You Are My Mystery {Sherlock Holmes}

Chapter 11*

"That was... Fun," I announce, not managing to find another word for the little stunt we pulled off.

"It was boring," the tall, snarky man responds, grabbing one of my boxes for me.

He liked it.

"I need some time to relax. No more cases for a while..." I say aloud as I grab my coat and hat. "I'm going out, Holmes. I'll be back. Just stay here and pack for me," I tell the curly-haired man.

"I'm coming."

"No, I'm just getting some air." I step outside my front door, the wind hitting my face. I peak back through the window to see him picking through my belongings.

Figured he would do that.

I ignore his snooping for now, busy lighting a cigarette to calm my nicotine withdraws. Once I'm finished taking a few puffs, I tap it out and put it back in the little container I use to save them. I never smoke a full one-- one cigarette can last me three smokes. It's a nasty habit, really, but it helps take the edge off.

I quickly walk back inside, ready to scold him for inspecting my things. "Hands off my shit," I snap quite rudely.

"Don't curse. It sounds bad." He raises an eyebrow at my statement before he takes a noticeable inhale, clearly smelling the left over smoke. "How do you feel about the violin?" He suddenly asks.

"Why?"

"I forgot to mention that I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?" He quickly questions as he picks up a packed box.

"Why would it?" I ask as I sit down to rest my aching leg. He notices my discomfort but leaves the subject alone.

"Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." He continues closing the boxes for me.

"What don't you like?"

"Well, for starters, I have a problem with people like me. That's for one. Can hardly stand snarky attitudes."

"Mmm, so we might have a problem," Sherlock thinks aloud. I just send a muffled response his way. Suddenly I'm up and shoving past my boxes. I look up at my wall, at the wallpaper, noticing something off.

"Someone's been here," I mumble. Fuck, I should've locked my door.

"What?" He asks, not hearing what I said. I run up to the wall, and pick up a pre-torn part. I quickly pull it off the wall.

"Someone. Has. Been... HERE!" I yell as the wall is revealed. I look at what's written in big letters on the wall.

IOU
-M

I slowly turn to Sherlock. This cannot be happening, not now.

"No," I whisper to myself, knowing exactly who that is.

"No," Sherlock repeats my words. "We're leaving."

***

Later, back at Baker Street I sit inside the living room of 221B. Still as can be, staring blankly at a wall. I don't blink, fearing that my thoughts will vanish.

"How long has she been like this?" John asks Sherlock.

"Mmm, nearly an hour." Sherlock replies calmly as if it didn't matter. "

"An hour?!" John asks with a sudden tone you would only hear from a mother that was shocked by how late their child stayed out past its curfew. Sherlock doesn't reply, he simply walks into the kitchen to finish his experiment. "What- is she in a trance?"