deal or no deal | Sherlock Holmes

32

𝐸𝓋𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒

It's been approximately a month since the arrest of James Woodley, and within that span, the landscape of our lives has undergone significant transformation.

Foremost among these shifts, Samuel found himself mercifully spared from the clutches of incarceration. Rather than facing the stark confines of a jail cell for his involvement in the newsboys' pay reduction, he's been tasked with diligently working off the debt and reimbursing them for the arduous hours they've endured.

In a move of profound significance, Father reclaimed ownership of the newsboys' station, ensuring its safeguarding against the clutches of nefarious influences. His motive, twofold: to prevent its recurrence into the wrong hands and to maintain a vigilant watch over my brother's actions. Initially, Samuel harbored reservations about this proximity to Father, given the tumultuous history between them. However, the enormity of the grace extended towards him was not lost, compelling him to eventually acquiesce.

Amidst these trials, we bid a somber farewell to my beloved mother. The funeral service, though profoundly poignant, marked an emotionally taxing day.

The air was heavy with grief as we gathered at the cemetery, surrounded by a sea of somber faces and silent tears. The sky above was gray, mirroring the heaviness in our hearts as we prepared to lay my mother, to rest.

Sherlock stood beside me, a steady presence amidst the turmoil of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. His hand found mine, offering silent reassurance as we approached the gravesite, where Mother's casket lay draped in white roses.

I swallowed back a wave of sorrow, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Sherlock squeezed my hand gently, a silent reminder that I was not alone in my grief.

As the priest began the solemn ceremony, memories of Mother flooded my mind—the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her embrace, the wisdom in her words. Tears pricked at my eyes, threatening to spill over as I struggled to find the strength to say goodbye.

But Sherlock was there, his unwavering support a beacon of light in the darkness. As I leaned into his embrace, the floodgates opened once more, releasing the torrent of emotions that had been building inside me since Mother's death.

For a long time, we stood there together, lost in our shared grief, as the world around us faded into insignificance. And in that moment, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as Sherlock was by my side, I would find the strength to carry on.

As we said our final goodbyes to Mother, I whispered a silent promise to honor her memory, to live my life with the same grace and courage that she had always shown. And though the pain of her loss would never truly fade, I took solace in the knowledge that her love would always be with me, guiding me through the darkest of days.

My mother was my steadfast pillar of strength, a guiding beacon through life's labyrinthine passages. Her absence leaves a chasm in my heart, for she was not merely an encourager or provider but, above all, my cherished mother. While I'm profoundly grateful for the cherished moments we shared, the ache of longing for more time with her persists unabated.

Sherlock and I had an odd encounter with a fellow sent to Sherlock's flat by Enola.

"Sherlock Holmes?" The dark-skinned man inquired, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, his brow furrowing in confusion as he glanced between the stranger and the door, expecting Enola's arrival.

"I'm here for my appointment," the gentleman continued, his smile faltering slightly as he registered our perplexed expressions. "You're seeking a flatmate?"

A chuckle bubbled up within me at the absurdity of the situation. "You must have the wrong address," I interjected with a playful smirk. "Trust me, you definitely don't want to live with this guy." I nudged Sherlock teasingly, earning myself a mock glare in return.

The man's brow furrowed in confusion, but he remained undeterred. "Really?" he murmured, glancing at the numbers on the door. "The young lady was very clear as to the place and the time. 'Thursday at 4:00,' she said." Realization dawned on me as I suppressed a snicker.

"You are Sherlock Holmes?" the man pressed, seeking confirmation.

"Hmm. Yes," Sherlock affirmed with a small chuckle, opening the door wider. "Please, do come in, Mr...?"

"Doctor. Watson," the man introduced himself, extending a hand. "John Watson."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Sherlock replied, shaking John's hand before gesturing towards me. "And this is Detective Flemington."

"Ah, lovely to meet you," John said, turning to me with a friendly smile as he shook my hand. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that I didn't have to divulge my identity.

There's no way we could kick him to the streets. We explained to him the unique arrangement: he could live with Sherlock temporarily until our wedding, at which point he would move into his own apartment. In exchange, Sherlock would split the rent and maintain his home office space.

Oh right, the wedding. We have everything we need. My dress has been made, the location is secured, the guests have received their invites.

All that's left is the wedding.