Deducing Tragedy Part One: See No Evil

Sherlock walked up to the door to see yet another note taped to the doorknob.

Today is not a good day, go home. –H.H.

At once he was angry, how dare That Girl, tell him what to do! And this was HIS home, yes he lived with Molly but Baker Street was home. He opened to door and didn’t even bother trying to be quiet today. She’d known he was there yesterday when he did everything to hide from her, why go out of his way if it would prove useless.

He walked into the living room, finding it very different than the day before. Well not very different, only two things had changed. First in the back corner of the room the two bottom shelves of books were different. They were now holding a couple dozen brail copies of different Novels. He was about to speak his outrage when the second things caught his attention.

Sitting in his chair was The Girl. She was still her in pink pajamas even though it was well past noon; he could tell she’d been there a while. She was sitting upright, her back straight and her feet planted firmly on the ground. Her hands were in her lap with a plain white envelope in her fingers. Her clear blue eyes were open and staring straight ahead, unfocused and unseeing.

“I told you today was not a good day,” she said in a small voice, the envelope twirling in her hands. “Why are you here?”

He tilted his head to the side, “you told me to go home. This IS home.”

She slowly inclined her head, “yes I suppose I should have been more specific.”

He paused a moment. “You’re clever” he said, she didn’t move. “Really clever, you figured all that out about victim when you had only John’s simple observations to go on.”

“Yes,” her voice was soft, so quiet he almost didn’t catch it.

“You would have known to be more specific,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You wanted me to come in here.”

She let out a very sad, half smile before turning her head down towards the envelope that was still twirling in her hands. “I guess you’re right-“

“I'm always right,” he cut her off. “The only question is why do you want me here?”

The letter stopped twirling and she looked back up at him with her unseeing eyes. “Do you believe in monsters Mr. Holmes?”

“Monsters?”

“Monsters, demons, evil so pure that you confuse it for good,” she let out a hard laugh. He didn’t answer her, only continued to watch her as she set the envelop on the table besides his chair. The Girl stood up and walked towards him. When she reached him she gently placed her hands on his biceps and pulled him down towards her.

“I got confused,” she whispered in his ear. “And when I'm alone, The Monster comes back” she turned away from him and walked into the kitchen. She pulled out two mugs and two tea bags. He watched as she poured the water from the kettle into the mugs before bringing them back into the living room. She handed him a mug and tea bag before resuming her position in his chair. The water was barely warm when he testing it on his finger. It must have been there for hours, he thought setting it aside.

“Everyone has their demons,” he said sitting in Johns chair and watching her prepare her tea.

“Demons, yes,” she said taking a sip. “I guess you don’t understand.”

“Of course I do,” he snapped. “What do you take me for, some common place idiot? I understand everything.” She looked at him, her unfocused gaze sending shivers down his spine. Dear god, is this how Molly felt before? When he looked at her but didn’t see her. When he stared through her like she was nothing, just a ghost; is this how she felt?

The Girl set aside her tea before standing up and crossing the distance between them. She placed her hands on the arm rests before kneeling down in front of Sherlock. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice raising an octave at his unease of the situation. She moved her hands to his lower abdomen, just above his pelvis, and laid one over the other before using them as a pillow and resting her head against him.

“I don’t take you as an idiot Sherlock,” she whispered, the hums of her voice against his leg making him shiver. “But you don’t understand, how could you? The Monster isn’t there when you’re alone. The Monster doesn’t fallow you everywhere you go, doesn’t taunt you like it does me.” He was silent, looking down and seeing nothing but a pretty girl with her head in his lap.

Turning away he thought about her words, how her tone hand changed from the possibility of a monster to her now calling it The Monster. To her The Monster was not imaginary as he originally thought, The Monster was very real, and she was very afraid.

“What do you need?” He found himself asking. She lifted her head to look at him; her clear blue eyes almost seemed to lock on his for a moment before they drifted away.

She opened her mouth, just slightly as if to say something but then closed it again. “Just- don’t let me be alone,” she begged him quietly. “I can’t be alone.”

She can’t face The Monster, he thought as he brought his hands up to cup her face. “You won’t be,” he whispered running his thumb over her soft cheek. “Not anymore.”