Deducing Tragedy Part One: See No Evil

Sherlock Holmes stood near the window, his phone in hand as he looked over the message again. He had to admit it was mostly out of anger that he sent those texts; anger at Lestrade and John but mostly at the girl. Who did she think she was? That little blind girl trying to observe, to deduce! That was his job, his field of expertise!

The door opened and he turned to see Molly walk in with two bags of groceries. She struggled a bit with the door and he picked up his violin to begin playing. Molly set the bags on the counter in the kitchen and turned an annoyed glare on Sherlock. “Thank you so much for the help Sherlock. It was really, very nice of you”

“The sarcasm is a little over the top don’t you think?” he mumbled as he continued to play.

“You’re unbelievable” she growled taking off her jacket at putting it in the closet. She left the closet door open again, he noted as she walked into the kitchen and began putting away the food.

“You’ve been living with me for nearly a year now Molly” he said setting aside his violin and walking into the kitchen, closing the closet door as he passed. “Surely you’ve come to know this by now”

“Yeah but sometime I forget” she muttered bitterly.

“So- bad day at work then?” he asked glancing over the paper bags. She forgot his shampoo again, an act he suspected to be intentional; A punishment for keeping her up very late last night by playing the violin into the morning hours. He couldn’t help it he needed to think, think about the perplexing problem of the fact that the body of the girl had been discovered more than two days ago but they still hadn’t caught the killer. He’d made his first mistake and yet it appeared Lestrade was too incompetent to find anything further.

“Not a good one” she admitted with a sigh as she ran a stressed hand threw her hair. “A girl, no more than sixteen… her parents came in to identify the body today.”

“How tragic” he murmured, his thumb raking across his lips as he stared absently at the floor on the other side of the counter. Or perhaps she was punishing him for forgetting to water her plants like he’d promised to. She went around for ages throwing away the dead shrubs and washing the decorative pots they’d been in.

“Now if only you actually meant that” she rolled her eyes.

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“Sherlock you don’t feel anything that could get in the way of solving a case” she said putting away the milk and eggs. “Now what do you want for dinner?”

“Who is the girl?” he asked suddenly.

She paused a moment “the girl?” she questioned, surprise coloring her tone. “Her name was Jennifer, Jennifer-“

He waved off her thought, “not her, the other one!”

“What other one?” she asked grinding her teeth in annoyance.

“The one that is currently living in my flat” he said, his eyes locked on hers.
He expected her to flinch, to turn away and deny knowing anything about that. He expected little Molly Hooper to blush at being caught and quietly give up all the information he desired. But she didn’t. Molly met his cold accusing gaze with her own icy resistance and Sherlock realized he’d miscalculated. The Molly he was standing face to face with was not the Molly of a year ago. She’d grown since then, learned to brace herself against his gaze which once made her feel helpless. She wasn’t that small blushing school girl like creature he once knew. She was Molly Hooper, the woman made of steal.

“Why would you think I know anything about that?” she asked, her palms flat against the surface that separated them.

“You know why.”

“But do you?” she asked raising an eyebrow. “Has the great Sherlock Holmes lost a step in a year of absence?”

“I haven’t.”

“Then prove it” she smiled, almost to herself. “Who is the girl?”