The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

A fan fiction based on BBC's Sherlock. Based on Sir Arthur Conan Doyles classic novels
(The characters in this Movella are based on the tv show, not the novel)
Set in modern day London


1. A New Case

"Well, how was it?" inquired John as Sherlock re-entered number 221B Baker Street. He'd waited up for him. Sherlock was never one to adhear to social protocol, such as quiet after 10, so he took it upon himself to 'police' him. "How do you think it was, John? Its Mycroft. He was as tedious as ever. Nothing new. Nothing interesting. Just the usual government crap. How my brother ended up as such an idiot, will never cease to be the only thing that amazes me in this world". Sherlock said as he entered the cluttered living room. Books everywhere, some un-used, some from previous cases.

Sherlock had been out for his usual meeting with his brother, Mycroft. Once a month, he would meet with him to discuss taking any cases the government couldnt handle. Nothing major. The occasional bank robbery or kidnapping. Nothing his brilliant mind couldnt handle. Although this month, he'd not had a case. It was getting to him. He sat down, disgruntled, on his favorite green chair in the corner of the living room, looking out of the dusty window over Baker Street. John sat at his desk, still taking care of the paper work from the last case. Theyd made quite a mess of a local supermarket in a hostage situation. The mood in the small living room was as low as ever tonight.

"Bored, John" muttered Sherlock. "Uh, Im sorry, what?" replied John, looking up over his laptop. "Im. Bored. God dont you ever listen. I need a case! My mind is running on useless thoughts! Im not you! I actually have to think!" exclaimed Sherlock, raising his voice. "Well, if you need a case so badly, take one of Mycrofts!" sighed John "I solved three tonight! THREE! You cant class them as cases. Just crossword puzzles. For kids. With hints!" He said, rising from his chair, striding through paper to the fireplace. "Well if you-" a sharp rapping at the flats door cuts John off, and both snap their heads around, eyes on the entrance. "John, door" Sherlock says with a flick of his head in the direction of the door.

John rises with a sigh, negotiating his way to the door. He opens it and gasps at the sight. A man, covered in blood, and panting heavily, stands in the doorway. "Please" he pants, "They took them. They took them all!" he breaks down, almost passing out on the floor. Sherlock, still facing the fireplace, listening, with the orange glow cast on his face, he smiles to himself "Fantastic" he thinks "This sounds like a case".


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