Death of a Consulting Detective

Nightmares Notes and Cigarettes

October 15, 2013

The dreams that come to me every night have struck once more. Sherlock jumped off the top of Bart's Hospital as I helplessly watched from a distance. Although there was more to the ending this time around. Sherlock was alive for just a few moments when I arrived and he told me why he really jumped. He told me he cared so much for his blogger; that this was all done to save me from Moriarty. That's how I knew it was a dream, you see? Sherlock died the moment he hit the pavement. I never got an explanation as to why he did it, just an empty gaze from his light blue eyes.

I woke up with tear stains on my cheeks and a longing sensation in my heart.

In fear of facing his blue eyes again, I wandered into the living room of the flat. I think I chose to come in here because of the violin. Everything I do always brings me back to the bloody instrument. Without thinking I picked up the violin, wanting to hear its beautiful voice once more. So I ran the bow along the strings like he did. The sound it produced sounded like a dying animal crying out for help. Dying animal. Sherlock. Shit.

My legs gave out and I fell into his chair; the instrument rested in my lap as the tears ran down my cheeks again. For hours I sobbed over the violin. My hands trembled. I think Ms. Hudson even came up to comfort me at some point but I honestly can't remember.

If there is anything that I have been taught by Sherlock's demise, it is this: The love you feel for one specific person may not be truly realized until they are gone. We all have that one moment in our lives where everything seems to catch up with us to bite us in the arse, and this is my moment. Revenge for ignoring everyone's warnings about Sherlock Holmes. This feeling I'm experiencing right now is worse than any other type of pain out there. It's even worse than being shot in the leg. I think I would've preferred it if Sherlock shot me in the heart rather than permanently damaging it.

After a long time of Ms. Hudson sitting with me, Lestrade walked silently into the flat. She must've called him to talk to me. He had a cigarette balanced between his lips as he awkwardly stood in the doorway.

He saw me sobbing, he saw me falling apart, and he didn't say a word. Ms. Hudson left us alone, he sat down, offered me a cigarette (which I actually took), and we listened to the silence surrounding us. Despite this being my first cigarette, I picked up on it quickly, although I did cough a little after inhaling the nicotine for the first time. Lestrade still kept whatever thoughts he had to himself. We had this unspoken agreement to just sit there and forget about what just happened. No man likes to cry or see another man cry, so it never happened.

~

After an hour we had gone through two cigarettes each. I had started my third when Lestrade mentioned a recent case he was working on.

Last night a man, who had way too much to drink at the local pub, stumbled upon a dead woman in an ally. At first it sounded like a normal murder, possibly committed by some poor bastard in need of money. But then Lestrade mentioned that the woman was in her under clothes and that she had the word "Eve" carved onto her chest. There was also a man a few blocks away exactly like the woman; in his pants with the word "Adam" on his chest. At first, when they received the drunken man's call, they thought he was so intoxicated that he was seeing things.

"I went to check it out though and the drunken son of a bitch wasn't lying. Bloody mess that alleyway was. I still have a team down there investigating the two crime scenes." he explained.
I knew where this was going. Lestrade reads my blog and he must've seen my last post. He needs a new Sherlock Holmes just as much as I do.

"I just thought I'd bring it up, in case... in case you want to.. go check it out." Lestrade continued.

This was a very different side to the detective inspector. Usually he had a sarcastic way of talking about his job, especially around Sherlock. Now he was serious and desperate for help. We both wanted life to return to the way it was, when Sherlock shot the wall and told Anderson to shut the hell up.
"Let's go then. We're just wasting time sitting around here." I replied after a brief moment of thought.