The Detective (A Sherlock Fan-Fic) (Under Editing)

LUCY'S P.O.V

One week later.

I sipped at my coffee staring absent mindedly at the television as Stephen Fry laughed loudly at Alan Davis got yet another thing wrong.  They laughed once again at something before I turned the television off, nothing is interesting, everything is just so boring! I almost dropped my cup, oh God, I sound like him.  I shook my head before placing my cup on the coffee table and getting up and grabbing my phone off the kitchen table, I still haven't read it, the message, the message he sent me almost two years ago.  I scrolled through our past conversations, many about things such as getting nicotine patches and how he would meet me somewhere against my will, finally I came to the final message, the message.

Lucy, please come back, I'm sorry, I didn't realise.  Baker Street's quiet without you and I'm bored, Mrs Hudson wants to see you again so you might as well come over, you probably won't ever read this message, please if you ever do read this reply, I miss you.

SH

My fingers hovered over the small keyboard on the phone for a second before I turned my phone off, don't reply to him, you'll just give him hope.  I closed my eyes momenterally imaging him writing that message in his dressing down in Baker Street, probably holding his morning tea in his other hand.  One other skill I'm still haven't mastered, texting with one hand.  I opened my eyes again, staring once again at my flat, as boring as ever, shit!  There it is again! No, no, stop it, forget him, he's in the wrong, you know he is, forget about Sherlock fucking Holmes!  I can't, I can't forget him, his laugh, his unintentional insults, the way he'd hover over me before leaning down and resting his forehead against mine, the way he'd turn up at the bistro and annoy Andre, the way he talked when he deduced, the way he'd walk quicker just so he would seem like the Alpha of the group, the way he'd wrap his arms around me when the flat was cold.  Everything, every single thing I can't forget, he's implanted in my memory, somewhere where he can't be forgotten.  For a second I heard the sound of him plucking at the strings of the violin, making a small tune.  It's like he's a ghost set to haunt me, little things remind me of him, blue scarves, curly hair, long coats, high cheekbones.  I guess to me he has always been the Detective and in my mind he'll always will be.

SHERLOCK'S P.O.V

221B Baker Street.

I flicked through the pictures on my phone that had just been sent through, pictures of the woman, her lying on the sofa, her with her phone in the kitchen, her staring at her flat.  Boring, nothing helpful, no signs of any threat towards her.  I texted back, telling them to keep check and was instantly responded by numerous yes'.  My hand fell onto the empty space next to me, she lay there and would often roll over to cuddle me, or nuzzle her head into my neck, her sleeping habits.  I placed my phone onto the bedside table before stretching and grabbing one of my slippers off the floor and pulling out a cigarette and lighter.  I smiled at the cigarette, since John's been gone I've seen a lot of you.  I lit the cigarette before popping the end in my mouth and drawing in slowly before taking the cigarette out of my mouth and breathing out, watching as the smoke twisted patterns in the air.  My phone bleeped and I stared down at it, my eyes scanning over the message.

I'll be at yours in a minute Shezza, can't wait to see you ;)

-Janine

I rolled my eyes, just another piece in my jigsaw puzzle to get to Magnussen.  Seven meetings with the Prime minister already this year, it has almost beaten Mycrofts' record, he won't be happy.  I drew on the cigarette again before breathing the smoke out, I wonder whether Lucy smokes anymore?  None of the pictures show her doing so but she seems to be drinking considerable amounts of coffee, maybe she's trying harder to give it up.  I placed my cigarette in the ash tray on the bedside table before closing my eyes and somehow losing consciousness.