Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.

Who was Sherlock?

It is the question that had been nagging on my mind all day. The other question is, where is Ash? I haven't seen her in days.

But that's not as important. Sherlock died yesterday, and I don't know why. Heck, no one knows why! But they know who he was, and I don't. I need more information. Then I get an idea. The Internet has all the answers! I think as I walk through the doors of my TARDIS.

'Ash?' I call out into the darkness of the diner. 'Hello? Anyone here?' no one answers. I sigh and make my way to the diner's bar and set my bag down on the counter. I glance around the diner. The only light is coming through the windows, otherwise the place is dark. A pan of burnt soufflés is on the counter. I touch them and they're cold and hard, like they've been set out for days. I wonder, when did they get there?

I glance around at the booths. All of the tables are clean and have nothing on them. Except for one...

I walk over to that one and flip open my laptop that is sitting on the table. The web browser is open to a cooking website, on a link for a strawberry soufflé recipe. A tab is also open for... waffles? Since when did I take an interest in waffles? Since when did my laptop get here, anyway?

My android phone is lying next to my computer, so I click the home button to open it up. I unlock the screen, and the first thing that pops up is a message saying, 'This message is no longer available as this contact has been blocked'  from a random number. I exit that screen and turn off the phone, slightly confused. I don't remember blocking a number... or having a contact with that phone address.

I sit down at the booth and delete the soufflé and waffle tabs. Then I type into the search box, Sherlock Holmes, and leave the cursor blinking. Immediately, a suggestion pops up for Sherlock Holmes. I press enter and scroll through the links. 'Fraudulent Detective Takes His Own Life,' that sounds correct... 'The Fall of a Great Man,'--called it! Smirking proudly, I click on a wikipedia link that takes me to a webpage that is a biography of his life.

I read and read. The page is actually quite long. Apparently, he was a detective for New Scotland Yard and had a co-worker named John Watson, so that must've been the man I met at the fall scene. His full name was William Sherlock Scott Holmes... He claimed to be a high functioning sociopath... He claimed to have owned a dog named Redbeard when he was little... His older brother is Mycroft Holmes, an employee of the British Government, who has much power... He lived on 221B Baker Street... His death is considered suicide... Near the end of his death he had been accused of being a "fake detective"... and he was a rumoured drug addict. Cocaine and morphine, to be exact. According to John, Sherlock also smoked and used nicotine patches.

I click on the name John Watson, which is highlighted in blue and underlined, and it takes me to a page on him. He served in Afghanistan, his full name is John Hamish Watson, he is rumoured to be gay and in an affair with Sherlock Holmes, sees a therapist, shared a flat with Sherlock, and solved crimes with the detective. Having read enough, I exit the pages and continue looking through links.

Scrolling down the list again, I glance over various articles and websites. 'Suicide of Fake-Genius'... 'Super-Sleuth is Dead'... and then a link reading, Flat for rent at Baker St, inquire within. It is quite curious that an ad should pop up when I searched specifically for Sherlock Holmes, so I click on it to see why it might have done that. It takes me to a little page that has a heading that reads the URL. The page reads,

A flat is for rent at 221B Baker St by landlady Martha Louise Hudson. 221B is the former home of Sherlock Holmes and his colleague John Watson, but, sadly, Mr Holmes passed on recently and Mr Watson has, since then, moved out. The place is in need of some--but not too drastic--repair, and is still quite messy from its former renters. £330 per week. To accept the offer, inquire within at 221B Baker St, London, England.

I pause for a moment. I actually have been looking for a flat to rent, ever since I woke up a week ago in the TARDIS console room. With Ash gone, I'll have to run the place by myself, which won't be easy. But during the nights, the Homeless Network could watch over the TARDIS, if I moved into 221B. I actually could make that work! I've missed living outside of the TARDIS anyway.

Below the writing is a comment section. I click REPLY and type in,

I am willing to accept your offer. I'll stop by Baker St soon. -CO

Then I close the browser and flip the computer shut. Grabbing my bag and stuffing my phone into it, I head out of the diner and hail a cab for 221B Baker St. Getting in the car, the cabbie looks back at me and raises his eyebrows.

'It's been a while since someone wanted to go there,' he comments.

'Yeah, well,' I respond, annoyed. Everyone is acting like it's been years since Sherlock died when really, it was only yesterday.

The cabbie pulls up at 221B and I get out, paying the man. Walking up to 221B's doorstep, I poise my hand to knock on the black door, and then pause. Absent-mindedly, I straighten the knocker on the door, which is slightly off-centre, and then go back to knocking.

A small, elderly woman answers the door in a floral patterned dress with buttons. Her eyes are kind and her vibe is welcoming. 'Why, hello!' she greets me. I smile at her.

'Hi! I'm Clara Oswald, and I'm here about the flat for rent.' I say.

'Of course! Just come in and I'll put on some tea. Oh, and I'm Martha, but you can call me Mrs Hudson.' she says in a soft voice. I step into the foyer and Mrs Hudson disappears through a doorway down the hallway. I take the moment to look around.

The wallpaper is a Victorian style and all the windows are blurred. There are a set of steps leading up to what is probably 221B itself. The lighting is dim and the floor is carpeted. Mrs Hudson returns with a tray filled with a teapot and two teacups, and she starts up the stairs.

'Just follow me, darling,' she instructs, so I do.

221B is a mess. A hot mess. A Pigsty. Whatever you want to call it. But whenever you do call it, it doesn't even begin to express how utterly chaotic the place is. The mirror on the wall is covered in a thin layer of dust and a (probably real) human skull rests on the mantelpiece. The bookshelves are in disarray and there is a yellow smiley face spray painted on the wall with bullet holes in it. Papers are spread all over the coffee table and a map is pinned to the wall with strings stretching from one place to another all over it. Two chairs are in the middle of the room, facing each other. All of it is just too incredibly unorderly to explain. I snap a photo of the place for later.

'Well,' Mrs Hudson begins, 'this is the living room. Let me show you the kitchen and the rest of the flat.' Mrs Hudson leads me around a corner.

The lighting in the kitchen is blue and the kitchen is covered in test tubes with a microscope. I walk over to the fridge and reach to open it when Mrs Hudson stops me.

'Oh, dearie, I wouldn't do that if I were you. There are body parts in there.'

Unbelieving, I open the fridge. A foul stench wafts from the fridge, and I immediately close the door before getting a glimpse of its contents.

'Aw, what did I tell you?' Mrs Hudson says, half complaining, half scolding. She waves her hand in front of her nose to blow away the smell and makes a face. I gag.

After she moves on to show me the bedroom and the bathroom (which are just as horrendous) we sit in the two big chairs in the living room.

There are a few moments of silence before Mrs Hudson speaks. 'I know it's a bit of a mess... but it's nothing that can't be fixed up.'

Honestly, I don't mind the mess. It feels warm and welcoming, and sort of like I've been here before... though I can't imagine why.

'It's not too horrible.' I say. 'We would just need new wallpaper for the bullet holes. Nothing I can't fix in a few days.'

'So do you think you'll take it, then?' Mrs Hudson asks me.

'Oh, definitely.' I respond with a smile.

'Wonderful! she remarks. She sets her cup of tea down on the tray and stands up. 'Well, I'll leave you to it, then. I would help you move in, but I've somewhere to be. Oh, and I'll collect rent at the end of each month.'

'That's alright.' I say. 'Thank you,' Mrs Hudson nods and leaves the room.

I sigh and set my tea down. Might as well get to work.

~~~~~

Word Count: 1,635

Edited 2.1.19