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The First Spark

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The First Spark

Disclaimer: This is a purely fan-made piece that is using the world and characters from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes, and is made entirely for enjoyment.  No financial gain has been made in the making of this piece.  All situations, plots, and other parts have been constructed by me and are my own creations

Summary:  Sherlock, while waiting for his spark, decides to get a flatmate to ease the loneliness.

Author’s Note:  First in the Spark & Mark Series.  Possible out-of characterness.  Un-beta’d and not written by a Brit.  Please ignore any discrepancies between this and the original tales; some artistic licencing has been taken.

Constructive Criticism is always welcomed

Published: 16 September 2019

Rating: K+

 

                Sherlock wasn’t one of those people who would find an excuse to touch strangers’ skin in hopes that one of them would produce a jolt, nor was he one that avoided contact with others’ skin because he feared the results.  He didn’t worry that he would find someone who would send sparks up his arm or leave their marks on him; he always knew that he would not be doomed to be alone and sparkless.

                He patiently worked his way through his schooling and university years and it wasn’t until three years after he left that he felt his first pang of uncertainty; where was his spark?  Surely he had one and he was alive (Sherlock did not hold the fairer sex in very high regard nor did he have much interest in them and he never entertained the notion that he might spark with a female).

                He banished the thoughts immediately.  Every Holmes had someone they felt a strong jolt with—even Mycroft had found someone for the short time she had been alive.  Sherlock needed to simply wait.  For all he knew, his spark wasn’t in the home country or even an Englishman, for that matter.  He would focus on his experiments and solving crimes while he waited.

                As much as he was loathed to admit it, Sherlock realised that he was lonely as he waited.  Cocaine and morphine helped a little some days, and focusing on logic and facts helped on others, but he still had a small, empty space in his life that nothing filled.  Perhaps companionship was required; nothing romantic, of course, but it might be nice to have someone to cohabitate the space with him and to fill the quiet air with the sounds of another’s life.  He could find somebody else who was waiting for their spark and they both would be slightly less lonely together while they waited.

                He mentioned it to a few people who had wide acquaintance pools, under the guise he couldn’t afford a nice flat and settled back.  It would probably be six months before the first possibility showed up, but at least he had set the wheels in motion.

                Much to his surprise, not even a full day passed.  Stamford interrupted him in the middle of an important experiment with a possible flatmate.  The man with Stamford was almost unhealthily slender and golden with a fading tan, but he had shown more interest in Sherlock’s amazing discovery than Stamford did, so Sherlock decided to give the man a chance.

                The man—hm, an army doctor, from the looks of things—appeared completely surprised when Sherlock mentioned his faults and asked about Afghanistan, but then he grinned.  His whole bearing changed from a haggard, weary solider who had seen too much war to a slightly boyish and mischievous chap who might have a slightly wicked streak.  He announced his own faults (fragile nerves and laziness and bull dogs) before he stuck out his hand, introducing himself.

                Sherlock grasped the proffered hand and something akin to a strong electric shock ran up his arm and hit him in the heart before exploding into a mixture of emotions that pummelled every cell.  For one brief, intense moment, he was so alive he thought his heart would burst with it and then it faded into the most complete feeling of contentment and sweetness he had ever known.  Suddenly, the air was crisper, colours were brighter, and light more luminescent.

                He made himself let go of the doctor’s hand, but he couldn’t have stopped the smile even if he wanted to.  No wonder people got stupid after they met someone they jolted with; Sherlock felt positively giddy and was resisting the urge to drag the army doctor out on the roof so everyone could see them together and know they were meant to be together and happy for the rest of their days, the laws of the land be damned.

                He managed to pull himself out of his joyous haze long enough to tell his spark the address of the flat he would be moving into and to see him off.

                Sherlock nearly danced over to his hat and walking stick and decided he would have to share his joy with someone who would be discreet, yet understand.  A late lunch with his brother was in order and he swanned out and flagged down a hansom.

                As he cheerfully and impatiently waited for the cab to get through London, he reflected on the matter and decided he should have told Stamford he wanted a flatmate earlier.  Well, what was done was done.  The important thing was he had met his spark.

                He wondered how his doctor would feel about solving crimes.

 

x Fin x