The Second Flatmate

A Study in Pink - Chapter One

A Study in Pink - Chapter One

Clara's Point of View

I shot straight up in my bed, my breathing was laboured. My eyes were welcomed with the pitch blackness of my room, but my heart kept hammering. I tried to get my bearings, but I was shaking uncontrollably. 

The horribly vivid colours of my dream - it really was a nightmare - pounded through my skull. Flashes of scenes. Mostly of my father aiming a rushed, unsteady hand holding a glimmering revolver at my heart. 

I sat up straighter in my bed, the already messily placed sheets tangling in with my feet. I looked to my right as saw the time glowing in the eery glow-in-the-dark-green. 

My clock read 5:28. 

I blinked, surprised that I slept through half the night without a problem. Most weeks I'd only get five hours total of deep sleep. I tried to nap but my college work got in the way.  

I leaned over the alarm clock and picked up my phone, unlocking it with a sequence of taps on the screen. The heart warming picture of my late mother and me from four years back greeted me. She forced me to make that my home screen, threatening to take my phone away if I didn't comply. 

I sent a quick text to Maritha, my latest therapist. 

Sent: had another nightmare. 

I exited out of the app and started to search for a place in London, seeing as the college I was currently attending wanted to send me south. 

A total of thirty places had shown up, none in my undesirably low price range. Five caught my attention. Three were in the SoHo District of London. But those were in the average of a thousand quid a month. One was a cheap, run down, old hostel that was for fifty a month but seriously, that just screams con!

The last was on 221B Baker Street. There was two slots open, one of the allotted three was already taken and the landlady, Mrs Hudson lived alone in the lower part of the townhouse. 

The two occupants were Sherlock Holmes and Mrs Hudson. The first man, Sherlock, was in his mid twenties and the landlady, Mrs Hudson, was in her late fifties. 

I quickly sent an email to Mrs Hudson, proclaiming my need for a flat down in London. I hit send, turned my phone off, and tossed it back towards my nightstand. 

-

-

-

With the screaming of drunk and tired teenagers, I arose with the dark intensity of my cave-like bedroom. I clapped my hands together, instigating my draperies to ascend and disappear. Bright shafts of sunlight burst into my dark room, the dust floating aimlessly around. 

I yawned, stretching my aching limbs above my head and listening to them pop deep within me. 

"Clara! Get up!" My roommate, Spencer Douglas, announced. She paraded into my room unknowingly, and ripped the duvet off my cold legs.  

I sank into my bed and groaned. "I don't want to. Leave me alone." I said more to the pillow. Spence always took my questions and statements as rhetorical, so honestly, I knew better but I did it anyway. 

"Your moving tomorrow! Your moving tomorrow! Now I'll never have to see you stupid face ever again!" She sang, dancing around my room, setting the kettle on the kitchenette stovetop, and grabbing two mugs already set with the appropriate tea bags. 

I wanted to sink even further into my mattress but Madam Douglas here had to ruin that. And to think I thought she was my friend. 

I felt the bed sink a little with added weight. Slowly turning onto my side, I saw the blonde girl gently hand me a scalding cup of tea. 

"Here's your cuppa, Stupid." She smirked ever so slightly. She honestly knew when to push my buttons. 

"Thanks, Doofus." I grinned in response. The words of endearment were so past the insulting stage and towards the I-love-you-so-much-that-its-stupid or the I-love-you-so-much-that-your-a-doofus. 

Yeah... I never could explain my best friend to anyone. Not even to her brother, Carter, who was attending Harvard in the United States. 

I took a hesitant sip, the heat burning the taste buds off of my tongue. 

"Thanks for waking me up," I said, after downing half of the mug. 

"No problem, C." She nodded slowly. "How is the flat coming along?" She egged me on. 

I swallowed, the lump in my throat slowly choking me. "Its going fine." I croaked slowly. She nodded, ever so curious. 

"Fiine! I found this place in London near the Tube. It's at 221B Baker Street." 

"Oh, sounds like something in a novel. Hey, Carter did a report on an author who wrote stories about a man who lived there. You did say 221B Baker Street?" She rambled. I nodded at her question. 

"Wasn't it Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?" I stated after a few quiet and tense moments. 

"Yes! Exactly the one! So who are you sharing it with?" She asked. 

"The landlady, Mrs Hudson, and a man by the name of Sherlock Holmes." I picked my cold phone, powered it, and checked my email messages. 

A new one, from five minutes ago was from the landlady. It read:

Dear Clara, 

Yes, there is room enough for you. Sherlock doesn't use the higher two rooms, only the second floor. He's only been living her for about a month or so. So your rent would be lesser than if you took on the whole house. I do hope you come.

Sincerely, Mrs Hudson

"OHMYGOD!" I shouted, jumping in the air. "I BLODDY GOT IT!"

--

Hope you like it. noella...xx