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A Study in Pink (II)

Part Two of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 B Baker Street.

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SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Word Count: 5. k

Trigger Warning: Mention of Suicides, Gunshots, and Sherlock being Sherlock.

Y/N finally has her first interaction with Sherlock!!

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It’s an odd feeling to be woken up with a furry weapon of destruction lying on top of one’s face. However, Y/N was used to it. She was used to her tiny devil gently suffocating her as a memo to feed and worship him. By the time that appeared on her phone, it was clear to her that Bjørn had not adjusted to the new time zone–neither had she. The two of them rose very early in the morning when not a single soul was out. The sky was still dark with the remnants of the night as Y/N made her way to make herself a cup of coffee. She groaned realising it was still safely tucked away in the cardboard boxes she had shipped from home. This is my home now, Y/N corrected.

She wrapped her shawl close to her body. She mentally scolded herself for not unpacking any kitchen gear. A decision which she is now paying the consequences for. She rummaged through the boxes looking for the familiar label of KITCHEN STUFF. Finally, she found it and tore open the top. By now Bjørn had begun to meow.

“I know,” Y/N reassured. “Just give me a second Bjørn.”

The cat strolled up next to her, sitting down. His yellow eyes peered up at her through. They glowed underneath the dimly lit lights. His fluffy tail flopped around as he patiently waited for his food. After a few minutes, the familiar crack of the can’s seal was heard. Y/N dumped the canned cat food into Bjørn’s bowl. The cat’s ears perked up in interest. He headbutted her legs before jumping up on the counter to dig into his food.

While Bjørn was occupied eating his breakfast, Y/N turned on her favourite tunes and began to unpack. The comforting voice of her favourite artist guided her hand as placed the dishes and kitchen tools into their new homes. Her tired mind turned into music, allowing her body to work away, unpacking and making her new flat a home.

It was when she heard creaking from above that she snapped out of her daze. The sun was now above the horizon. Its warm rays lit up the streets as people went about their business. Her stomach grumbled; her kitchen was now unpacked. Finally, she could eat, except…She cracked open her fridge and pantry to find it completely empty. A groan escaped her mouth as she blamed all her problems on the jet lag. She turned away from the cold buzzing refrigerator to take in the view of her new flat.

Y/N had rearranged the furniture as best she could without disturbing the others in their slumber. The apartment had never looked better and had never been more of a home. On the walls there hung precious memories: her family’s smiles, friends from college, and Bjørn as a kitten. Besides the pictures hung works of art that she had collected throughout the years. In the center of the living room sat a large velvet green couch. One of which Bjørn made himself comfortable, taking his second nap of the day. Beside the couch sat two chairs both made of dark wood cushioned with matching burnt pink pillows. On the mantle, she placed mementoes from her travels and small pictures filled with more memories.

She sighed and placed her hands on her hips. Slowly she made her way over to the curtains. She pulled them back to reveal a bright and bustling street. London was very much awake. Y/N decided to get a start on the day.

Her stomach practically yelled at her. She needed to eat soon. She quickly got changed for the day and offered Bjørn a quick and subtle pat on his furry head.

“Alright Bjørn, I’m off. See you when I get home”.

Then checking herself in the mirror to make sure she looked alright, she grabbed her coat and made her way out the door.

As she closed her door, the sound of creaking followed by a thud could be heard. It was John. He wore a brown overcoat, and, in his hands, he held two paper bags.

“Good morning!” Waved Y/N as she walked down the hall.

“Morning, Y/N,” smiled John. “How was your first night in London?” He asked.

“Oh, it was alright. Bjørn loves it though,” she commented. John smiled at the mention of the cat. “Whatcha got there?” She pointed towards the bags in his hand.

“Oh, just some breakfast from Speedy’s” he replied, lifting up the brown paper bags.

“Speedy’s?” asked Y/N, her stomach grumbling again. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“It’s a cafe just down the street,” John explained.

“Really?” questioned Y/N and John nodded his head in confirmation. “I’ll have to check it out.” She quickly waved goodbye to John as she reached for the doorknob.

John took that as his cue to leave. His steps climb up the stairs. “Later” He muttered, but Y/N had already stepped out onto the street.

The morning chill hit her, and she shivered. Her head turned up and down the street looking for the cafe. Her eyes gave her no clues, so she did what all people do when they are in need of direction–pulled out her phone. Her shaking fingers typed in the name of the cafe, and she was immediately shown where it was located.

The wonders of technology, she chuckled to herself.

She walked in the direction of Speedy’s. Her hair picked up in the wind. The breeze carried the delicious smell of coffee and freshly baked goods to her nose. The sky was a faint shade of blue. Her eyes scanned the street as cabs and cars drove by. There were buses that stopped to pick up passengers and people who flashed by as they walked to work.

Reaching the cafe was easier than Y/N expected. It wasn’t hard to miss the big red sign adorned with the words SPEEDY’S Sandwich Bar & Cafe. There was a bit of a line in the cafe, but Y/N didn’t mind. Right now her thoughts were being controlled by her stomach. As she waited in line, she noticed the three employees behind the counter. They seemed scrambled as they fulfilled their customer’s orders.

Maybe they need an extra hand? Y/N pondered. After all, she did need a job to keep her life and Bjørn’s life afloat here in London.

The line began to diminish, and she finally stepped up to the counter. Placing her order, she moved to the side to wait. A voice called out her name and Y/N retrieved her breakfast. She muttered a quick thanks and walked through the crowd to the door.

This time the cool breeze was combatted by the warm coffee cup in her hand. Steam rose from the tiny hole in the lid as she strolled back to her flat. Occasionally took sips of her drink, but quickly pulled back when the hot drink scorched her lips. Coming to the ebony door labelled 221 B, Y/N grabbed the shiny new set of keys out from her pocket and put them in the keyhole. She turned the key and opened the door to the building. A few moments later doing the same for her flat. She entered her home and was immediately greeted by Bjørn. She greeted the cat and set down her breakfast on the counter. Bjørn eagerly jumped up on the counter and sniffed her bag.

“Not for you,” Y/N chuckled as she snatched the bag away. She picked up Bjørn and placed him on the ground beside her. Afterwards, she opened the bag and began to dive into her breakfast. A moan escaped her mouth as the cheesy goodness of the breakfast sandwich entered her mouth.

Soon after, she cleaned up breakfast. She grabbed her computer and hopped down on the couch. Bjørn climbed up and curled up in her lap as she cracked the computer open. Creating a new tab, she began to type in the search bar. With her free hand, she pets Bjørn. His sweet purr filled Y/N’s ears as she set off into the deep net in search of a job.

Her bottom began to ache from sitting too long. She brought a hand to rub the itch from her eyes from staring at the screen too long. She closed the laptop and placed it to the side. The room was now dimly lit as the sun sank in the sky, starting to retire for the night. A loud rumbling shook Bjørn awake. He jumped off her lap and meowed in protest. She really did need to eat, so it was decided. She would take a trip to the grocery store.

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Y/N entered the grocery store and was disappointed. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she wasn’t expecting this. Growing up in the United States with humongous grocery stores that are filled to the brim with anything you could possibly need with prices that end with the glorious -.99. The grocery store in which she found herself was a mouse compared to the giant chain stores she was used to. She’d also never seen a grocery store this empty. She was quite sure as looked around the building, that she was one of three customers. The squeaky wheels of the cart groaned, screeched, and whistled in the most annoying manner possible. Y/N already felt herself going crazy. She had to get what she needed and get out of there fast.

Her shoes clacked along the black and white checkered floor. Her feet stepped over the numerous muddy footprints that stained the floor. Y/N began to miss the music played in the grocery stores back home. The music that was two decades too old would faintly play from speakers around the building. Here, in London, Y/N was left alone to her thoughts and the squeaking of the cart’s wheels as she meandered around the store finding what she needed.

To make matters worse, Y/N’s brain had taken the three-customer hypothesis to heart. She peered down at her list of groceries. Closely examining each material as her hand took a pencil to cross it off. She dragged her hand against the paper and suddenly her hand shot up, ruining her perfect straight line. The handle of her cart jutted into her stomach, and she yelped. She had knocked into something. Quickly, she began to apologize, whether it be to an inanimate object or not. A shadow of dread fell over her body, as a voice responded to her apology.

The man she had hit, had rebounded from the impact of the cart and fell into the shelf beside him. A wave of tin cans fell to the floor like dominos. Their clanging echoing off of the floor grasped the attention of every soul in the grocery store.

The man sheepishly waved at the employees and other customers whose stares bore into him. He reached down to pick up one of the cans that had fallen, placing it back on the shelf.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” apologized Y/N. She began helping the man place the cans back on the shelf.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m quite sturdy.” He replied. His voice sounded familiar in Y/N’s ears. She glanced up from the cans and looked at the man. He was crouched over, picking up can after can. She caught sight of his short blonde hair. The man sensed someone looking at him. He peered up from the cans and had to do a double take.

“John?” and “Y/N?” the two of them said at the same time. If Y/N wasn’t embarrassed before, now she was completely mortified. Of all people to run into, it had to be John.

The two of them sat frozen, crouched over the pile of silver cans. John’s ears burned red, and Y/N’s face was a deep scarlet. A cough sounded from above them and the two snapped their eyes up to look at one of the store’s employees. They couldn’t have been older than 16 and with their tired eyes, told John and Y/N that they had it taken care of. The two adults insisted that they help, but the employee was adamant. Y/N reluctantly turns back to her cart and with a creak pushes the cart along. Suddenly she was hit with a realization and turned back to the pile of cans covering the floor. The kid looked at her with a confused face and she awkwardly smiled back at him.

With her hand, she snatched one of the cans off the floor and placed it into her cart muttering, “Need this.”

Y/N looked down at her list and the words missing a line in the middle bulged out from the paper. Screw this, she thought. Y/N was done with all these embarrassing coincidences. She directed her cart toward the checkout lanes and began to check out. Barely a word was said to the employee as she paid for her groceries. Y/N knew she’d have to come back soon to get the rest of the things she needed, but after today’s occurrences, she knew she could show her face here for about a week or two.

After paying for her things, Y/N grabbed her bags and excused herself from the store. After she emerged through the sliding doors, she saw John by the road. He had hailed a cab and was just about to sit down when he saw Y/N. He called out to her, and she approached him.

“Would you like to split the cab?” He asked.

The weight of her groceries was already weighing her down. She could already feel her forearms getting sore. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

She opened the trunk of the cab and placed her groceries down. She closed the lid, sat down next to John in the back seat, and closed the door. John relayed their address to the cab driver, and they were off.

The both of them were too embarrassed from the incident in the grocery store to say anything, that was until Y/N brought up Bjørn. John’s eyes immediately lightened up at the mention of Y/N’s cat.

“How’s Bjørn?” He asked.

“Doing alright. He thinks he already owns all of 221B,” she chuckled. “Auntie M loves him. Spoils him rotten, I say.”

Another wave of silence fell over them. Y/N huffed as she considered whether or not to ask John about his flat mate, but it seemed as if he had read her mind.

“Have you met Sherlock yet?” He asked.

Y/N thought back to the conversation she overheard. “It’s not like he’s wanting to meet me. If I remember correctly, I’ll have moved out by the end of the week.” Her jaw clenched. If she knew anything by heart, it was that John was roommates with the most stuck-up man alive.

John winced at her words. “You heard that…Y/N, I’m so sorry,” He tried to apologize.

“Of course, I heard it. He’s got a loud thunderous voice. I bet people a block away heard him,” she ranted. She crossed her arms and muttered, “He’s a dick.”

John nodded in agreement. “You wouldn’t necessarily be wrong there. However...” Y/N turned to glare at John. “Alright, Y/N hear me out. Sherlock’s a good person at heart.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, right. I’ve heard how he’s treated my aunt. I can’t believe she’s let him live that long in 221B.”

“Well, yeah, “said John. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up. “How’d you meet Bjørn?” He blurted.

Y/N raised her brow. “I don’t see how this has anything to do with…”

“You’ll see later, just how’d you get Bjørn?” He reassured.

Y/N thought back to how she had gotten Bjørn and began to relay the story to John. It had only been a few years prior when had come across Bjørn. On her days off of work, she would volunteer at the animal shelter near her home. One day, a cat was brought in off the street. He was labeled as feral and did not let anyone so much as look in his direction. The cat hadn’t been eating and was in serious need of a bath and medical care, but no one could get near him. The others at the animal shelter said he was a lost cause, but Y/N wouldn’t hear of it. She knew she had to try something; she couldn’t give up on the poor thing. At first, the cat had hissed at her and backed itself into a corner. Y/N sat down with a can of freshly opened food at her feet. She sat there for hours. The cat was unmoving, but no longer hissing at her. Slowly, the cat’s ears relaxed, and it’s tail lowered. After some time, the cat’s nose began to twitch as it had caught the scent of the food. The cat placed one foot forward. Each time its paw left the floor, it’d look up at Y/N. She was smiling and tried her best to not move at all for fear of startling the cat. Paw after paw, the cat had reached the can of food and began to eat. Y/N slowly began to whisper to the cat. “You’re a feisty one,” she said. “Almost like a bear.” She looked over the cat’s thin figure. Its fur was a beautiful shade of brown, something she had never seen on a cat before. Her hands ached to pet him but knew that she’d probably regress the cat back into the corner. After the cat had finished, he sat down and peered up at her. Y/N’s eyes widened at the action. She had thought he’d run back into the safety of the corner. What the cat did next shocked her to her core. The brown cat dropped its head down and began rubbing up against her. The faint sound of purring left the cat as he marked Y/N as his human. Hesitantly she reached a hand out, the cat looked at it with its golden eyes and began reaching for the hand. Y/N brought her hand down gently and began petting the cat. The minute her hand touched his rough, dirty fur, she knew that she had to take him home with her. After the shelter had given him treatment, washed and groomed him. Y/N immediately signed the papers of adoption and took Bjørn. Her little bear-Bjørn.

As she finished her story, Y/N smiled. She loved that cat with all her heart.

“Alright,” John said, bringing her out of the memory. “Think of Sherlock like Bjørn.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at John.

“Sherlock is feisty and mean. He holds himself up in that corner, away from others. When anyone tries to approach, he hisses them away,” John explained. “Y/N, you’ve just got to give Sherlock time. He’ll warm up to you and eventually come out of that corner. Then you’ll know just how great he can be.”

Y/N sighed. John was too good with his words. She reluctantly nodded her head. She’d be willing to give Sherlock a chance. She didn’t know when, but she knew she would.

The cab came to a stop and the driver notified them that they had arrived. Y/N and John spilt the cab fee and got out. They opened the trunk, got out their groceries, and headed into 221B. John invited Y/N up later that evening if she wanted to come and say hi. She thought about John’s words in the car and nodded her head. John smiled and continued his way up the stairs and into his flat. Y/N turned towards her flat door and opened it up. Bjørn jumped down from his seat on the couch and began meowing at her. As if he was saying he missed her. She dropped the groceries on the floor and picked up Bjørn like a baby. She cradled him in her arms as she took a hand to pet his soft fur. He purred as Y/N continued to ponder over John’s words. He was right, if Y/N didn’t give Bjørn time, they would be here now. She figured she could offer Sherlock, whoever he was, the same thing–time.

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Y/N did not expect to be treading carefully up to John and Sherlock’s flat with a weapon in hand for the first time, but that was until she heard the sound of gunshots from ahead. Completely terrified she did what anyone would do: Try and call 911 but then realize she wasn’t in the U.S. and then proceeded to grab the nearest object, a broom, and carefully headed upstairs. Bjørn had growled at the noise, glaring upwards as she left the safety of her flat.

Y/N’s eyes glanced down to her aunt’s door. It was closed. Either her aunt wasn’t home, or she didn’t care enough to come marching up the stairs in defense of her tenants. Y/N thought over the options and decided she wasn’t home. Y/N knew that Mrs. Hudson cared about John and Sherlock as if they were her own children. As Y/N stepped closer and closer to the entrance of John’s flat, the wooden floor from underneath her creaked. She winced and slowly began to continue.

When she reached the top of the stairs, Y/N found the door to the apartment wide open. Y/N squinted her eyes debating whether or not she should enter.

“Come in” announced a baritone voice, one that belonged to definitely did not belong to John.

Hesitantly she stepped inside the apartment holding the broom like a baseball bat. To say the least, the apartment was a bit eccentric. One wall had a black and white floral wallpaper, and another was a red and white diamond design. The other walls were a light shade of green. There were books, teacups, newspapers, and files scattered everywhere. Y/N was even sure she saw a mug filled with a bubbly liquid and what appeared to be human teeth. In the middle of the living room there stood two chairs. One was dusty red and quite worn around the edges. The other chair was a musky greenish brown that was held up by a metallic frame. In that very chair sat a man with curly black hair. He was sitting with a slouch, but it was clear that he was quite tall. His knees rose a bit higher than the cushion of the chair. Next Y/N noticed the man’s facial features. He had a strong bone structure, with his cheekbones being especially sharp. His eyes were a piercing blue. A shade you’d only find in a glacier from the icy north. When their eyes met, she gasped. The man before her bore a cool and calculated expression. His hand was rested under his chin. In his other hand, he held a gun.

The man took in a deep breath, sat up straighter, and brought his hands to rest in his lap. “Who are you? Why are you holding a broom like a lunatic?” He questioned.

“Umm…” She looked him over again unsure of whether or not to tell this strange man. “You first. Who are you?”

“You’re in my flat. I will ask again, who are you.” He challenged.

Y/N’s brain connected the dots. The man before her was Sherlock. John’s roommate. “Your neighbour, I just moved in…” alluded Y/N, hoping he would somehow recognize her. Sherlock just cocked an eyebrow at her in intrigue. “I heard gunshots and got worried.”

A door creaked open, followed by light footsteps as John entered the room. Taking off his earphones he asked, “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“There were gunshots and I got scared,” She explained. The broom in her hand was now lowered down.

“Sorry about that. Sherlock…,” condescended John.

Then Sherlock interrupted. “Don’t go worrying like we’re friends. You’ll be moving out by the end of the week anyway. Other tenants never stay long.”

“Sherlock!” reprimanded John. “Be nice.”

“I’m a high-functioning sociopath and have no use for being nice,” enunciated Sherlock. His voice rose slightly.

A harsh breath escaped her mouth. She wasn’t about to lose her cool. She wasn’t going to let Sherlock get to her. She was going to stay whether he liked it or not. She began to imagine that Sherlock was Bjørn. She wouldn’t give up on Bjørn, so she’d wait for Sherlock. It was the least she could do for John. She took in a deep breath and replied; “No, it’s fine, John.” She looked down at her hand with the broom and swung it behind her back hiding it from view. “Let’s try again. I’m Y/N L/N your new neighbour. John invited me over to say hello and introduce myself to you.” She smiled at Sherlock.

Sherlock turned his gaze away from Y/N and began glaring at John. It was as if John had offended Sherlock in the worst way possible. “You invited her over?” Sherlock grumbled. His words were slow and careful.

John’s jaw clenched. “She’s Mrs. Hudson’s niece, Sherlock! At the very least say hi to her and yes, I invited her over. I quite like Y/N,” John told Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and conceded as he rolled back into his chair. His jaw clenched and he brought his gaze back to Y/N. Y/N felt a chill go up her spine as Sherlock continued to stare at her. His eyes began to squint and before he could say something. A man had burst into the flat. His pepper-colored hair was messed up a bit and his button-up shirt wwas slightly untucked.

Sherlock perked up. “Where?”

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens” breathed the man.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “Something’s different.”

John looked between the two men. “Does this have something to do with the suicides?”

“Suicides? What suicides?” prodded Y/N.

The man in front of Y/N turned and pointed toward her, “Who’s she?”

Without skipping a beat, Sherlock replied, “No one, Gary”. The man opened his mouth but was silenced. “What’s different?”

Y/N scoffed at Sherlock. The new man in 221B looked between Y/N and Sherlock. He got the feeling as if he was interrupting something.

Gary hesitantly continued, “This one left a note.”

Now, this intrigued Sherlock, “I’ll come. Who’s working forensics?”

“Anderson.”

Sherlock grimaced, “Anderson won't be willing to work with me.”

“Well, you have, John. Right, John?” asked Gary.

“Yes, of course, Greg,” agreed John.

“Thank you” mouthed Greg or Gary. Y/N was confused about which name to call him by. He looked around the room collecting his breath and then he was off.

Sherlock jumped out of his seat, practically leaping for joy. “4 serial suicides, and now there’s a note. It’s practically Christmas.” He raised his eyebrows giving John a smile. “Shall we?”

John nodded and grabbed his coat and hat off of the coat rack. Sherlock followed suit, throwing on his scarf to help keep warm. The two men turned to face Y/N with John glancing up at Sherlock with a look of hesitancy on his face. As if he was expecting something to happen. It seemed quite impolite to just leave Y/N so suddenly.

“Close the door on your way out,” Sherlock said. His crystal blue eyes met Y/N’s.

It was hard to tell who was more shocked, John or Y/N. John’s mouth hung wide open. Y/N was completely taken aback, but before she could respond, Sherlock quickly made his way out the door and down the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson, we’ll be heading out.” Notified Sherlock as if Mrs. Hudson was his mother.

Mrs. Hudson tore her eyes away from the soap opera on the television. “Of course, dear. Where are you boys heading off to? Is it those suicides?” asked Mrs. Hudson.

Popping his head into the apartment, Sherlock replied, “John and I are heading out to a crime scene. Be back quite late. Perhaps prepare some tea?”

“I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper, Sherlock.”

Accepting that answer, Sherlock was out the door, shortly followed by John. A loud slam came from upstairs. Mrs. Hudson crept to her window and watched as the two of them hailed a cab and were on their way. Satisfied, she sat back down in her chair and began to knit. Shortly after, Y/N appeared in her doorway. “You are here?” She muttered to herself.

“What was that N/N?” Mrs. Hudson asked. “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Nothing,” exclaimed Y/N.

“Why aren’t you going with them?” Mrs. Hudson asked. Y/N grimaced at the thought. “I thought you left with the boys. You were always one to follow the boys around. I remember that childhood friend of yours Jason or something like that.”

“James, Auntie M. His name was James. And I decided against it. I’d rather not burden John with Sherlock’s dead body.”

With that Y/N left Mrs. Hudson to her knitting. Give him time, She whined. That was going to be a lot harder than Y/N thought it would be. She was sure she’d strangle Sherlock by the lapels of his coat before he ever said hello to her. In a huff, she slammed her own flat door at the thought of the man. Bjørn hissed at the sound.

“Sorry,” she muttered. The cat only meowed in response. Bjørn hopped on her lap to comfort her allowing her to pet away the stress and anger she held for Sherlock.

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