Chapter Text
The house was almost quiet. The sound of an old clock ticking steadily mixed with two soft snores, one coming from the living room, the other from upstairs. It almost happened to be a peaceful night, but if we’re talking about the Holmes’ nothing is so simple.
Lisbeth thought a quiescent night laid ahead of her. Moving in didn’t take longer than one day, since she brought no furniture (which was fortunate since she didn’t own any), just clothes enough for an army, and all the books from the century. They were heavy, and there always seemed to be a new box waiting outside to be brought in, but Lisbeth couldn’t live without them. And maybe if Sherlock had given a hand, moving in would have been much quicker, but of course he had something more important to do which mainly included lying on the couch. Needless to say, Lisbeth let a few books fall just to remind him of the blonde girl fighting a lost battle against the endless army of books. She tiredly collapsed on her bed, in her new room. Although it was a done deal, she had talked to Mrs Hudson.
‘So, are you moving in, darling?’ asked the old lady while she was pouring tea.
‘Yes. I like the neighbourhood and the flat is lovely,’ replied the girl smiling friendly.
‘Are you going to need John’s old bedroom upstairs?’
‘Yes. Now, then… we’ll see it.’
As the girl smiled self-confidently, Mrs Hudson giggled.
‘Since when have you known Sherlock?’
‘Since yesterday,’ replied Lisbeth taking leisurely a nip from tea.
The old lady choked on the hot beverage.
‘We solved a murder together, my landlord’s. Well, I was short on money anyway so moving out was inevitable. I needed a new flat, Sherlock needed a new flatmate, lucky coincidence,’ Or more likely, perfect planning-she added in her head.
The landlady was at a loss for words:
‘You’re a very special girl I feel. Maybe you could tame Sherlock a little bit.’
‘I don’t want to; I like him in his own way.‘
‘Or you could at least ask him to stop putting human body parts in the fridge.’
‘But where else should he put them?’ asked Lisbeth eyes wide open, filled with genuine surprise.
‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ Mrs Hudson shook her head playfully.
‘But I don’t like living in a morgue, so I’ll do my best.’
Thus Lisbeth moved barely in and engrossed the bedroom upstairs. Even though she had redecorated, put new curtains on and scattered all her stuff especially shoes, clothes and books, the whole room reminded her of John and Sherlock felt the same way. As he stood in the doorway and scanned what Lisbeth called ‘organised mess’ she could see vacancy and loneliness in his eyes. It broke her heart every time. But it was the beginning of a new area.
Suddenly Lisbeth’s eyes sprung up. Leaping off the bed she hurried downstairs to the living room, where she found a stranger and Sherlock fighting, wrestling on the floor. The whole room looked as a bomb had exploded.
‘Sherlock, it’s three o’clock in the morning!’ Lisbeth complained zipping her cardigan. Having by-passed them she set up the coffee table.
‘Lisbeth!’ Sherlock groaned while he was preoccupied with trying to prevent the stranger from throttling him. As sighing she snatched a chair and flanged it at the man like it was a totally normal thing. The stranger blacked out.
‘Couldn’t you have done that sooner?’ growled the detective during coughing.
‘You’re welcome,’ smiled the girl and set off to bed.
‘Hey!’ Sherlock laid her by the heels still breathing heavily.
‘What?’ she put her hands on her hips. ‘I had knocked him off, this was the harder part of the job, you call the police and tidy up this mess,’ Sherlock was taken aback for a moment than replied:
‘I just wanted to say that we’ll need a new chair.’
‘Well, I’m sorry. I think he is in need of an ambulance. Call the police, please. It would require much more paperwork to uncle if he died.’
Sherlock nodded dutifully and the girl went back to sleep. So this was the first night at the Holmes’. In a normal family nobody would attack Sherlock in the middle of the night, the girl wouldn’t be angry because she was woken up (and not because a stranger tried to kill the detective), and she wouldn’t knock off the attacker so easily without at least having a panic attack before. Sherlock would ask the new flatmate if she was okay, and if she found it weird that he was impugned. Finally, they would argue about anything, but not specifically about the paperwork and the chair. In short, in a normal family this whole affair wouldn’t happen. But the Holmes’ weren’t a normal family. They were the Holmes’.
In the morning Lisbeth walked down sleepily still wearing her pyjamas and her favourite TARDIS patched cardigan. Tiptoeing to the kitchen she prepared a big cup of coffee to herself. Although she was British and drank tea at five o’clock, she was a huge coffee enthusiast. A day without coffee was wasted, not to mention unmanageable. She was within the ace of flinging down directly on Sherlock as he was lying on the coach. She, however, avoided the accident and didn’t even spill her drink. This situation reminded her to the one when they first met, of course without almost falling. Sherlock looked like he was praying, but she suspected that it was about something else. The detective concentrated, she could almost hear the cogs stirring, most definitely he was thinking. He sensed that the girl was there examining him. Lisbeth sat down quietly and watched him while sipping coffee. He looked so peaceful lying on the coach in the middle of muddle. Because of course, he hadn’t tidied the mess up. Lisbeth never expected that he would. And Sherlock knew that the girl was aware of this fact. This was one of their silent agreements.
‘You know, I’m not that type who must tidy up if she sees a mess,’ Lisbeth broke the silence.
‘No. You’re that kind who sees a fight in the middle of the night in her flat, acts like it’s a perfectly normal thing, and when she’s fed up with it knocks out the attacker and goes back to sleep like nothing happened,’ murmured the detective while his magnificent ice blue eyes were still closed.
‘I can’t decide whether it was a compliment or a complaint,’ taxed the girl her brain.
‘It was a compliment,’ the ice blue eyes opened and landed on her.
‘Good answer, ‘she winked her eye at him. After a moment of silence she inquired. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m in my mind palace. I was, before you interrupted,’ he added grumpily.
‘And what’s that?’
‘It’s a technique. I never forget anything because I archive everything significant in it.’
‘And what’s significant for you? I guess, not birthdays. Mine is on the seventh of January by the way.’
‘Everything that could be useful in my carrier,‘ he ignored her comment, ‘common knowledge that is being taught in the schools is insignificant and irrelevant.’
‘So everything that I know. You’ve deleted all that knowledge.’
‘Literally.’
‘Then what is it like in your ingenious, specimen brain?’ the girl pressed close to Sherlock. As they eyed Lisbeth lost for a second in the detective’s special eyes. She couldn’t tell their colour. It was the colour of the ocean after a storm. Stop, Lisbeth!- she warned herself. It was a weird moment as the air sparkled between them.
‘For instance London’s map,’ Sherlock cleared his throat and the moment went away. The girl blinked in confusion, but she didn’t question the detective.
‘Why a palace though?’ She asked finally. Sherlock was caught by surprise, of course just a little bit.
‘Why isn’t a library? It would be more sensible. A palace is so… scenical.’
‘What’s your problem with my palace?’ Sherlock burst out petulantly.
‘Nothing, I was just saying-’
‘Client!’ Mrs Hudson’s voice twinkled from downstairs.
‘I’m in my pyjamas’ sprang up the girl.
‘What’s wrong with that? I was in a blanket in Buckingham Palace,’ added the detective to the wall because the girl was already upstairs.
‘It’s always about palaces!’
5 minutes later when the client was just about to sit down Lisbeth came back. She wasn’t wearing make-up, but otherwise she looked perfect. Her hair, her outfit, everything. Sherlock puckered his brows.
‘Don’t worry. You’re maybe the cleverest person in the world, but you’ll never understand women,’ enlightened him the girl.
‘Maybe?’ frowned Sherlock one of his eyebrows, in response Lisbeth put out her tongue playfully. She was curious which part of her sentence would the detective pick at. He didn’t disappoint her.
‘Now that you’re here, we can start it,’ Sherlock clapped his hands keenly. Normally he wouldn’t be excited about a simple client, but now he had an eager pupil so he could show off.
‘This is Mr Brown; he wants to know whether his wife is cheating on him. I’ll explain everything if you’re capable of comprehending and learning it, the next will be yours,’ Sherlock spoke directly to the girl ignoring the confused client. At the very moment when Lisbeth nodded the detective started.
‘38, official, married at least for 10 year, two kids, one small dog. Stressful life, middle-class, smoker, his wife definitely is cheating on him. He’s wearing suit that suggests some kind of office work, furthermore desk job because you can notice the pale line on his forearm.’
‘The edge of the table,’ remarked the girl.
‘Yes. In the packet of his suit there’s a pen, it’s from his office. He smokes. He has a family which has to be maintained, it means a lot of work and of course his life is stressful. He works long hours and doesn’t sleep enough. Circles round his eyes, the coffee spot on his tie. Given these facts it’s obvious that he’s a smoker. Though the nicotine patch under his shirt is the main evidence.’
‘And what about the lighter in his pocket?’ asked the girl keenly.
‘Yes, I was just about to mention it. Then, the ring. It’s not new, little scratches on it.’
‘Desk job. He notes a lot his ring grazes when writes. Left handed.’
‘Apparently. Phone in the right pocket of his jacket, left handed. The fur on his trousers is from his dog, but it ranges just the middle of his calf which means that the dog can’t be taller than that. Wife, small dog, stressful life to earn enough money, obvious they’ve got children. His wife is at home with them; well, when she’s not at the neighbour. She has a lot of free time and tired husband. What does an attractive woman do in this situation? Over-simple. I wouldn’t waste time with it if you weren’t here.’
Lisbeth kept quiet while she was examining the poor client. He looked like he’s regretted coming there. The girl felt sorry for this fellow, but Sherlock was waiting for the compliment.
‘Ok. I came to that conclusion, too. Obviously, not as brilliantly as you did.’
‘That’s it?‘ expanded his hands the client. ‘No questions, no wonderment, no refutation, no accusation that he’s just made it up? Are you guys doing this daily?’
‘He justified everything logically, so there’s nothing to wonder.’
‘Lisbeth, how do you see it?’ Sherlock ignored the man.
‘Well, I have to admit that I hadn’t noticed all the data, but! He’s been just sitting there patiently while you were telling everything about him like he wasn’t there. If I were him, I would’ve knocked you out after 30 seconds,’ The client smiled and coincidently nodded. ‘Considering this, the wedding ring, the job, he has kids. And his outfit. Look at him. Brownish suit, black shoes, blue shirt, and that hideous tie. I’m sorry, but if your wife would’ve seen it, she would never ever let you step out of your house. For that reason she’s been away. And here come the aforementioned consequences. In other words, I’m regret to inform you, but all these facts suggest that she’s cheating on you.’
‘Seriously, his outfit?’ grizzled Sherlock. ‘I examined everything and… his outfit?’
‘Well, thank you for your… help,’ stood the client up confusingly. He shook his head and he couldn’t decide whether he should be angry or happy. As a consolation prize he met two people who were crazier than him. Furthermore they lived together. It’s time to start a new life. The girl saw that he’ll be okay so she smiled at her. Sherlock didn’t look at him, he just seethed alone.
‘It was a pleasure meeting the Holmes,’ said goodbye the client and left. Lisbeth giggled.
‘She’s not my wife!’ yelled the detective, but it was too late.
‘You know, he could’ve believed that I was your sister’ smiled the girl from ear to ear folding her arm.
‘Nonsense. We don’t even look alike,’ replied at once the detective.
‘Yeah, keep saying that,’ sat down the girl contentedly.
And they went on doing this during the whole week. Clients came with their problem, they listened to their description (who more calmly, who more furiously), but after all the Holmes’ solved all their cases so they had no reason to complain. Or Sherlock believed that. Lisbeth was having a whale of a time watching people, examining them and their reaction. Sherlock satisfied her thirst for knowledge and after the showing off, he asked her opinion. They were a good team. Lisbeth continued saying that whereas Sherlock knew that. Eventually the mess was cleaned up by Mrs Hudson and the girl. John looked in a few times, stopped the clients before they could punch the detective in the face. Sometimes he felt like a dad with two handful children. Lisbeth was basically reasonable, but definitely not when she was with Sherlock. When John moved out he feared leaving his friend alone. At first he thought that she could control Sherlock. Then he realised that she didn’t intend to do it. They prone to be dangerous, but on the other hand they had a sweet side when the acted like an old, married couple. It was funny to watch them. Sometimes the soldier was concerned about the welfare of the word, sometimes he just giggled and shook his head. The girl was the moral compass of the detective, or on the contrary, she was also the magnet next to the compass.
Lisbeth liked John a lot. She saw the perfect partner in him for Sherlock. She comprehended why they made such a good team. She wouldn’t tell, but she envied him, just a bit. Their friendships was the most beautiful she had ever seen.
‘Sherlock!!!’ yelled the girl in a flurry. She was sitting in the kitchen reading (this time on her own) laptop. ‘I’m on John’s blog!’
‘What?’ asked the detective doubtfully and with two leaps he was behind the girl’s back. He leaned against the table leaving just a few inches between him and her. Sherlock didn’t intend to embarrass her, but Lisbeth’s heart started to beat rapidly. She could smell the detective’s scent and feel his breath on her head. She slowly took a deep breath in order to behave properly (not like an idiot teenage girl). She couldn’t decide whether it meant nothing for him, or he was just so curious that he didn’t pay attention to play the emotionless sociopath so his gestures revealed him. She didn’t manage to figure it out, though.
‘Sherlock quickly found, too quickly if I am being self-respecting, a new companion to himself, though I don’t blame him, as the new side-kick is taller and much prettier than me, but still blonde. And it might be important to mention at this point, just to avoid confusion later on, is a young woman. So far she lives up to my legacy of keeping Sherlock alive, although sometimes I can’t decide which of them is more thrilled when it comes to solving a crime. I’ll certainly keep you updated on the adventures of the blonde girl and the detective,’ quoted Lisbeth John’s blog. ‘Uncle will kill both of us if he reads it. Not to mention my father. And Mycroft.’
‘Have you spoken with my brother? That’s getting worse. Next time when I go to the shop, the assistant will have been already checked.’
‘Firstly, you never go to the shop. Secondly, it’s not just about you,’ turned around the girl facing Sherlock. The distance between them was just one inch. Sherlock shrank his eyes.
‘What did he want? Have you met him before?’ asked the detective finally. Lisbeth didn’t feel that it was the right time to enlighten Sherlock about his father. She had a plan B.
‘Nothing. We just both know that you like the blonde ones,’ smiled proudly the girl, implying the fact that John was straw-haired too. As they eyed Lisbeth’s stomach turned a somersault. Surprisingly the detective didn’t disprove the statement just examined her. He was just about to reply when Mrs Hudson cut in.
‘Greg is waiting outside!’ as she yelled, Sherlock turned around and Lisbeth quietly let the air rush from her lungs. The moment went away again. Mrs Hudson had a great sense to choose the most unsuitable time to throw in. Or it was in the nick of time.
‘Brilliant, a murder!’ cheered Sherlock ‘Lisbeth, what are you waiting for?’
The girl shook her head, cleared her throat and stood up. She was still a bit confused, but there was no time for that. Sherlock literally put her coat on her, not in a romantic way, in the “murder-come-on-finally-something-interesting-hurry-up” way. But then he gallantly offered his arm.
‘Blonde girl, would you like to join me in a murder?’
‘You mean solving a murder, don’t you?’
‘This is the disadvantage if you’re with a sociopath, you never know,’ winked at her the detective. Lisbeth of course was in on the racket.
‘You’ll be the next victim if you keep doing this with me, giving equivocal signs,’ she thought.