Deducing in Time

We all know the story of Sherlock Holmes. The mad man who seems to have all the answers. The man who is a mystery in himself. All are scared, except one. The one girl who might have the bravery to understand Sherlock like no one else. And to along the way, solve the mystery of time.


16. A morning at Baker street


     I slowly stir realizing where I am. On a lumpy couch, in the living room of Sherlock Holmes. Im turned with my back to the room and my face buried in a pillow that smells like smoke. 

    I hear quiet mumbles from behind me, and I suddenly feel very uncomfortable, knowing that Sherlock is feet away. I slowly turn my head to glance back at him and he pretends not to see me while he tinkers with an old clock. Embarrassed, I squirm back down into the couch, trying to ignore the exposure I feel in this morning air. 

     I wonder if he has coffee, my priorities seem irrelevant when coffee isnt flowing through my blood. I so desperately want coffee right now. I so desperately want this unavoidable silence to end and for Sherlock to come shake me to wake me. To ask me if I want a cuppa and stop fiddling with a damn clock! 

     "There's a pot of coffee in the kitchen." I hear, like an angels song, the call of my people. Caffeine. I jump up knocking the blanket to the floor without even glancing at Sherlock. Walking swiftly to the kitchen and grabbing a cup sitting on the counter, filling it up with the thick, black, beautiful liquid. The potion to pull my sensibility back together. 

     I take a sip and shutter with relief. 

Walking back into the living room feels like the walk of shame, although Sherlock barely glances at me, he has mastered the art of silent chastising.

     "How did you sleep?" I ask, leaning against the wall. Watching him as his curls cover his features, shaking as he closely and tactfully plays with the clockwork in his hands. Its ridiculous, really how completely terrifying he can be just sitting there in this quiet. Theres a kind of beauty in his refusal to interact, this beauty also makes me want to strangle him. 

    After a long moment he finally speaks. "Adequately. You?" 

    "Your couch here is quite the accommodation." I reply, hinting sarcasm. He looks up at me and smiles quickly and then goes back to his fixing. I've realized that maybe he only shows such acts of humanity and response in emotion scarcely because he's afraid of people seeing it and assuming he is soft or weak. So he quickly goes back to his colder self to fend off that reputation. 

     He shouldn't do that. Because those small hints of a smile or an acknowledgement make him beautifully human. 

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...