other in the hallway, not needing to say anything to each other, also trying not to wake Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock walks in front of John, and slowly opens the black door, first peeking his head around the edge. When he was sure that there was no one outside, he opened the door wider, for John to see what was there.
A box.
There, on the front step of the house, was a standard brown box, plain in its appearance, totally not looking sketchy. Sherlock slowly reaches out to pick it up, before John butts in. "What if it's a bomb?"
"It's not a bomb, I think I would know if it was. Oh, and I might not be trying to handle it, also." For a minute, both of their minds went back to a time when things were a little more simple, and they were trying to work out what significance the trainers that were left in 221C. Even though that time wasn't exactly easy, it was easier than what they had gone through recently.
They took the package back up to the flat, Sherlock carefully placing it down onto the coffee table that sat opposite the leather sofa at the back of the room. John retreated into the kitchen after turning on the lights, still being careful to not wake Mrs. Hudson or Rosie. He reached into the cutlery draw and pulled out a small, sharp knife to give to Sherlock, but as soon as he walked back into the living room, he saw that he already had the knife from the pile of letters on the mantle, cutting through the brown package tape that was holding the lids of the box together.
When he slit all the sides of the box, he hesitantly lifted each one up. What was in the box, surprised the both of them. It was a set of lingerie, black in color, sat folded up neatly at the bottom of the box. Confused, Sherlock pulled it out, and inspected it. He got that it was new, mainly because there were tags on it, but there was a slight scent of perfume, so it had to have been in a draw with things that have already been used. Obviously a woman's.
"Sherlock, what's the meaning of this?" John expected him to know what was going on, when in reality, he had no idea what any of this meant.
"For once, I really don't have a clue." Sherlock muttered. Then, John pointed down to the box again, noticing something that was left at the bottom. It was a note. Sherlock put his hand back into the box, and pulled out the note. When he turned it around, it read; 'Congratulations! ~S.'
"I don't understand." This phrase was starting to become part of Johns everyday vocabulary, Sherlock thought.
"I know who it's from, but not why he's sent it." For months, a certain criminal who he put behind bars, had been safely tucked up in prison, but he has since been released, and Sherlock knew exactly who he was coming for. Him.
'Stanton Hicks, one of London's most notorious criminals was, seven months ago, put behind bars by none other than the famous Sherlock Holmes. Holmes got a lot of praise for this action, from the public and officials on the case. This leads us to our next line of inquiry; who, or what, will he save next?'
Sherlock wasn't too worried about Stanton, because he was an amateur criminal at best, therefore posing no threat to him, or the people around him. That was the main reason that his case was so short, and if he was being honest, which, lets face it, was nearly always, extremely boring. But, although Stanton himself was not strong, his men were a different story. They had tons of connections, and they were large in numbers, as well as body strength. The only reason they still worked for Stanton, was because the one thing he did have, was blackmail. He had incriminating information on every single one of them, and if they dared to leave his employment, he would reveal that information, making every last one of them, as good as dead.
His thoughts, just for a moment, drifted off to Melody. Would she be in danger? They weren't in a proper relationship, but he was getting closer to her, which could put her in danger. All of a sudden, Sherlock gasped in realization. He finally realized what the 'present' meant. John looked over to Sherlock with a questioning gaze, his eyebrows furrowed. Sherlock just cleared his throat and slightly shook his head at the army doctor, indicating that he should just ignore him, as usual.
Sherlock's thoughts immediately went back to the item of clothing. Stanton must have assumed that because he was spending a lot of time with a woman, that he surely must be sleeping with her. But that was not the case, at all. Of course, Sherlock wouldn't mind if that was the case, but it wasn't. They hadn't even kissed, although they have had plenty of moments in which that if they chose to, they could have. But, they'd only met in September, and it was now December. They hadn't known each other for that long at all, so he was oblivious to why Stanton had jumped to that conclusion.
John's face, once again, held a confused expression, which Sherlock just ignored. He decided to keep his thoughts to himself, to save explaining something that he didn't want to. At least not right now. He wanted to keep his secret, secret, for as long as possible, or at least until the threat was under control.
After disposing of the item and the box, of course Sherlock kept the note, they both retreated back to their bedrooms. For a while, Sherlock just laid there in bed, pondering over the events of that night. Or morning, whichever way you want to look at it. Slowly, he drifted off into a light sleep, which of course wouldn't last that long, before he got up and went back to solving the case.
