A/N: All right, this is the last chapter for this story, but the final story in this trilogy will be posted tomorrow. Enjoy! :D
Disclaimer: Still, I do not own Sherlock.
In a glance, Sherlock memorized the room. It wasn't very big, when compared to the sitting room, at least. The door entered into the living room. Mrs. Hudson's floral printed chair was not far from the door and the high, winged back faced the door way. There was a doorway off to the left side of the entrance, which lead to the rest of the flat. On the right side of the entrance, there was a desk. Sherlock saw that a relative had given it to her judging by the scratches. Next to the desk was a bookshelf with all the books neatly organized. The back wall had two windows that faced the back yard.
Sherlock paused for a minute, in the doorway, to make sure Mrs. Hudson was asleep, then made his way to the desk. He started to shuffle the many papers, messages, maill, ect. that may conceal a human skull. Then he searched the drawers, pulling one out, shuffled its contents, then closed it only enough so he could rifle through the drawer underneath. When the desk hadn't been forthcoming, Sherlock turned to the bookcase. He pulled the books out and stacked them, for once gently, on the corner of the desk, then on the floor. When he saw that it wasn't in the bookcase, Sherlock moved on.
After an hour- and- a- half, Sherlock stood in the middle of the living room and thought. He had searched everywhere, even twpped on the walls and floor for a hidden panel, but nothing reaveled his skull's hiding place.
Sherlock glanced around the room one more time to make sure he didn't miss any possible hiding place. He turned in a slow circle, his eyes not missing anything. When he glanced at the bookcase and desk, something caught his eye.
During the hour- and- a- half, Mrs. Hudson had shifted her position in the chiar. She had been leaning against the right arm, now she was leaning against the left with her legs partly curled around her.
Sherlock quietly, stepped to the chair and reached down between the cushion and the arm and withdrew Yorick. With a triumphant grin, and with the skull under one arm, Sherlock left the flat behind, as well as all the dishes, clothes, books, papers and anything else he might have pulled out, on any avaliable surface.
End (For now...)
A/N: Question: Is it normal for an author to have conversations with the characters? When I was writting this chapter, I was actually haveing an argumaent with Sherlock. I think I'm scared now. I hope you enjoyed. :D