Пробую сама перевести свой фанфик на английский. Пишу с телефона. Ууу! Я ненавижу Т9.

Plus one.


Sherlok came at a house on Baker Street so quickly that John barely keep up with him.
- It is our living room! - Holmes presents room solemnly, rushing about around and chaotically moving books and object.
John with interest looked at a fire-place shelf where a skull lay.
- What this is? - John thinks real it or artificial but sence of time does not allow. And wich such unbelievable neighbour while not clear whether it is needed to be tactful or nevertheless to ask straight.
- This is Billy. He live here too. - Holmes answer imperturbably.
Watson understand that skull is real and from it for is some reason ill at ease.

***
Watson notices that sometimes, in the pore of reverie or when submerges in the Halls of reason, an of genius consulting detective thoughtfully turns a skull in hands. Sometimes he speaks with Билли-таки. In opinion Shakespeare comes at once. Indeed, Sholms as though чует such ideas and at once, beforehand, offended. It so strange. It too strange. Although in his neighbour much these "strange", so that John decides not to pay attention. And not stared on a skull too intently. Although sometimes it is terribly desirable to know, who that was for Sherlok.

***

Sherlok was again carried by devils somewhere on the streets of London in search of proofs of crime and collection of evidences. Watson was only interfered with him under feet, простуженный after yesterday's night pursuit on roofs in the pouring rain, therefore a doctor was imperiously sent away home, строго-настрого forbidding even to try to help a detective. John depressed examined a living room and slowly drank cooling off tea. It was for some reason sad and opposite on the soul. And he strongly experienced yet. That his friend rushes about in the middle of nowhere quite alone. Submerged in the sad ideas, he got up slowly, walked up to the fire-place shelf and took a skull in hands. Nevertheless a skull was the real, human. Twitching by shoulders, a doctor laid Billy on a place. Slowly developing, John was covered on the cup, reflecting above what to occupy itself.
- Hello!
Giving start from a surprise, Watson heaved up eyes. An unknown redheaded fellow sat in the arm-chair of Sherloks. On him there was a check shirt not fastened to the end, from under her a grey t-shirt peeked out with some inscription, there were on the move blue shabby jeans and trainers, with the lumps of sticking on them dirt.
John did not hear, as a stranger entered. Although all business can in a temperature, that poisoned all his creature all day long and to the wild weakness whole-body. A doctor remembered exactly, that locked a door on a lock, though a smischief to Holmes. Mrs. Hudson however left to the friend on the pair of days. So that to admit a guest nobody could. It did not so much please John. He walked a decisive step to the entrance door and pulled a pen, she was closed. Turning around, to say of to the stranger, all, that he thinks of him, Watson found an empty room. In a living room nobody was.
- That after devilry?! - a doctor mumbled sullenly, trying the forehead. - Apparently, fever. I congratulate, John. For you already hallucinations not in one's dreams.