perception of the mind (sh adaptation)

Thirty Seven • Checkmate's Confidence

"Inky sky and stars everywhere."
-Anthony Horowitz

▪︎▪︎▪︎

'Unknown'.

That's all it said; black paint, hastily written. That was all Diego could give when he walked into work that day.

He had gone through his usual routine - eat a soggy breakfast, change, pack Mycroft Holmes' file for safekeeping, put on his shoes, get his keys, cigarettes, check once more that he had the secret file, leave the house, catch a bus, get to Scotland Yard earlier than everyone else, smoke one of the cigarettes he packed, sit down at his small office wedged between annoying Anderson and a woman who smelt of cigars and Chanel, complain about the broken heaters, check for a third time that Mr Holmes' file was safe, and begin his work.

But this time, it was different.

It was empty when he walked in, as always, and he didn't even realise it at first.

'Unknown', that's what it read on the wall in front of him.

Diego initially presumed it was one of Anderson's theories and ignored it. But then he remembered Anderson had been off work for the past week.

That's when he called Lestrade.

And the Detective Inspector was just as boggled. 'Who would break in just to write one word? Then leave!' he said. Diego shrugged.

He offered to check the security cameras, to which Lestrade agreed. That's when Diego saw her on the fuzzy screen.

A woman - dressed in black with red hair trickling out of a cap as she vandalised the walls at 2am that night. Not once did she show her face, nor even turn to the cameras. As if she knew where they were and where not to look.

'There are a million women with red hair in the country! Who the hell is that?' exclaimed Lestrade. To which Diego shrugged again.

So they called Sherlock.

《▪︎▪︎▪︎》

"I mean.." she sighed and pulled off her protective glasses. "It was last Christmas, David. I've pretty much forgotten about it."

He huffed as she nonchalantly picked up another vial and he took it from her gently. "Yeah, but that's not.. Me. I didn't mean to grab you like that, or- or scare you. I'm really sorry, Ophelia. Honestly."

That's when she looked at him properly. "I know. I forgave you, and I still do."

He offered her a feeble smile. "S-So we are still.."

"Friends?"

"Yeah."

"Of course. But you know, if you really want to make it up to me," she sighed heavily as she struggled to pull off her lab coat, her large stomach getting in the way. "You can finish up my conclusion so I can leave early."

"Yes, of course, I'd be happy to."

"Great. Nice doing business with you, Dr Brown."

"Y-You too..."

As Ophelia packed up her work in her locker, she smiled at all the cards stuck to the inside of the door - the ones congratulating her on her promotions, pregnancy, birthday cards. She kept them all. Even the one from the woman she had no idea even worked at the hospital. But she loved them, kept them close. Especially Sherlock's one. The plain card. The letter inside it. It was the first and last thing she saw every time she worked.