BBC Sherlock: A Good Neighbor

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock was captured by his brother. Who took him, gave him a hair cut, a shave, and new clothes before he was forced to return to London. He returned to Molly first, just talking with her and smiling gently as she explained what had happened since he had been gone. They chatted for nearly two hours just on what had happened to him, to her, to John, to Lestrade, and to Mrs. Hudson. He then visited Mrs. Hudson who nearly had a heart attack from seeing him again. Once she calmed down, they were able to have an actual conversation and she scolded him for a good hour as he listened. Not interjecting. He knew disappearing was wrong, and he should have told them, but he also needed the assassins to really believe he was dead so that they wouldn't monitor them.


And lastly, he went to John, who apparently had a girlfriend of at least a year and a half. Sherlock was happy John had found someone he loved, someone that could take care of him. To say the least that it was an awful encounter would be an understatement. Sherlock got decked twice. Even worse, John was angry with Sherlock. For very good reasons, but he also was very happy his friend was back. Sherlock returned to his old flat, in fact Mrs. Hudson had ended up just keeping everything instead of donating it to a school as she had said she would, as she found it too painful to pack up.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Olivia couldn't sleep most nights. The apartment was far too quiet. There were no sirens or shouting or gunshots. At least, not at the right times or in the right way. Her days were distinct and routine. She didn't want silence. She didn't want getting a normal amount of sleep every night. She didn't want neighbors that were stupid and boring. How could she ever go back to a regular life after having lived with Sherlock Holmes? After having loved him?


She could admit that to herself now, that she loved him. But, it was far too late. Now, it only made every thought of him cut deeper, it made every tear for him sting more. There was no way she could cope. Not alone. Not in a place like this. Not with having everyone who was once her friend despise for one mistake. It only drove her further into her addictions. She was addicted to the nights where faces blurred and memories were too twisted to be believable. Because it she didn't remember what happened those nights, she wouldn't have to remember him.

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock was bored now. He had returned as per request of his brother for an upcoming case, but he wasn't entirely sure that he need to do. He looked around his flat for a moment as he stared off into the distance for a minute as he sighed to himself. What really was he supposed to do? Deciding he needed food, he headed to the supermarket. Now that he was back and visited all of his friends, he didn't feel the need to hide from strangers. Though most people wouldn't recognize a dead man who died two years ago and was hardly considered famous.


He shuffled through the store with a cart. Needing to completely restock a fridge as he moved before getting to the milk. Staring at it blankly for a minute. Now that it was his own flat, he didn't feel the need to buy John's milk. But he also didn't know what he preferred. So he just chose the color that he was feeling that day. As he'd been given advice to do from before.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Today was a bad day. She couldn't remember what initially reminded her of Sherlock, but now everything did. She needed something new, something stronger now. Grabbing her coat and promptly heading out the door, she calls in sick to work. After days like today, there was no way she'd be able to be a functional member of society, for the next few hours at a minimum. She flags down a taxi after getting clearance to miss work, giving the cabbie an address a few blocks off from the nearest crack house.


Watching the decrepit houses roll back, she has a sudden pang of doubt about what she was about to do. She would never let Sherlock do this. She would barely even let him have a nicotine patch. Sherlock. Sherlock's dead. She snaps herself out of her daze, trying to prevent herself from having an episode in a public place. The cabbie soon pulls up to the address and she hands out the fare with a halfhearted, "Cheers." Now, it was time to walk.

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock a few days later moved to begin an investigation that he had been working on now for a few days. Sighing to himself as he headed into the crack house he would unfortunately have to infiltrate in order to gain knowledge from the druggies there. He was wandering through the halls, and though he appeared very high, he was not. Just looking at the people who were there as he passed through. Never mingling long in one spot, he had done intensive research on drug addicts before he left for the house. He would be able to stay there for a few days before he would have to leave to get anything of real substance.


It was quite simple, pester the people who were in there. He knew they wouldn't be able to say anything to anyone because they would soon forget it because of their drug addiction, and want to get their hands on cocaine as fast as possible. It was rather perfect.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Olivia was, unfortunately, more of a regular to this particular house than she would like to admit. It was less of a house and more of small apartment building. It's sad state and mediocre location made it the perfect hang out for druggies. When she was in places like these, she went by her middle name and that only. It made it easier to separate it from her reality. She had tried a variety of different things in this place and places similar that she wasn't all too proud of.


She walks into the building, slipping into a room that she identified as her own. Of course, no one really had their own property in a place like this but there were some things you could keep around that no one else took interest in. The room was a moderate size with a mattress and assorted blankets, a window, and a closet with a shelf housing sketchbooks, her sketchbooks. It wasn't exactly high class but, in a place like this, it wasn't bad. She catches sight of something in the closet and slides the door over to reveal a painting of Sherlock on the wall. "Fucking Christ..." She sighs. She knew she had a habit of sketching most nights she couldn't recall and Sherlock frequented those pictures. He was always on her mind. That never changed. Just sometimes she was able to push thoughts of him to her subconscious. She tosses her coat into the closet and shuts it before leaving the room to find a dealer.

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock was standing at the outside of a room where a lot of people were mingling. He assumed this was where the drugs originated from. Seeing a handful of people who were clearly stoned, but those people were on the floor. He sighed to himself, everyone here was so stoned that it was easy for him to fake being semi-high. The only people who were mostly sober were the people who had just arrived and were looking to get their fix. Sherlock sighed to himself again. This was absolutely dreadful. He hated druggies. Drugs turned ordinary people into hollow bodies with no thoughts that wandered around and mumbled odd nothings to themselves. That was why Sherlock did nicotine patches, because he didn't have to worry about destroying his drain at such a rapid pace of those who frequented often.


His eyes glanced over the people in the room as he saw a few new ones arrive from a few different hallways. On the floor there was newspapers from months ago, and it smelled awful. Like urine and a mixing of drugs that didn't appeal to anyone's senses. The people here were in worse shape than the smell, but that was the first thing a person would notice about them, they all smelled horrid. It took nearly all of his self control to keep from gagging when he walked inside. They were always in large oversized clothing that were typically dark in color, and their hair was greasy. Their breath stank, and their eyes were either a red hue, or dilated. Overall, perfectly stereotypical of a house such as this.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Two years. It had been two years of being in and out of places like this. She knew what it did to people seeing as it was fairly hard to notice the people you occasionally had to step over to get where you were going. It was only really bad days when she ended up coming here. Olivia wasn't in a terrible state currently, but she wasn't in a perfect one either. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, varying sixes of strands falling loose, and her clothes were a size or two too big and not flattering in any sense of the word. Appearances didn't matter here. Even if they did, she'd be in the upper rungs of the bunch.


Olivia heads back to the main room of the building where some miscellaneous mattresses were thrown on the ground. The walls and floor were covered in overlapping art of varying styles caused by the varying drugs that could be found here. Scanning the room for a dealer, she catches sight of an oddly familiar mop of dark curly hair. At first, she couldn't place it. She didn't want to place it. Everything was happening in slow motion in her mind. She walks over, placing a hand of Sherlock's shoulder and whirling him around to face her. She wished she was high enough for this all to be fake. She wished she could blow off the sight of the man standing in front of her as a hallucination. "What the hell are you doing here?"

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock was still analyzing the people that were laying on the floor. Everyone here was so simple to read. No complicated quirks, all basically the same with varying degrees of abuse and home lives that drove them here. He didn't hear the footsteps approaching, but when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he was ready to break their nose. His eyes moving down wards in surprised, he had assumed it had been a man, the man at the front door as his eyes landed on the woman. His eyes scanning over her as his eye brows raised as he re-analyzed her from the last time he'd seen her. She'd clearly gone and ruined her life. "Such a nice way to greet a dead friend, crack whore." He stated bluntly as he moved from her small hand. He didn't want her touching him.


Sherlock would not spare her of his opinions. He had no sympathy for the woman that ruined his best friends lives and her own by turning to recreational drugs. He scanned over her before shoving his hands into his pockets and walking away from her to the other side of the room. He wasn't here to talk to people from his past. He'd already visited all the ones he needed to. It was a short list, four people.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

She watches Sherlock walk away, staring after him. What he said definitely cut deep, but she tried to remind herself that what she said before his death cut deeper from his prospective. Hesitating briefly, she walks back over to him and grabs his wrist. "No... No. One thing. I get to show you one thing then you can say or think whatever you want." She drags him back to the the room, ignoring whatever argument he put up. She slides open the closet and grabs the five bound sketchbooks off the shelf, dropping them at his feet. Every one was filled with a variety of pictures and notes all of or to him.


"Two years. Two years and I can't go a day without thinking of you. Moriarty was able to fool everyone into thinking you were a fake. Is it that hard to believe that the same happened to me? I know I'm not going to be forgiven. I know I'm not going to get sympathy. I don't want it. But if I didn't care, if I never cared, this wouldn't happen." She nods, taking in the sight of him for just a moment before grabbing her coat and leaving. She was going back to her apartment while she could still hold herself together.

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock sighed deeply, he allowed her to pull him back to where ever she was taking him. He could have easily over powered her due to his strength, size, and well...she wasn't doing too hot because of her substance abuse that deteriorated some of her muscles. Watching her pull out the sketch books as she dumped them on the floor, the picture on the wall was evidence enough as he scooped them up. Flipping through the pages as he glanced at her. "I'm taking these. I'll give them back. I want to see them." He stated as he shifted the books into one arm to watch her as she spoke about always thinking about him.


Sherlock watched her attempt to defend herself. "You know, Moriarty didn't convince everyone. He didn't get to the four most important people in my life." He stated as he watched her closely for a minute as his fingers reached out and wrapped around her wrist tightly. "Nope. You're coming with me." He said as he began tugging her in the other direction, out the door and down to the right. Towards Baker Street. His grasp was tight, there would be no escaping his grasp this time.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

She didn't quite try to fight going with him. To be honest, she wanted nothing more than to be with him. "Sherlock, please. No one wants to see me. They made that quite clear." She really didn't know how to feel. She was happy he was alive, sad that he didn't feel the need to let her know, angry that Sherlock Holmes of all people jumped to conclusions. Right now, not having an emotional breakdown in front of him was taking the majority of her focus.


"I mean, Mrs. Hudson kicked me out for a reason." She adds with a sad chuckle, looking to the ground as he pulls her along. Feeling the liquid well up in her eyes, she sighs and refuses to lift her head. Maybe if she was lucky, she'd stop crying before he turned his attention back to her. He never was a sentimental person and if he was in a bad mood, like she assumed he was, he wasn't going to be too kind.

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock glanced back at her as they waited at a cross walk, his eyes watching the signal before tugging her back towards the flat as he glanced again back at her. "Well, first of all you aren't getting a choice in this. Second, I'm not taking you to see anyone else, you're coming to explain everything and such once we have some privacy." He stated simply, his voice wasn't angry or calm. Just neutral, which was weird for him, because it was normally arrogant.


"Yes. Mrs. Hudson kicked you out because John asked her to, and partially because she was very angry at what you did. But she only kicked you out, she never said I couldn't have you in my own flat." He stated again, pushing the door open to the flat as he gestured for her to enter as he shut the door behind them and moved into the clean kitchen. Dropping her sketches on the table as he began making tea for the both of them. "Start at the beginning. Be detailed and leave nothing out. But keep in mind this is a story not a defense."

 

[RealisticFantasy]

She walks into 221B, clenching her jaw at the sight of the flat. She could imagine that it hadn't been two years. Of course, it was odd to know John was going to be around. In this case, it was relieving as well. He had gotten married, she read in his blog. "Well, it began after we cooked that chicken and I went back down to my flat. I received a call from a blocked number..."


She continues on with her story, careful not to leave out anything she remembered and stumbling slightly on the details that were hazy. She talked about the school of people, her script, the texts from Moriarty, and her chat with Molly. Ending it with what happened between her and John, she glances back over to Sherlock. He was alive. He was still okay. That meant the world to her, but it would hardly matter if he decided he hated her and cut her off entirely like John had. "That's it. Unless you want me to talk about your funeral that I couldn't actually come to."

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock moved around and eventually handed her a cup, just the way she liked it as he leaned against the counter, listening for a minute as he nodded. "John already told me you were there. He was mad. He thought you were there to ruin it. Like mockery or something." Sherlock said before glancing at her. "Clearly that's not it. Let me see if I can finish it for you. You got kicked out, found a small place, was forced to get an actual job. You picked up recreational substance abuse because you were unable to handle the guilt of being part of the reason I was dead and the only way to cope was when you were high or drunk." He told her as he watched her for a moment.


Sherlock had decided that he had two simple options to choose between. Either he could hate her forever, or he could forgive her. One would result in her ending up killing herself from guilt and regret, and the other would result in the both of them learning how to be around each other again.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

"I told you I have a habit of making stupid decisions." She looks down into her cup of tea, not being able to do much else. The silence gave her a moment to think. But, the only words that came to mind were the ones that she couldn't seem to stop repeating. "I'm sorry. That's all I can say. If there was any way that I thought I could've avoided it, I would have done it. If he was threatening my life, I wouldn't have said it. But, I couldn't let those people die. I couldn't let so many people suffer to spare my own feelings. I much rather have you and John and Mrs. Hudson, everyone on this planet if it came down to it, hate me instead of knowing that I made parents see their children die." She sets the cup of tea on the counter near her. She wasn't really in the mood for tea.

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock watched her try to defend herself as he sighed tiredly. "You do realize if I had been truly angry at you then I would not have brought you here." He stated as he went to sit in his seat.


"Olivia. I think you give yourself too much credit where I'm involved. No matter if you had made that phone call or not I would have had to jump off that building to save my friends. Don't put too much blame on your shoulders."

 

[RealisticFantasy]

"I hardly think I mean that much to you, that I ever did or ever will. But, the idea that those could have been my last words to you..." She sighs, shaking her head. "Two years. I thought you were dead. It could have been over and done with. I could have gone back to the States and I didn't. What have you done to me?" She chuckles softly but stops as soon as she catches sight of herself in the mirror.


"Oh, God. I look disgusting. Very much like... A crack whore." She mumbles to herself, giving him a sideways glance. "I should go back to my place and get cleaned up. I'm sure you don't want to be staring at this hideousness for too much longer."

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

"Why did you stay? Why'd you continue in a country with no friends. No family. No anything." He asked looking at her confused as he leaned back a bit in his seat watching her. Despite what she had said, he didn't think the signs of attraction she had shown were false. They were little things, but Moriarty had been trying to get everyone to go against him. Even with John, though he thankfully stayed loyal. Without his support Sherlock would have completely crumbled.


"Olivia, you sacrificed my life for hundreds of others. You pushed away your feelings in order to do what was right, that's very admirable in my book. I sacrificed my own life for the safety of four people, three really. Moriarty wasn't smart enough to consider Molly. And, you can shower in my bathroom if you'd like."

 

[RealisticFantasy]

"Why did I do all the other stupid things I've ever done? Humans are flawed by nature, some more than others." She finds her gaze shifting to the pile of sketchbooks. She was fairly certain that at least one of those books continued the three words she was far from ready to admit to Sherlock. Never in her life had she said them to anyone but family. It was the cause of more than a few breakups. It was easier to deny when they had only just met. It grew a bit harder to deny when she thought of him every day, dreamt of him every night, and all those silly little things that would remind her of him. Though she would never admit it, Olivia was scared.


Back in the states, she had been somewhat of a heart breaker. She had never initiated a relationship and she rarely had feelings toward someone to make her feel that they were 'the one.' Her relationships had been purely physical and some had only existed to further her career. She hadn't been cruel, per say, but she had definitely been emotionally distanced. Perhaps that's where her love of romantic movies, despite being unrealistic, sprouted from. She had a deep desire for something that she didn't really know she was capable of. She wanted to love and be loved. And, she had no idea why Sherlock was the only man who had managed to reel her in.


"The issue with me showering here is that I don't have clothes to change into. I hardly want to get back into these." She looks down at the clothes she was wearing. She couldn't remember obtaining them, let alone deciding that they were a good clothing choice for going out in public.

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock watched her for a moment as he sighed gently. "Well, with the size you've seem to grown partial to I think I have a few things that might work for you. Or I can always give you something else if you'd like." He murmured standing up and heading towards the bathroom as he turned on the water for her before moving her into the room. Shutting the door behind her as he sighed to himself and headed to his own room for a pair of athletic shorts a woman had left in his flat. As well as a t-shirt John had forced him to buy.


Placing the articles of clothing inside the bathroom as she showered before going back into the kitchen and making himself a cup of tea before sitting down to look through the books. He took the first one on top and pulled it so it was sitting in front of him as he opened the pages. His eyes scanning over the small passage of writing, it was poorly written, probably from her composed state before he sat back in his seat as he flipped through the pages, scanning through them as he frowned slightly, she hadn't lied when she stated she'd been practically obsessed with a dead man.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

She watches Sherlock collect the things and bring them to the bathroom. Giving him a small nod, she enters the bathroom and locks the door behind her. She lets out a sigh that's inaudible to Sherlock due to the sound of running water. The transition was far too quick for her to process it entirely. Less than an hour ago, she had thought he was still dead. She had thought she was entirely alone, a whole ocean away from a person that she knew didn't hate her. She should feel angry or happy or something instead of the emotional numbness that had become far too routine.


Staring at herself in the mirror, she begins to undress slowly. She couldn't believe the sight of herself. She looked pathetic and sick, certainly not anything close to what she had looked like two years ago. Two years. She had spent two years, thinking Sherlock was dead but she never really spent a day without him. She couldn't have gone ten minutes without something reminding her of him. Stepping into the shower and letting the warm water wash over her, she decides to take her time. Sherlock may have analyzed her attraction before but she doubted he was one to fully understand the extent of her feeling. After all, even she didn't until some time after his 'death.'

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

Sherlock went through the first book before sighing again to himself as he pushed one away before pulling the other to him. He flipped through it, his eyes scanning over the many pictures of himself as he sighed lightly to himself, this was borderline psychotic, but then again so what he.


Sherlock eventually got through all of the books, she seemed to improve her skills over time of drawing while she was under the influence, but otherwise, the subject matter was all the same. Sighing to himself as he headed to the living room where he sat, staring out the window for a short minute before looking and waiting for her. Wondering why she was taking so long, but he didn't move to bother her. On the table laid the page with the words I love you and a drawing of him. It was facing out so she could see it when she came out.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Finally, after having soaked in the shower for as long as she could without becoming a prune or eliciting concern from Sherlock, she shuts off the water and slips out of the shower, squeezing the excess water from her hair into the shower. After changing into the new set of clothes, she examines herself in the mirror briefly. Her damp hair clings to her skin and she looked a few shades too pale, but she was beginning to look a lot more like her old self. More importantly, she was beginning to feel like her old self. For the time being, things were going okay. She inhales deeply, trying to indulge in the feeling before stepping out into the room with inevitably held unwelcome tensions.


Her hand hovers the door knob, covered in a thin veil of condensation. The only way it wouldn't become the topic of conversation was if he hadn't found it. That seemed unlikely, given the ample amount of time she had provided him with by taking the longest shower of her lifetime. She again glances over to the mirror, her reflection. This is what her affection had turned her into. She had become pathetic, weak, stupid - stupider than she had been before. Now, she worked in an grey-clad office in a tiny cubicle with co-workers whose names she didn't know, whose names she didn't care to know. A pang of hesitation suggests she make an escape route, that she not get caught up in this immediately after she had broken free. After weighing her options, she lets out a small sigh. There was only one choice for her.


She opens the door, letting out a small cloud of steam swirl out into the much cooler atmosphere before stepping out. Looking over toward him, her hope of him not finding it is crushed as her gaze falls on the drawing. "What'cha got there?" She asks slowly, unsure to expect the typical sarcastic response or something different. Now, it was a whole new playing field. Last time she checked, Sherlock was an expert in everything except human nature. She didn't know whether to be serious or playful, direct or discreet. She wanted him to lead the conversation, to say something, anything to give her a hint to the best course of action. The last thing she wanted was to scare him off - what a thought! Scaring a grown man off - now they had returned to some form of normality. Walking over toward him, she hesitates a few feet away until he responds.

 

[Kellie Jemmings]

His eyes watched hers fall upon the drawing as his lips tugged upwards in a smirk, she was embarrassed. Perfect. Two years ago, her standing with precipitation dripping down her back onto his shirt with her looking so frazzled and embarrassed would have brought a smile to his face. Now, he reacted as he would to any one who was embarrassed around him. With arrogance and intelligence. Perhaps he hadn't had forgiven her as much as he claimed. The analysis that was swirling in his head with rude words that were laced with anger were the main thoughts. His elbows rested on the arms of the black worn leather chair as the tips of his fingers pressed together with his hand resting right below his lips as his tongue darted out and moistened his pink lips.


His hostility towards the woman he had once felt something for was confusing even to him. He didn't hold a grudge towards her for her actions, but Sherlock didn't know what the feeling was that he felt. It was betrayal. She had wounded his closed off heart, prior to the phone call, he had inch by inch letting her tear down his very sturdy walls. When she had called him, he had his trust broken. That never happened because the people Sherlock trusted were thin and few between. After the phone call, those walls were back up and higher than ever, they were so high that he hadn't planned on returning to London for many more years. If at all. Thanks to his brother, he was forced back because the London government was incompetent. Apologies were simple words that didn't mean anything except to dismiss the feelings of the other person.


"Your confession that you are in fact a Sherlock Holmes fan. Perhaps my number one fan." He stated without any infliction in his voice as his eyes watched her movements, any twitch or wince, his eyes followed like she was his prey. "I bet you were in Anderson's club about theories that I was in fact breathing. What was it called again? The empty hearse?"