Til that a "three body problem" is an astrophysics terms. A two body problem is a binary star system: one solar system with two stars, usually one isn't in the center, and they are orbiting each other rather like a waltz. The problem is the enormous amount of astrophysics, probability, and clever braininess it takes to figure out their specific orbits.
A three body problem is when you add another star. Or any celestial body, it could be three planets, or moons and a planet.
So yes, Mr Sherlock, it rather does sound like you did, at some point, care an awful lot how the moon goes round the sun. Perhaps you were 12, but you did care.
“On behalf of our crew, we thank you again for choosing to fly with BWA Airlines. Please stay seated until the seat belt sign has been turned off. We will begin exiting the plane soon.” The speakers above chimed.
Immediately, chatter filled up the air. People were anxious to get off the plane. In all honesty, they had just endured an eight-hour international flight. Ching. The glow from the seatbelt sign flashed off, signaling for people to stand up and stretch their legs. Y/N would have taken the opportunity to stretch her legs, but she was seated next to the window towards the back of the plane. She didn’t think she would be standing up any time soon. Instead, Y/N occupied herself with the view outside of her window.
The sky was an opaque gray. Numerous dark clouds of the same hue covered the warm light of the sun, stopping it from gracing its presence. It was raining. A typical forecast for London in September. But it wasn’t a gentle rain; the rain that tickled your skin as it fell from the sky. No, it was the rain that soaks you to the bone the minute you step outside– real rain. The best kind of rain. Y/N found the rain to be peaceful. Maybe it was the smell that came with the rain as it made the earth anew. Maybe it was the unpredictable yet consistent pattern of the pitter-patter as the water came in contact with the soil. Y/N enjoyed the view of the rain. She let her gaze flip out of focus as she watched the ripples in the puddles. Each wave moved farther away from the center.
“Pardon me, miss.” A cheery flight attendant chirped. The flight attendant’s eyes had dark circles underneath them, yet they held the most pleasant expression. “If you can exit the plane now, we need to prepare for the next flight.”
Y/N tore her eyes away from the view and quickly apologized. Her cheeks burned red out of embarrassment as she hurriedly stood up, snatched her luggage from the overhead compartment, and exited the plane. She was glad that the plane was docked at the main section of the airport, so she didn’t have to trudge through the rain. Any other day she would have been overjoyed to be soaked to the bone, but not today. Y/N wanted to look somewhat presentable when she reunited with her aunt, Mrs. Hudson.
Martha Louise Hudson wasn't Y/N’s aunt by blood, but she was her grandmother’s best friend. Those two were peas in a pod. After Y/N’s grandmother had suddenly passed away from a heart attack, Mrs. Hudson took it upon herself to occupy the vacant role.
“No child should grow up without a grandparent. They need someone to spoil them rotten,” Mrs. Hudson would say.
Despite her family’s abrupt decision to move to the United States, Mrs. Hudson continued filling that role. Occasionally, she would send postcards and presents for birthdays and Christmas detailing her adventures in London. The latest of which was a postcard describing a vacant apartment she was looking to rent. With the prospect of seeing Mrs. Hudson again, with the additional benefits of living in the United Kingdom, Y/N packed up her life and moved back across the ocean.
Baggage claim for flight AQ178. Baggage...It wasn’t hard to miss. All Y/N had to do was peer across the vast sea of people to where the crowd stood. They were all huddled around the baggage carousel. All of them dismissed the advice to stay behind the yellow and black striped line unless they were retrieving their baggage. One by one, they retrieved their bags as they moved down the line.
Eventually, after many turns of the metallic carousel, Y/N’s bags came into view. She crossed the line and grabbed the large suitcases. It was strange to think that all her worldly possessions fit into two suitcases. The cases were covered in dust and grime from the journey despite them being brand-new. Y/N counted each suitcase, a notion in the back of her mind told her something was missing. An unholy screech rang out above the crowd. A sound that could only come from the jaws of a tiny demon–her tiny demon. Y/N winced in embarrassment as she slipped out a small sheet of paper from her pocket. The screeching continued, dragging the attention of innocent travelers. Her cheeks began to flash red as she approached a desk.
Behind the desk there stood a poor young man who was made the unfortunate victim. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his brows were raised impossibly high. In his shaking hands, he held a crate at arm's length, as if the brown cat inside would bust down the door and steal his soul.
Y/N reached the desk, and coughed, “He’s mine.” She pointed towards the cat who stilled at the sound of her voice.
The man gulped, nodding, and asked to see her ticket to confirm ownership. She quickly presented it to him. His eyes quickly glanced over it. Then he sighed in relief and threw the crate into her hands.
Y/N carefully peered into the crate and was met with the wide golden eyes of Bjørn. The cat stood still as his golden eyes processed what was in front of him. They narrowed slightly and he began to meow again. He was no longer screeching like a demon but singing like an angelic child for his mother had arrived. Y/N whispered words of assurance to the cat, praising him for being the best boy on the flight. He purred under her sweet words.
Y/N’s pocket buzzed, and she carefully set Bjørn’s crate down. Her eyes quickly glanced outside to discover the rain had lightened up. Remembering someone had messaged her, she pulled out her phone and began to read.
Y/N raised her brow at the message. She was puzzled as to why Mrs. Hudson had sent the description of “kind”. As she read the text over, the cogs in her mind began to turn. Y/N tried to conjure up an image of what a kind British man named John, who happened to be a friend of her Auntie's, looked like.
Picking up Bjørn’s crate, she lugged her bags toward the exit. She passed by people entering and leaving the airport. Some people ran into the arms of their loved ones and others jumped into taxis that took them to their next destination.
Her feet began to slow finally coming to a stop. She turned her head, looking around the crowd. She bit her lip, and a dazed look filled her face. A low drone crept up to her. Y/N’s eyes were immediately dragged down to the taxi in front of her. With a creak, the passenger’s window rolled down.
“Hel’o there, how can I help you today?” inquired the taxi driver. The man wore a white and beige flat cap. He was an older-looking fellow who wore glasses. He flashed Y/N a smile that made her stomach fill with unease.
“Oh no thank you” she quickly replied, stepping away from the car window and closer to the booming crowd outside of the airport.
“American, eh? I’ll be able to take you where you need to go. No problem. You can trust me,” He insisted. With his hand aged with time, he took off his cap and brushed through his wispy white hair. His smile grew bigger as he faked a charming expression.
“No thanks,” answered Y/N. The alarms in her head were howling at her. “I am waiting for someone, you see, to come to pick me up.” Taking a big step back, she sank into the crowd behind her. A woman wearing all pink brushed her shoulder against Y/N. Y/N’s eyes winced at the explosion of color. Everything about this woman was pink: pink phone, pink suitcase, pink overcoat.
“Are you taking this cab?” distractedly asked the woman as she stuffed her baggage into the cab.
“No,” replied Y/N. She wanted to warn the woman in pink, but before she could, the taxi had pulled away from the pickup station and was on its way to who knows where. A buzzing feeling came from the back pocket of her trousers. Pulling her phone out she saw another message from her aunt.
________
Auntie M
I just realized I should probably give you John’s number.
Y/N
- That would actually be great.
Auntie M
Sending it to you right now. I’ll be making a nice dinner to warm you up after all that rain.
Also, your apartment is all set up and waiting for you. :)
Y/N
- Great, that sounds perfect. Thanks, Auntie M
____________
As she waited for John’s number, Y/N thought it would be best to head back inside and find a place to sit. Hearing the ding of her phone and a number pop up she mumbled, “Remind me to thank Auntie M for that…”
An Irish voice popped up next to her, and Y/N’s gaze rose from the screen of her phone to meet dark and mysterious chocolate eyes. “Remember to thank your aunt for that” he chuckled.
Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Her eyes scanned the man up and down. He had an edgy and cool air to him. With his smirk, he oozed confidence. There was something about him that intrigued her. He had brown hair that was well-groomed and wore a nicely tailored suit. He reciprocated Y/N’s smile and even more of his charm showed through. “The name is Jim, '' introduced the man. He extended his hand for her to shake.
Y/N couldn’t help but let a giggle escape her lips as she firmly shook Jim’s hand. His grip was warm and strong. “Y/N, and thank you for the reminder, Jim.”
“Anytime.” He replied, making himself comfortable in the open seat next to her. They settled into a pleasant silence. The only sounds that occupied their ears were the wheels of rolling luggage and the light chatter of the other travellers and guests of the airport.
“Work, family, or friends?” inquired Jim, his head tilting slightly to the right to look at Y/N.
“Sorry?”
“What are you here for?” Jim clarified.
“I guess you could say work and a bit of family,” answered Y/N. She began to secretly pick at her fingers, a stim, and nervous habit of hers. Jim cocked one of his eyebrows up with curiosity. “I'm moving back to my roots.”
“From London?” Jim questioned, furthering the conversation.
Y/N paused before answering. The encounter with the taxi driver was still fresh in her memory. She sighed and her shoulder’s relaxed. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friendly conversation, she thought.
“Yeah.” She replied. “I was born here but after a few years my parents and I moved to the U.S.” She shrugged, “and now I’m back.”
“And now you’re back,” Jim repeated softly. There was a minute shift in his expression into something Y/N couldn’t decipher. By the time she noticed it, it was gone; leaving Y/N to wonder if she had imagined it. “Well, London is delighted to have you back,” Jim winked. Then he readjusted his seating position as he straightened his black suit jacket.
“Well, I have to leave. Business to attend to” smiled Jim, “I bid you adieu”. Standing up from the seat next to her, he gave her one more smile. His eyes lingered on her figure. Without another word, he took a few steps, disappearing into the crowd of people.
She sat back in her seat, the image of Jim in her mind. Her thoughts trailed from Jim to her aunt and then…Shit! Y/N realized she did not text John’s number. Immediately pulling out her phone, she sent a quick text. A little gray bubble appeared, and he responded by saying he was there at the airport with a taxi outside. Raising from her seat, she, once again, made her way out of the airport. Y/N searched the crowd, her eyes looking for a man that fit the vague description her aunt had given her.
Just then a young man with kind dark eyes, the shade of morning coffee, and blonde hair approached her. He was wearing a beige knit sweater. Hand knitted...looks like Auntie’s knitting...is this… but her thought was interrupted by his voice. “Are you Y/N? Mrs. Hudson’s niece?” he inquired.
“Yes, that’s me, are you John?” replied Y/N.
“Yep, John. John Watson. Can I help you with your bags?” politely asked John.
A wave of relief fell over Y/N, “Yes, thank you, John.”
John reached for two bags of luggage and began directing Y/N to where the cab was. “It’s no problem really, just doing a favour for Mrs. Hudson” he explained, turning his gaze back to Y/N to smile at her. It was strange to think about how there could be so many different types of smiles. John’s smile was different from Jim’s confident grin, and the eerie smirk of that taxi driver. John’s smile was kind, caring, and calm. It reminded Y/N of the smile etched onto a Teddy bear’s face.
John carefully placed Y/N’s luggage in the trunk. Afterward, he held the door open for Y/N to enter the back seat. John sat down after her, closing the door behind him. “221 B Baker Street” instructed John. The driver nodded and drove off, the station growing smaller and smaller behind them.
After a few moments of silence, John peered at the crate on Y/N’s lap. “You have a cat,” stated John with a questioning tone to his voice.
“Yes, his name is Bjørn.” Bjørn happily meowed in response to his name.
“Didn’t know Mrs. Hudson allowed pets in the apartment,” replied John. He lowered his head to get a good look at Bjørn’s yellow eyes. He smiled at the cat which was reciprocated by a purr.
“Oh, I think he likes you!” Y/N beamed.
John raised his brows flattered by the obvious complement of the cat. He cautiously reached a hand out to pet Bjørn through the crate, his eyes glancing up at Y/N. She nodded and he proceeded to pet the cat. Bjørn’s purrs rumbled the cage as he brushed his neck eagerly against John’s fingers.
“Bjørn, you attention whore,” laughed Y/N. She watched as John’s eyes widened at the cat’s affection. It was as if he was a child who’d been handed an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.
“I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would approve of you getting a pet for your flat,” stated Y/N. Her eyes reflected John’s adoration for the cat.
“Oh god no!” Exclaimed John withdrawing his hand from Bjørn. “My flat mate is enough of an animal as it is.” He chuckled. “I don’t need another one.” His voice turned quieter towards the end, creating an awkward air between the two in the back of the cab.
“...You have a flat mate?” Y/N asked.
“Yeah.” Responded John.
Y/N awkwardly nodded her head and then moved her gaze to the window.
By now, the sky was the textbook definition of gray. The dark rain cloud from before had fled, leaving the sky empty and barren. Everything seemed dulled by the gray tint the sky cast down. Even the brightly colored leaves and the shimmering lights of the city seemed to fall victim to the solemness.
Eventually, the cab began to decrease in speed as it approached 221 B Baker Street, slowly coming to a halt.
“We’re here” stated John as he paid for the cab before exiting onto Baker Street. He then made his way around the car to Y/N’s side and opened the door for her. He eagerly took Bjørn’s crate from her hands.
Y/N stepped onto the black pavement of Baker Street and took a moment to process her new environment. Then she made her way to the trunk of the cab to retrieve her luggage. John had taken the liberty of placing Bjørn inside 221 and let Mrs. Hudson know that they had arrived back from the airport. He then walked back outside to help Y/N with her luggage. Mrs. Hudson followed suit to greet her grandniece.
“N/N, welcome home!” exclaimed Mrs. Hudson as she made her way to Y/N. Y/N turned toward her aunt. She had a gleeful smile on her face as she reunited with her aunt. Mrs. Hudson opened her arms wide beckoning Y/N in for a hug. As soon as her niece was in arms reach, Mrs. Hudson yanked the young woman into her arms and gave her a tight squeeze. She slightly rocked Y/N back and forth. A large smile erupted on Mrs. Hudson’s face, and she became overjoyed. “Let’s have a look at you, shall we?” she said, pulling away from the hug to place her hands on Y/N’s face and tugging at her cheeks. “My you have grown up to be so beautiful! Just like your mum!”
“Thanks, auntie” sheepishly replied Y/N. Her cheeks turned pink from all the attention she was receiving.
“Oh, it’s so good to have you home. We have some catching up to do!” cheered Mrs. Hudson as she led the way inside 221.
John was patiently waiting by the bottom of the stairs inside the building. Her eyes ran up the steps which Y/N assumed, led up to John’s apartment. “Need anything else Y/N?” inquired John, giving a cheerful smile.
“No, I don’t need anything else.” Y/N gratefully replied. “But if you want to take Bjørn out of his carrier and meet him properly, you are more than welcome to.”
John’s eyes widened with delight as he crouched down toward the crate. With a twang, he released the cat from its confines. Bjørn paraded around. His brown furry head was held high as explored his new kingdom. He then noticed John beside him, quickly bringing head to butt against John’s leg.
A loud creaking came from the upstairs flat, scaring Bjørn. He dashed from John’s side toward his mother. She picked him up and cradled him in her arms. His tail swished around as his golden eyes narrowed in the direction of the noise. Distaste eminent in his tiny figure.
John took that as his cue to leave. “Alright then, welcome to London.” He said before making his way up the stairs to his apartment.
A sigh escaped Mrs. Hudson's lips, “I’m so glad that you’ve moved in. At least, I’ll have a bit more normalcy with you here.” She moved her gaze upstairs to where muffled voices were coming from. Y/N could make out two voices. One belonged to John and the other to, who she assumed was, his flatmate. The flatmate’s voice was baritone and clear.
“Well dear, dinner will be ready soon. Why don’t you go on into your new apartment and get settled? I got it all checked out and even got rid of Sherlock's mold experiment.”
Y/N widened her eyes and opened her mouth to ask but was drowned out by her aunt's continued explanation.
“I had to replace the wallpaper, but I think you’ll like the paint I chose,” explained Mrs. Hudson. “I’ll come and get you when dinner’s done.” She then grabbed a pair of keys out of her pocket and handed them to Y/N. “This key is for entering the building,” she pointed to the brass key and then moved her finger towards a thin black key that looked quite old, “and this key is to your apartment.” Then she patted Y/N’s back sending her in the direction of her new apartment.
The apartment was located on the same floor as Mrs. Hudson’s apartment. Just underneath John’s apartment. The walls were covered in beautiful dark green paint. The curtains looked a bit worn around the edges, but overall, it was cozy. Mrs. Hudson had allowed Y/N to decorate and improve the apartment to her liking, which is something she was very grateful for. But first, she needed time to unpack everything. She placed Bjørn down once the door had been closed. The brown cat immediately gave a big stretch and yawned. Bjørn then looked up towards Y/N as if he was saying he would be exploring now and took off. Chuckling, Y/N brought her luggage to her room and began the time-consuming process of unpacking.
It wasn’t long before Mrs. Hudson entered her niece’s apartment to notify her that dinner was ready. When the elderly lady entered, she was met with open boxes scattered everywhere and loud music playing from the Y/N’s phone.
“Y/N, dear…” grabbing Y/N’s attention, “dinner is ready”.
Moving towards the phone, Y/N let the music die down. “I’ll be there in a minute, just let me finish unpacking this one thing.”
“Of course, dear” replied Mrs. Hudson. “Oh!” Mrs. Hudson chuckled as Bjørn rubbed up against her. “What a good boy.” She reached down to pet the cat. Standing up she brushed her hands off and made her way back out the door, slowly and carefully closing it behind her.
Y/N placed the last book on the shelf and smacked her hands together in a wiping motion. “Right then, dinner.” She carefully stepped over the numerous cardboard boxes lying around the apartment. Eventually, she reached her door. Bjørn’s head peaked up in interest as the knob of the door turned. “No, Bjørn. I’ll be back”. The cat seemed to acknowledge her statement and jumped on the couch. After a few customary circles, he was satisfied and collapsed down to the soft surface.
Upon closing the door, Y/N heard two pairs of footsteps making their way down the stairs. She stood still listening to them.
“No John, I do not intend on greeting the new neighbor.” There was that baritone voice again. John’s flat mate.
“Come on Sherlock. She’s Mrs. Hudson’s niece, at least do it for her.” pleaded John.
The footsteps had ceased, and a deafening silence had filled the air. “For the last time, John. I do not intend to meet this new neighbor. I guarantee you that she will have moved out by the end of the week. As most of the other tenants of 221 do.” Then a tall man wearing a long black trench coat appeared and then quickly disappeared as he slammed the door to Baker Street.
“For heaven’s sake, Sherlock,” yelled John as he followed his flat mate out the door.
Y/N huffed in anger, as she made her way to her aunt’s flat. I don’t want to meet you too, Sherlock, she thought. Y/N didn’t even have to knock on the door for Mrs. Hudson to state that she could come in. “Door’s open, come on in”.
Mrs. Hudson was finishing placing the dishware on the table. “Sounds like you just missed John and Sherlock” chimed Mrs. Hudson.
“And a good thing too,” muttered Y/N, causing Mrs. Hudson to ask her to repeat, “Oh nothing.”
“Alright then. Let’s not let dinner get cold,” Mrs. Hudson said as she motioned to the seats signaling Y/N to sit down for dinner.
They chatted amongst themselves. Y/N relayed all the latest detail of her life to her surrogate grandmother: who she was friends with, her job, past relationships, how her family was, the whole lot. As they shared the meal, Y/N felt her bond with Mrs. Hudson restore as if she never moved away in the first place.
Now, it was Y/N’s turn to ask a question. “Who is John’s flat mate?,” Y/N pondered.
“That’ll be Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson crinkled her eyes and nose with fondness. “He’s a consulting detective.”
“A consulting detective? Never heard of it,” Y/N mentioned.
“Consults on difficult criminal cases. He helps Scotland Yard solves crimes and murders. He’s the one who got my husband the death sentence” explained Mrs. Hudson. Her eyes widened at the statement. “Any tea, Y/N?”
Glancing up from the now empty plate, Y/N replied, “Oh, no thanks”.
Mrs. Hudson then nodded her head and continued to talk about Sherlock, bringing a hand to her heart. She talked about all the strange people who came to visit him. Often relaying stories that would make Y/N raise her brows in concern. Mrs. Hudson’s face contorted as she mentioned his strange and disturbing experiments, one of which was the mold that used to occupy Y/N’s flat. Switching back to her cheerful smile, she began proudly explaining Sherlock’s gift of being able to tell almost everything about a person.
Y/N’s head began pounding as it filled up with all the compliments her aunt had to say about Sherlock. She chuckled trying to hide a wince from the pain in her head. Y/N placed down her fork and knife and leaned in slightly toward her aunt. “Auntie M, thank you for dinner, but…” she trailed off. “I’m feeling tired, and I think that the jet lag is getting to me.”
Looking up in concern, Mrs. Hudson rose from her seat, “Of course, N/N.” She gave Y/N a soft smile and headed towards the door, opening it to let her niece out. “Goodnight, sleep well.” She reached out a hand to pat her niece’s shoulder.
“Goodnight” replied Y/N.
As Mrs. Hudson closed the door, Y/N brought a hand to her temple massaging it. It was still pounding. She trudged to her flat and opened it. With little effort, she crawled into bed. Bjørn hopped up next to her. He snuggled up close purring loudly as she lazily pet him. Her hand slowly fell limp on top of Bjørn’s brown fur. His deep purrs slowly guided his owner gently to sleep.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Montreal area hooligans, it’s been 5 seriously weird years of knowing you Sherlockian nerds, so we’ve got to celebrate. March Meetings and Inarticulate Screamings to be announced soon!
