Hazel Watson has been missing for eight years. The last time John saw his little sister was in Afghanistan before she got an emergency call and left. Two months later she turned up MIA. So when Hazel just appears out of the blue renting 221 C from M...
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Sherlock and I were standing in front of Major Barrymore, who had nothing but attitude towards us. Understandably so.
"Oh you know I'd love to give you unlimited access to this place. Why not?" He snarked.
"Oh it's a simple enough request, Major." Sherlock reasoned.
"I've never heard of anything so bizarre." The major shot back.
"We've negotiated twenty-four hours, and you cannot deny that request." I reply smoothly, crossing my arms over my chest.
"And not a second more." He snapped back. "I may have to comply with this order but I don't have to like it." He huffs, turning his back to us. "I don't know what you expect to find here anyway."
"Perhaps the truth." Sherlock says as he turns to face him.
Barrymore looks at us at the door. "About what?" A look of realization strikes his features. "Oh, I see. The big coat should have told me. You two are one of those conspiracy lots, aren't you?" Sherlock and I exchange a glance at each other, frowns decorating our faces. "Well then, go ahead, seek them out. The monsters, the death rays, the aliens."
"Have you got any of those?" Sherlock asks nonchalantly. I suppress a smile at his joke. However, the Major doesn't find it entertaining and simply rolls his eyes.
"We're just wondering." I remark with the same tone.
Barrymore leans forward as if to tell us a secret. "A couple. Crash landed here in the sixties. We call them Abbet and Costello." He straightens his back and turns to his computer once more. "Good luck Mr.Holmes, Agent Watson."
Sherlock and I go to a lab that has the monitors set up, where we see John walking around.
"And here we do our little experiment." Sherlock grins excitedly. He holds the door open, and gestures for me to go in first.
"You're a little to enthusiastic about this." I mumble.
We sit down at the chairs, watching carefully as John walks through a door. Silence is the only thing in the room, except for the shuffling of John's shoes.
"Flowers." Sherlock says randomly.
"What?" I say, looking at him with brows furrowed.
"Do you like flowers?" He asks, clarifying his statement.
"Oh, um, I don't know actually. No one has given me any before. Well, except for John. He does every Valentine's Day." I answer honestly, leaning back in my chair.
"Really?" Sherlock asks surprisingly.
"Never had time to date before so no reason to get any." I say nonchalantly, shrugging my shoulders.
"Not even as a teenager?" He presses.
I take a moment to think back and shake my head. "No one really liked me. Said I was a freak. Called me 'Freaky Watson'. They hated me because I was smarter than them. I graduated at the age of fourteen, and everyone hated me for it." I mumble the last part, sadden by the memory of my peers faces when they saw me cross the stage to get my diploma. All filled with jealousy, anger and hatred.
