Escrita por: GothySmile
I wake up, apparently hours later, because it is clearly night and, well, I realize I was already at home. Again, in Sherlock's bed; I wonder if all that was not a crazy dream, if my daughter was now with the crazy and insane Holmes, who from the beginning was a thing of my mind, and that I should stop drinking so much coffe or tea before going to sleep. I get up in a crash, and like a madman, I walk around the house a little dizzy; it must be that damn headache again.
— Sherlock? Rosie?! – The house was empty.
I start to think that they are maybe up there, they must be playing with the toys, or she must be sleeping already, and Holmes? Well, he may have gotten out, or he must be up there with her, giving her unnecessary moral lessons. I climb the stairs with difficulty, because my body was a little sore; really our psychological is incredible. When I get to my room I see it empty, I get close enough to the crib, to see it tidy, with the bears and others stuffed animals adorning it. There was no one in the room, in the house, or perhaps in the building. I'm alone. I stand in front of the mirror, and I see that everything I did was a fantasy. They yellowish white band is wrapped around my head, my nose is purple, as well as my left eye, and part of my cheek, my face, my hands, my arms, all are scratched and cut, with Band-Aids here and there to help with healing. All my momentary joy withers, I go back down the stairs, and I sit in my chair. I look at Sherlock's chair, and at the window behind his, which exuded a cold but angelic glow. Where is he now? With boredom embracing me, and swearing that I would never abandon myself, I start to see my daughter crawling from the sofa, towards me, she gets up, I don't understand why but it seems to me that she is growing up.
Sherlock opens the door, and extends his hands to her, who becomes a beautiful, slender blonde, a real mix of me and Mary.
— What the fuck is that?! Sherlock?! Rosie!
They kiss with love, with heat, with passion. I get up angrily.
They stop, and turn to me. She comes towards me, I feel intimidated. She stops, points a gun at me, and her face changes to Mrs. Hudson's.
— Got you. – She shoots, I jump from the armchair, in a fright.
— Sherlock! Quick, bring me tea.
I was lying in bed, everything was cold around me, my blanket felt like snow. I was wet with cloth compresses, and in my mouth, I only tasted tea, but I can't identify which one it would be. Mrs. Hudson was watching me closely, Sherlock was standing beside her, handing her a cup of tea, very hot, by the way.
— Have you been having nightmares, John?
— Oh, Sherlock, don't bother him, don't you see he's burning with fever?
— Yes, I had a nightmare.
— How was it?
— I won't say.
— Why won't you tell me?
— Because it was bad.
— Of course it was bad, if it were good it would be called a dream.
— Boys! – Mrs. Hudson warns us.
— I'm so bored!
— What happened to me?
— You got into a bar fight while was looking for me.
Mrs. Hudson looks at me in surprise, her eyes wide, but she dares not say anything.
— I never fought for my husband. – Finally she blurts out what those wide eyes screamed at me.
— Mrs. Hudson, I'm not gay!
— Is that why you had a nightmare with me?
I feel myself blush, but I try to give the impression that all that color is anger.
— Yes, Sherlock! What else would it be?!
— Several others things, John.
— And the case, did you find my daughter, Sherlock?
— Not yet, John.
— But, what about the knife? – I remember the bear, the bullet, that autopsy story and everything. — Did you find it? Where is she? – I can't tell if I'm still talking about the knife, or my daughter.
— I'll go to the lab. – He says placing the saucer of the teacup on the table, next to Mrs. Hudson.
I hold his arm tightly.
— This time, I'm going with you. – I stare at him for a few seconds, seriously.
— John, you can't leave yet. – Mrs. Hudson warns me.
— I'm a doctor, Mrs. Hudson, you needn't worry.
I get up, slowly letting go of his arm. He stands still. I look at them, and I find myself dressed in a baggy shirt, and bigger than me, which didn't belong to me, and in baggy shorts, to sleep.
— Yeah... I need you to go out, because I need to change my clothes. – Mrs. Hudson leaves, and Sherlock remains still, I look at him and raise my eyebrows.
He looks at me some more, turns around, and leaves. I lock the door, and change clothes. When it gets decent, I open the door all at once.
— Come on, John.
He says, and heads for the stairs, I follow him. Whe we get to the lab, I keep watching him, Molly, as always, assists us in analyzing the knife, I explain why we are there.
— I believe there is nothing to worry about, since you and Sherlock, are solving. – She smiles at me, I smile back, we look at each other.
— Dutch! – Sherlock says, looking at us alternately.
— What? – I ask without understanding, looking at him.
— The dagger, the wood of this handle can only be found in Netherlands.
— Then that's it! He's Dutch, right?
— Perhaps. Come on, John, we have passports to buy. – He gets up, putting the dagger inside his big ass coat.
— See you later, Molly. – I smile at her, and I'm leaving.
— See you... Ow, wait! – She comes towards me, picks up her own phone, and hands it to me; look at her without understanding.
— He already have a cell phone. – Sherlock says approaching me.
— Oh, no, no, it's... Well...
— Your number, John. She wants your number.
— Ah, ok... – I type in my number, and leave it for her to save. — Okay, here it is. – I deliver it, our hands touch, and she smiles a little sheepishly.
We leave, and halfway through my cell phone rings: A message has been received. I open the message.
Hi, Dr. Watson.
I smile at the formality, and decide to answer.
Hello, Mrs. Hopper.
I press send, and smile looking out the window. Everything would be perfect, if my daughter were here. I remain in this state of mind, until a doubt comes to me.
— Sherlock, how did you know she wanted my number?
— It was too obvious, John. Think!
I start to think... And of course, it really was too obvious! If she handed me the cell phone, obviously it was to communicate! How stupid I am.
— The cell phone, if she handed me her cell phone unlocked at that time, of course it was to put my phone in, right?
— That part it so obvious that even Rosie would know it. But, there's something else John... Think.
I start thinking again, but I don't understand.
— I don't understand... Was it the fact that she didn't call me Doctor, or Watson?
— No, John! The looks, her dilated pupil, and the smile in her eyes, half shy, half wild; the smiles that you exchanged were totally flirtatious, the direction of her feet, always facing you. And the blush, on your cheeks, when she handed you the phone, and you didn't know what to do.
I have nothing to say.
— She likes you, John.
— Hmn. Are you jealous?
He looks at me, without answering me, and looks back at the window.
— Will not answer me? – I look at him, waiting for a reaction, he remains constant. — Ok.
A message arrives. It was Molly's, I see the notification, but I don't open it to not respond.
— Aren't you going to answer it?
— Not yet.
— Why do you want me to answer it?
— I just don't want her to change you, and you start visiting those pornographic and dating sites again.
— I thought you didn't see any problems with them.
— I see no problem in that, I see in you, who lately has been researching more thing related to...
— Sherlock! – I interrupt indicating the taxi drive, who was listening carefully. — Sorry.
The drive look away again, without indicating a reaction. The trip goes on in silence, until Holmes shows me what disturbs him.
— I don't understand why you are so happy, John.
— I am not happy.
He just looks at me, and soon we arrive at the airport. We bought the tickets, and waited for the next trip, which would be at nine o'clock at night. I get up, and decide to go home, pack my bags.
— John, where are you going?
— At home.
— I'll go with you.
— No need, I'll bring your suitcase too.
— Let's go. – He walks in front, and opening a taxi door so I could get in.
We have already boarded the plane, and we are halfway there. I'm starting to be overcome by the dream, but Sherlock won't let me sleep. He wakes me up, and tries to argue with the flight attendant. I get up, and go to the bathroom. I end up sleeping sitting on the toilet. I wake up a few hours later, I think, with someone knocking on the door. I realize what I had done, and I hurry to wash my hands and get out. I open the door, and see practically everyone in the queue, with an angry look directed at me. I smile without grace, and try to pass without being lynched, while they curse me and the flight attendant tries to remain calm, I sit next to Sherlock, and he is and continues to look ahead, focused, silent, mysterious. I wonder if he hasn't seen, or heard, what I just suffered; no, of course he noticed. I keep quiet, looking ahead, imitating him, and trying to ignore who had just gone to the bathroom, and was cursing me, or bumping into me, on purpose, because I'm on the edge.
— Did you sleep well, John?
— Yes. – I take a long time to answer, because I had to restrain myself from asking "Wow, how do you know I slept?", he is Sherlock, obviously he already knew.
As we got off the plane, we saw two guys, a couple, with this "Rosie Watson, 221B Baker Street" sign, I start to get tense, and I catch Holmes' attention.
— I saw, how about we eat, John?
— Eat?! Sherlock! My daughter, they are expecting my daughter!
— I believe you like sushi. – He starts walking away from the couple who was there to pick up my daughter.
— What are you doing?! – I say pulling him, and staring at him without understanding.
People start looking, and it makes me uncomfortable, I let go, he fixes his own coat, and goes back to the direction.
— If you want to know who the kidnappers are, follow me.
I look at the sign again, at that couple, I turn my gaze to Holmes' flowing coat and follow him. He asks for a table, and sits down by the window, I sit across from him.
— Have you found them? – I look out the windowat the couple, and I look at Sherlock again.
— You scared our prey, John.
I look at the couple again, the woman is talking on the phone, they look in our direction, and drop the sign, coming to where we were.
— Sherlock, they're coming.
— They don't know who we are, unlike the man with no beard, sitting at table seven.
I look at the man on the phone, sitting alone; he looks at me, gets up, and takes a bag, hanging up the phone, and putting it in his pocket. We get up, he starts running, we start running after him; the couple is in front of us, right at the door of the establishment, he runs, getting even further away; Sherlock pushes the man, he falls, the woman hits me in the face, I get disoriented, and I see Sherlock running after him, I trip the woman who trips over the man who was on all fours, and run after them both. I see Sherlock standing looking around, in a crowd of people and vehicles. This was leaving the airport.
— Where is he?
— He got in the car, but the car was empty. He must have taken a motorcycle, or mixed with the crowd.