Edited by hannahw1032

~ Wednesday, February 10th, 2016 ~

     / / 35 years old / /

     | | Sherlock Holmes | |

     I wake up early at 6:30 a.m. and head to my desk.

It is looking to be a sunny day and bits of fluffy gray clouds are about the sky. Colours of orange, red and yellow are splotched across the it, like paint. It is a soft glow as the golden sun glowed behind the tall skyscrapers. There is snow on the ground as well. I look down and close my eyes: I hear wind chimes, a door open and close, taxis screeching, yelling about advertisements and engines roaring. All in all a normal busy day in London. I open my eyes, head to a red and gold chair and sit in it. I close my eyes again and hear Dr. John Watson heading up the stairs.

Looking up to see a tired looking John Watson, I think, 'Hm. Circles under eyes, tiredness. Closed eyes, a shake of the head, had an exasperated conversation, evidently annoyed. Undone neck collar of black–and–white checkered shirt, unhappy and tired. Rubbing neck, sore, from tilting head to keep phone by ear and hands were busy to hold phone for awhile. Moisturizer on hands, no hair product, evidently a bad phone call. Left hand seems slightly red from holding a phone. If holding a phone in ones left hand, they are speaking to someone with no type of relationship. Female would have to be a stranger with upsetting news, an annoying little ex–girlfriend or a family member he does not approve of, possibly his sister, Harriet Watson, for being an alcoholic. Small blush, once liked this person, not a senior or teen, a women in her late twenties who once cared for him. His ex–girlfriends never speak to him, so, that concludes that then. Woman in the late twenties, who possibly liked him, they know each other, no current type of relationship, she shared upsetting news, so much that he did not use hair product.'

"Good morning, Sherlock." John attempts a happy smile and drops on to a wooden chair by my desk.

'No coffee? How fascinating,' I think. "Former suitor or acquaintance?"

"What?" John mutters, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, dear lord, this is like the first time we met! Which was it, former suitor or acquaintance?" I groan.

Why must average minds be so slow?

"Oh, well, an acquaintance," John smiles.

I squint my heads and tilt my head slightly, observing him. 'Avoiding eye contact, ashamed or lying. Knowing John, ashamed. No quickened breathing, not lying. Simple. BORED.'

"Do you know where my cigarettes are?" I suddenly demand, realizing that are not on my desk.

"No," John replies, picking up a newspaper.

"Any crimes, then?" I ask, getting up and starting to pace continuously.

"No," John repeats. "Stop pacing! You're making me dizzy!"

"Shut up!" I snap, growing impatient.

"I can't help you," John looks up at me.

Slight eye twitch, lying. Knows location.

"Still no crimes?" I demand, trying to find something entertaining to do.

"No," John repeats.

I suddenly race behind him and see him on his phone. I catch a glimpse of a text:

Anonymous

John: I don't trust you.

I quickly sweep around to the front and place my hands behind my back, "You're not checking!" I seethe.

"Alright, alright!" John places his phone down and actually examines the newspaper.

"Anything?"

"No."

     "Hm," I grumble, disapprovingly.

     "Whatever you do, do NOT shoot the smiley face again!" John suddenly sits up, fumbles for his gun and stands up.

     "Hm, you made sure to that," I begin pacing again and tilt my head at his gun. "That's what happens when I'm bored and you leave your guns with ammunition still in it."

     "Our rent is higher because of that!" John protests.

     "Whatever," I mutter, undoing my collar.

     "You always wear a white shirt and a black blazer, why?" John asks.

      'No answer located,' I search my mind. 'Hm, I must have deleted that information, like caring about the fact that the earth travels around the sun . . .'

     "No idea," I reply, quietly.

     "Wait, what?" John's eyes widen in surprise.

     "You heard me perfectly . . . Shut up!" I narrow my eyes at him.

     "You actually DON'T know something?" John gapes at me.

     "Shut UP!" I snap.

     "Alright, alright," John grins. "Just wanted to have you repeat yourself, and stop insulting me!"

     "It's just clothes," I snap, defensively.

     "But you don't know why you wear such fancy clothes?" John smirks.

     "Argh," I growl. "Look. For. Cases. John." I grit my teeth.

     "Alright," John says seriously and returns to viewing the newspapers, after sitting down.

     Suddenly, my phone rings on my desk. I pick it up, slide it and put it to my ear, "Sherlock Holmes."

     "We've got a case, come to Scotland Yard," Lestrade's voice comes.

     "Why there?" I demand.

     "We have a murder here," Lestrade explains. "I can't believe that you don't remember that my first name is Greg."

     "Your first name is Greg?" I ask.

     "You can remember over two–hundred types of ash, yet you don't know that the earth goes around the sun or that my first name is Greg? How?"

"Knowing names and astronomy is absolutely useless! Knowing that the earth travels around the sun will not change anything!"

"Elementary!"

"Stop using my own words against me!"

Lestrade chuckles, "I'll see you soon, then."

"How do you know if I'm coming?" I snap.

"You, Sherlock Holmes, the best and number one consulting detective of the world, would skip out on a murder?" Lestrade sounds serious, but I hear Phillip Anderson and Sally Donovan laughing in the background.

"Shut up!" I yell into the phone.

"See you, good talk!" Lestrade hangs up, as well do I.

"Lestrade, let's go," I grab my large, black overcoat, put my phone in my pocket and put on my black leather gloves. "Let's go!" I bark as John sets down the newspaper.

"I haven't had coffee yet," he protests.

"Yes, and someone was murdered!" I seethe at him, feeling excited. "Isn't that fascinating? COME."

"Ugh," John mutters, getting up, putting on his coat, grabs his revolver, puts it in his pocket and follows me out the door begrudgingly.

     "GOOD BYE, MRS. HUDSON!" I yell, as we head downstairs.

     "What about breakfast?" she calls back.

     "Yes, Sherlock!" John snaps. "What about breakfast?"

     "What about it? I don't need it, it'll slow me down," I frown at him.

  'He's lived with me for awhile, shouldn't he know this already?' I think furiously.

     "But I need it!" John protests.

     "Let's go!" I snap my fingers and point at the door. "JOHN HAMISH WATSON! LET'S. GO!"

     "Lemme grab a piece of toast!" John yells.

     "NO. HURRY!" I yell.

     "Fine!" John yells.

     I open the door, John follows me, I turn to see 221b on the door and I close it.

     I head to the street, hold out my right arm and yell, "TAXI!"

     A taxi stops and we both get in.

     '7:00. Judging by Lestrade's tone this murder occurred earlier than 6:30. About 3:00 a.m. judging by his tired tone . . . Oh, boy. John looks confused,' I sigh. "Alright, you have questions."

      "Where are we going?"

     "Scotland Yard. Murder. Next?"

     "What time?"

     "3:00 a.m."

     "What could you possibly know that?"

     "Tired tone, been up for four hours, hoarse voice from yelling or screaming continuously," I declare.

     "Okay, whatever," John rolls his eyes.

     "You asked," I point out.

"Whatever," he repeats.

     "Any other questions?" I ask.

     "Nope," John looks annoyed.

     'Annoyed look, avoiding eye contact, still has more questions, possibly annoyed because I kept asking about the anonymous person he was texting,' I think. "This is our stop." I tell the cab and the driver stops.

     I open the doors and we exit. There is yellow CAUTION tape everywhere and I see a body outside the building.

     We head towards Lestrade, Sally and Anderson who are beside the body.

     "Ah, Sherlock, just in time," Lestrade declares, looking up when he sees me.

     "Yeah, to prove you're smarter than everyone else," Anderson snorts quietly.

     "Shut up, Anderson!" I snap back and to my delight, Lestrade does not disagree. "What have we learned so far?"

     "He was found at 3:00 a.m. here, I found him here dead. See what you can find out," Lestrade informs me.

     "Okay, so—"

     "Shut up!" I order and I examine the body closely. 'Blood on the ground, wound from the stomach, no weapon on sight, no clue what weapon it is, no bullet wound.'

     "What do you think?" Lestrade asks.

     'Nothing. Ugh. Well, I'll go for faking it.'

     "He doesn't see anything helpful," John buts in.

     "Really?!" Anderson, Sally and Lestrade gape at me.

     "Shut UP!" I snap at everyone.

     "Do you deny it?" Anderson asks.

     I am silent, "SHUT UP!"

     "Oh my God, you are actually stuck with this?" Sally laughs.

     "Hmm. Time will help. Give me time," I mutter.

     "Can't do that," Lestrade hands me a note.

     I read it in my head:

This police officer is responsible for putting my brother in jail. I killed him for revenge to ensure his silence and now my brother can be freed from jail, as I burned all evidence. Set him free or I'll make sure more people suffer. I have my reasons.
— Anonymous

     "Oh, shoot!" John gasped.

     ~ Flashback ~

     I suddenly race behind him and see him on his phone. I catch a glimpse of a text:

Anonymous

John: I don't trust you.

     ~ Flashback ends ~

     "Anonymous?" I look at John suddenly.

     He looks uncomfortable.

     "Oh yes, whatever you're hiding. That information will soon be mine. Oh! What a delightful case! Oh! This is exciting! I no longer need cigarettes . . . The game is never over!" I smirk. "THE GAME, IS ON."

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Words: 1633

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