Plip Plop
Legacy Name: Plip Plop

The rain outside of 221B kept falling softly, but at the same determined rate to not stop. There wasn’t a single person out, as the autumn wind was blowing and on a late Sunday evening everyone would rather stay at their flats. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, thoughts very far away from things as trivial as the current weather condition. Another case, another brain twist. This time, the murderer was quite clever – he would always hit the person he was targeting where it hurt most. He didn’t kill the targeted people themselves, but went straight to the person who meant most to them. Sherlock had yet to figure how the criminal knew who those people where, but every single relative or husband, or boyfriend of the victims, worked at one point in their lives at this corporation for umbrellas.

Obviously, he hadn’t had a grudge for umbrellas, but what connected these exact four men except the same work place, was a mystery. They weren’t friends; they didn’t even know each other. There was something else, and Sherlock knew the truth was at the tip of his tongue. But something else interrupted his thoughts. From the direction of the sofa came a quiet thud. He didn’t even lift his eyes to check what made it, and he tried to remember where his thought train had stopped. Yet, it swayed in a different direction. He was smart, the criminal. He’d know if there was someone on his case. He’d know who the weak spot of that person after him would be. He let his eyebrows fall in a grumpy way over his pale eyes. He would definitely not allow this to happen.

Sherlock finally let his eyes sweep his surroundings, unknowing how much time he spent in his mind palace. He looked towards the sofa. There, John was sitting- no, obviously sleeping. His head was tilted on one side, his breathing was steady and his hand was left hanging from one side. On the ground next to him was some book he was reading, but he had fallen asleep mid-way, Sherlock noted. What was it about rain that made people sleepy? He hadn’t even noticed when John came home from work. The sleeping man slightly shuddered. Great, now he’s cold, thought Sherlock. He’d have to get up, get the blanket on the other side of the room and give it to John so he doesn’t do something stupid like catch a cold or something. His fault for not wearing warmer clothes, by the way. With quiet steps, Sherlock went over to get the blanket and returned back to John. He stood there, the blanket in his hands, waiting for John to wake up and say thanks and cover himself or something. But of course, John was deep in the land of dreams. His only movement was an occasional shudder. Sherlock furrowed his brows, and with a soundless sigh he covered John with the blanket by himself, after which he returned to his own sofa. John, feeling the sudden warmth, snuggled even more into the blanket himself, like a little hedgehog in his winter slumber. A tiny smile crossed Sherlock’s lips, letting this moment sink deep in the quarters of his mind palace. Then, when he realized what he had done, he frowned again. Sure, John was the only person who made him smile and who brought color in his gray consulting detective days, but he also knew the weakness John was to him. He was his weak spot, the sole weakness that the greatest and only consulting detective of all times had. He went back to his thoughts. That murderer had to be put behind bars before more innocent people died. Now he realized how those workers felt – and how he would feel if something happened to John. He killed the life in them, so life was pointless after that. What a cunning criminal that person was, Sherlock thought.

plip plop… plip plop…

plip…

plip…plop…

Pet based on Steven Moffat's Sherlock from BBC
Overlay, Background, Coding, Story by kekerica1