Lock and Key - Sherlock x OC

To Baker Street

It was the next day when I took a cab to 221b, Baker Street. The night before, David had found me standing in the middle of the sidewalk a few blocks down from the restaurant. I had told him that I thought I had seen an old friend, and that I was sorry for running off like I did, that I'd been mistaken.

   I don't know why I lied.

   My stomach writhed with nerves the whole way to Sherlock's flat, and it only got worse when I arrived. I thought I would either throw up or pass out, or maybe both. Either way, I was here now and there was no turning back. I walked up to the door, lifting my hand to knock, then I panicked and let my hand drop.

   I tried again.

   And panicked again.

   At the third try, the door swung open and I let out a squeak of surprise. Sherlock stood there, giving me a look of annoyance, the door wide open.

   "Why don't you just come in already," he said. "Since you can't seem to knock."

   I glared. Well, that didn't take long for him to revert back to his old self. He sighed and stepped back, holding his arm out for me to walk in. I collected myself and walked past him into the flat.

   "Up two flights, first door in front of you," his voice sounded closer than I was expecting, and I jumped a little.

   "Right," I muttered, making my way up the steps.

   I entered the door at the top of the stairs and looked at the room around me. It was.. interesting, to say the least. There were two chairs in front of a fire place, and on the opposite wall there was a yellow spray painted smiley face, along with multiple holes that looked suspiciously similar to bullet holes.

   There were two windows right across from me and to my left was the entrance to the kitchen, which was.. a mess. The table was littered with science equipment, test tubes, and jars filled with strange things. Wait, was that a.. ?

   I audibly gasped. "Is that an eyeball, in a jar?"

   "Yes," Sherlock brushed past me and sat down in the chair facing the kitchen. "Problem?"

   I looked between him and the jarred eyeball. "Um.. no. No, I guess not."

   Sherlock motioned to the chair opposite his, and I sat down, noticing a skull on the fireplace mantle, along with some papers being held down by a knife. 'Oh, goodness,' I thought. 'Sherlock really hasn't changed much.'

   I looked at him and saw he was giving me a weird look. "What?" I asked.

   His eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

   "What's that look for?"

   He looked even more confused now. "What look?"

   I sighed, rolling my eyes. "You're giving me a weird look. Like you're trying to figure me out or something."

   "Well, I can't see it, can I?" he replied. "God, your as bad as John."

   "John Watson?" I asked and he nodded. "Ah, yes, my replacement."

   I couldn't believe I'd jut said that. An awkward silence filled the room and I looked to the floor, feeling my face turn red. "Um.. sorry," I muttered, my hands tucked under my legs.

   He dismissed my apology with a wave of his hand and a grunt. I took a deep breath and looked back up at him. "So," I said to change the subject. "Why'd you invite me here?"

   "Isn't it obvious?" He asked.

   I shrugged, and he folded his hands in his lap. "Well, so we could 'catch up'," he continued. "Isn't that what normal people do?"

   I laughed, throwing my head back. "Yes, Sherlock, normal people do that," I said. "But you're far from normal."

   He looked strangely bothered by my remark, and I frowned slightly. I sighed, feeling bad for laughing at him now. "Is that.. really what you want to do?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing.

  He looked at me like this was obvious. "Yes, of course."

   I shifted in my seat, biting my lip. "Okay," I said slowly. "Well.. what have you been up to theses past two years?" Besides pretending to be dead.

   "Well," he inhaled deeply. "I had to completely destroy Moriarty's network. That took some time."

   I remembered reading and seeing all about Jim Moriarty on the news. He had been a sociopath, much like Sherlock, though his motives were the complete opposite. He had kidnapped little children, strapped bombs to people, and created a whole life for himself. For a short time, he had people believing that Jim Moriarty didn't exist and that Sherlock simply made up and arch nemesis for himself to get attention. But even after Sherlock supposedly killed himself and Moriarty was dead, they uncovered that Sherlock had been right all along.

   The videos I had seen of him online had unnerved me.

   "And that took two years?" I asked, breaking from my thoughts.

   Sherlock nodded. "Yes. And I also had to wait for my name to clear."

   I sat back in my chair, examining my former colleague. This can't have been the only reason he invited me here. "So what else am I here for?"

   "What makes you think there's any other reason?" He asked.

   "Because, Sherlock, I know you. You wouldn't have invited me here after 10 years just to 'catch up'. That's just not you!"

   He was quiet for a moment, leaning back in his own chair. There were several moments of silence as he stared at me, and I was beginning to get impatient. Just as I was about to yell at him, he spoke up.

   "Alright," he said reluctantly. "I also wanted to know.. if you.. would solve crimes with me?"

Oh.

   A heavy silence filled the room, and several emotions came flooding into me. Sherlock was eyeing me, searching for any kind of reaction, and I wondered what he could see in my face. Solve crimes? With Sherlock? No, I just couldn't. I gave up that life a long time ago, and for good reason. He was just trying to use me again. Any other motive would be too unlike him.

   When I didn't answer, Sherlock leaned forward, looking unsure. Had I ever seen him look unsure before?

   "Summer?" He tried, and I looked up at him and into his eyes. And I found myself saying exactly the word I didn't want to say.

   "Yes."