literature

A Small Problem 9

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After what felt like hours of driving through London and the country lanes we finally came to a large iron gate. It wasn't over exaggerated like the ones you see in films but as we drove closer it seemed to open from it's own accord. It took us another 15 minutes to reach the mansion itself. It made we wonder, that if Sherlock's family was this rich, why was he renting a flat in London? I pushed that thought aside for I was too busy being stunned by the sight that was the Holmes family mansion. Greg and I stared in awe as we made our way up the driveway.

Again it wasn't over exaggerated with gargoyles or intricate carvings on the stones, it was large yes but the simplicity of it gave it much more beauty. The grey marble stones looked white against the murky English sky and the windows glinted with the little light that was allowed passage through the cloud's barriers.

We swiftly got out of the car and made our way inside, careful to wipe our feet and I made a mental note to not touch anything less it fall or worse. It was even grander on the inside. A staircase was at the far side of the lobby that we were all in, oil paintings of still life and English countryside hung from the mahogany walls and there were two doors, one on the left and one to the right.

Sherlock turned around and saw me and Greg looking like we had stumbled upon the crown jewels in our back garden. He smirked at our expressions and took a look at the place himself. He gave out a long sigh and it was Mycroft who broke the silence. "It's not much, but it's home." Not much! I thought, refraining myself from yelling at the man. I would be happy living in a house half this size.

"Wow!" said Greg, drawing out his 'o' so much so that his 'w' almost forgot to come in at the end. "You grew up here?"

"Well" answered Sherlock, "it is the 'Holmes' family mansion"

We went through the door that led off to the right and we entered a grand living room. A bookshelf reached up to the ceiling, an old-fashioned oil lamp was sat on a small table by the large windows that looked out onto their impressive gardens, luxurious leather chairs and a long sofa all had their attention to the fireplace that resided on the far wall in the room. Mycroft and Sherlock sat on an armchair each and they did look like they belonged in this environment. Cautiously, Greg and I took a seat on the couch, careful not to damage it with our shoes.

Mycroft let out a long sigh. "You don't have to be so conservative, relax."

"No one's here but us" said Sherlock, reclining in his chair and putting his feet up on the coffee table which looked older than he was. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and Greg seemed to feel more comfortable.

"So," I asked tentatively "what do we do now?"

"We could show you around if you'd like?" asked Mycroft.

Sherlock's eyes widened and his mouth contorted into that smirk that he wore when he just had a brilliant idea or when he had another murder case to solve. I knew it wasn't the latter so I braced myself. He jumped off the chair, almost sending it backwards to greet the floor.

"Come John, I've got to show you something!" Before I even had the chance to utter a single syllable he had grabbed my arm and almost ran out of the room, leaving behind a stunned Greg and Mycroft.

"Sherlock, where are we going?" I asked, as he led us back to the lobby and through the door to the left. We went through a study and a dining room until we came into the kitchen. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

Sherlock had pressed his ear to the wall and started tapping, gradually moving along it until he cried out triumphantly and beckoned me over. "Watch." It was only then that I realised that the walls were covered in large, white tiles and Sherlock was now sliding one of the tiles into the wall and out of sight. Within the hole that he had unearthed there was a wooden platform with a small hole in the bottom from which two ropes snaked there way through and up and out of sight.

"What is it?" I asked, unable to keep the curiosity and wonder out of my voice.

"An old dumbwaiter. I found it here when I was younger when they were renovating the place, and they just covered it up. So, after the work was done, I removed the tile and went in to see where it led."

"So, where does it go to?" I asked, looking up into the darkness of the shaft.

I saw that flicker of mischief in his eyes that I know too well and that broad smile on his face that confirmed my theory that he was up to something. "Only one way to find out." With that he hopped into the little crevice and held out his hand to me. The platform was large enough for two but it didn't look all that sturdy after all these years. Sherlock must have seen my look of concern for his smile drooped as he came almost all the way out. "Do you trust me?" he asked, hand still outstretched.

I smiled at him and took his hand. "Always." He smiled back as he pulled me into the lift and carefully replaced the tile. The darkness engulfed us and the only reassurance I had that Sherlock was beside was his hand holding onto mine.

"You OK?" he asked, giving my hand a squeeze.

"Yeah. So how does this work?"

"We pull." I felt Sherlock guide my hands to a rope and start to pull. We kept going for a short while until Sherlock told me to stop. I could hear him shuffling around for a moment then he pulled back a small door and light came flooding into the darkness. Sherlock hopped out of the dumbwaiter first, offering me a hand and helping me out.

The room was spectacular. A large well loved green armchair was placed by a small fireplace, books lay on a side table beside the chair one on top of another with some opened at random pages others had pages sticking out at random intervals. There was a large table in the centre of the room laden with test tubes and beakers filled with colourful liquids, bunsen burners, pipettes, petri dishes and a fire extinguisher near the end of the table next to a microscope. There was a bookshelf on another wall, not as large as the one in the living room but filled with twice as many books, looking like it was just about ready to collapse under the strain. The floor was littered with pieces of paper filled with diagrams and equations that looked like complete gibberish to me. The ceiling was slanted, high at the wall with the dumbwaiter and getting lower until it met with the opposite wall which was just windows. It was a cosy little room and by far the best room that I have seen in this house.

"Just how I left it. God it's been years!" said Sherlock. He wandered around the room until he came to the microscope. He looked though it and he started to laugh. "Was I really that young?" he asked himself.

"Sherlock this is…amazing"

"I knew you'd like it." He said, abandoning his microscope and taking my hand.

"Where are we?" I asked as he directed me to the chair.

"The attic. It hadn't been used for years, it was just forgotten about. The table, bookshelf and some of the books were already up here when I discovered it."

"So you used this room to read and do experiments?"

"That and much more." he said sitting beside me on the chair. "Whenever I wanted to be alone or to get away from it all, I'd come up here. I had a place in the world where I could do whatever I wanted. This was my place. No one else knows about it. Until now." At that he smiled at me and squeezed my hand. "Our secret."

I smiled as I leaned into him and kissed him softly. Sherlock was opening up to me and letting me be a part of his past so how could I not. After a while we broke apart and I asked, "How did you get the chair up here?"

Sherlock chuckled softly and placed a hand on my leg. "I bribed one of the window cleaners to take me and the chair up to the roof and I just managed to get it through the window."

"He must of thought you were mad, but why this chair, it's all bashed up?"

"It was my father's." he took a breath then continued, "I never saw him much. Only at Christmas and birthdays. He was always working but that was dad. Never had any time for us."

"I'm sorry." He smiled at me, his eyes glazed over.

"It's these childish emotions." He said, indicating his teary eyes. "I'm fine, really."

I wasn't convinced, but I let it slide. I just squeezed his hand and gave him a peck on the cheek. I decided to change the subject so I asked him, "How old were you when you found this place?"

"About 8 or 9, I can't really remember."

"You did all this when you were 8?" I asked incredulously, gesturing to the chemicals that adorned the centre table.

"Yes, but it was all rather simple experiments, nothing too fancy."

For quite a while Sherlock showed me his past experiments and just how 'simple' they really were. He cleared up a few of his older fungal experiments and doubled over when he read some of his equations, saying that he had misplaced the decimal point or that he had spelt 'dimethylsulphoniopropionate' incorrectly. After Sherlock had shown me an experiment he had done consisting of flies and carbonic acid, I glanced at my watch.

"Sherlock, it's almost half past four. The others must be worried about us, we've got to go."

Sherlock put down the papers he was reading and we both made our way to the dumbwaiter. Suddenly Sherlock stopped in his tracks and went back to the table, picking up a pipette and a beaker containing a clear liquid.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" I walked over to see that he was writing something on the corner of the table with the liquid. He stepped back when he was finished and placed the beaker containing the pipette back on the table. The liquid on the table started to fizz and when it stopped it had burned the table, leaving behind in black lettering, 'JW + SH'.

"I did say this was our place." I smiled up at him then pulled him into a crushing hug. As I let him breathe again I started to laugh softly.

"That was quite cheesy."

"I have reason to believe that you like 'cheesy' judging by your choice in television entertainment." He said matter-of-factly but in a joking way.

"True. That was very sweet." I gave him quick kiss then made my way once again to the dumbwaiter. "Now we must go, unless they think we're up to something, if you catch my drift." Sherlock smirked as he followed me into the dumbwaiter and closed the door behind us.


********************


We found Mycroft and Greg in the living room, both of them sitting on the carpet in front of the now roaring fire. We sat down beside them and watched the flames for a moment until Greg noticed that we were there.

"So, where have you two been then?" he asked.

"Sherlock was showing me his old bedroom." I lied. Greg cocked an eyebrow at us as a faint smile tugged at his lips but he left it and turned his attention back to the fire. I knew what he though but I didn't care, as long as he didn't know about Sherlock's hidden room because then he would want to see it then it wouldn't be just our secret.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse. The clouds were a stormy grey and the rain battered at the windows, demanding to be acknowledged. The wind was whistling through the trees and every so often there was a low, deep rumble of thunder in the distance.

After a few minutes I saw the flash of distant lightning on the clouds though the windows and the rumble of thunder that followed. It happened again and Greg noticed it this time. It was defiantly coming closer. I used to love thunderstorms, counting the seconds between the flashes to see how far away they were and getting excited when they were getting closer, but now I hate them. They remind me all too well of Afghanistan, the ringing of the artillery fire, the crack of bone colliding with the ground, the flashes of the explosions. I felt physically sick just thinking about it. There was another crack of lightning, even closer than the last, which made me jump.

I felt Sherlock's arm wrap itself around my waist and he whispered in my ear, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I said unevenly, "I just don't like--" I was cut off by another resounding crack of lightning and threatening roar of thunder, making me grab onto Sherlock's arm.

"Lightning?" he finished. I nodded. Sherlock got up and pulled the curtains shut on all the windows.

"Thanks" I whispered as he sat back down. Just then there was a deafening crack of lightning that seemed to strike the building. Everyone jumped at that one. Not two seconds later another, even louder bolt of lightning struck what sounded like a tree. Just then all the lights went out.

"It must of hit a power cable or something." Said Greg who was clutching onto Mycroft for dear life.

"Astute observation" muttered Sherlock, though he also sounded quite shaken. I was defiantly shaking by this point and Sherlock was trying his best to calm me down. The storm continued for another 15 minutes but it felt a hell of a lot longer. Greg and Mycroft were trying to distract me by asking questions and changing the subject but it didn't help. Sherlock was holding me close and stroking my hair and generally trying to soothe me. Now that it was over I was mentally kicking myself for acting like such a baby. I can usually control myself but it's just what Sherlock said, 'childish emotions'.

"Are you OK now John?" asked Greg

"Yeah, thanks" I said, giving him a weak smile. "So, what are we going to do?" I ask trying to divert the attention to someone else.

"Well it's … 5 o'clock now," started Sherlock, "why don't we order some chinese?"

"Chinese?" asked Greg and I in unison.

"Yes. What's wrong?" he asked, seeing our confused expressions.

"You get chinese delivered here?" I asked.

"Of course. They don't mind the journey because we always gave them a more than generous tip."

"We?" asked Mycroft, "It is my knowledge that you kept ordering fast foods when mother and father were both away on business and it was you that always paid the delivery person ridiculous sums of money."

"Do you want something to eat or not?" Sherlock took Mycroft's glare as a yes and he whipped out his phone and called a chinese that he so happened to have on speed dial. It's good to know that he still has signal out here.

We had found a pack of cards and were in the middle of a game when Mycroft's phone went off. He took the call out to the lobby and the three of us were left to continue without him. Several games and houses later we got bored of the cards and Mycroft was still on the phone. It was almost six o'clock when he came back into the room, bringing through with him four slightly soggy bags of chinese.

"What was that about?" asked Greg as Mycroft sat down beside him.

"That was Anthea, she was just filling me in on a meeting she attended which consisted of MI5's top medical researchers and some of Britain's other leading scientists."  He said this like it was natural. Next he'll be saying he has to go and have afternoon tea with the President of the United States tomorrow.

"And?" asked Sherlock, who also seemed unfazed by his brother's previous statement.

"And, they have made a breakthrough. They have designed the technology that will return us to our normal selves but they have yet to build said technology."

"How long will it take for them to finish?" Sherlock was the only one who could talk for Greg and myself were to busy processing this information to form coherent sentences.

"The estimated completion time would be…" Mycroft started, glancing at his watch, "24 hours."
:dummy: YAY!! Soon they shall all be big again and I won't have to write more chapters! The 10th will be the last so just hang on in there! :cling:

Yes, Sherlock has a secret room!! I have always wanted a dumbwaiter, I could just stay in my room all day and have food ferried up whenever I wanted!! :drool:

And yes, that really long chemical word is an actual chemical. I googled it so I don't know what it is! :stupidme:

Comments & spell-checks are worshiped! :worship:


Chapter 8: [link]
Chapter 9: HERE!!!
Chapter 10: [link]
© 2011 - 2024 QuackersDuckDude
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RetardedJackSparrow's avatar
haha i love the secret room! it was so sweet! i know i'd love to have a secret room like that! XD
sweet and cute as always! and brilliantly written! i'm sad since it's nearing the end!...:D