The Flatmate (SHERLOCK fanfiction/nanowrimo2013 winner)

a tragic night

Back arched slightly over the lit computer screen. The elbows were perched on the table and the hands were brought together like a steeple under the long chin of Sherlock Holmes. His feline-like eyes darted back and forth across the screen, inhaling every word as if it was the last portion of air to breathe. He broke the symmetrical position of his hands by bringing a finger down to pick at his upper lip in thought. On his last paragraph, Sherlock slapped the lap top closed, shutting it off automatically, and pulled the cord out of the wall. Pushing the chair out from underneath him with his long, spidery fingers, he wandered into the kitchen in search for food. Like a scavenger, he looked for the bits and pieces he didn’t have to assemble, but instead pick off with ease.

He opened the freezer box and stuck his head inside like a vulture. His thin legs and rather small bottom protruded comically in sight of anyone who passed through.  As his head chilled amongst the cold air, Sherlock scoured the shelves and liquids that did not appeal to him. Pulling himself to the standing position, he shut the fridge close with a limp wrist and scratched his curly mass of hair. He went over to the home phone and punched in his desired digits. As the electrical waves traveled across the wires, the main door opened and he heard John’s voice. Sherlock saw the visual clock strike nine o’clock. Perfect timing.

“Yes, regular delivery. For three, yes. Thank you.” Sherlock hung up the phone and placed his hands in his pockets. He stood where he was, waiting for John to enter. Even though he couldn’t see him, he could read in his voice a deep sorrow. Yet, the doctor masked it convincingly by raising his voice higher and making it softer. Sherlock knew it wouldn’t be assuring if little Elise heard her father morn.

Holding a little girl’s hand, John walked inside, his head bowed so that he could listen to Elise’s tiny voice. He closed the door with his foot and looked up at Sherlock. Pinching his lips together and nodding his head, as if convincing himself that the funeral he had just attended was real. Sherlock made no move towards him, for emotions were hard for him to reply to.

“How was it?”

“It was good. It was what Alana would’ve wanted. Thank you for being there, though.” John leaned down and whispered Elise to go and wash up for supper.

“I’m sorry I had to leave early,” Sherlock said right after before giving Elise a friendly smile before she disappeared into the room that once belonged to John’s beautiful wife, Alana.

“You know, Sherlock,” John began. “I could deal with Mary going out of my life. And as strange as it is to say, it felt like it was her time to go. But not with Alana; I didn’t want her to go.”

“No one did. She was lovely.” Sherlock rocked onto one foot and leaned far enough to look into Elise’s room to make sure she was doing what her father had told her to do. Noticing the little six year old was playing with a doll, Sherlock called out in his most pleasant voice possible, “Hurry up, you little runt! Wash up!”

John walked into the kitchen and took out the dishware and utensils as he spoke his heart. “And the way she died—,”

“I know. It was horrible. No one deserves to die that way, not even the enemy.” The detective went up to the table and pulled out a chair. He spun it around backwards and straddled it, his arms crossed over the back of the chair. “Who else was there?”

“Alana’s family. Not much from my side, but, it was all right.” John laid the table out and took a seat across from Sherlock. He sighed, his breath warbling into a cough. “The one thing that bothers me most, Sherlock, is that she didn’t say good-bye.”

“Maybe she believes she’ll see you again. She had faith.”

“I know, but, it was like she had so much hope in things that she didn’t think she would die. It was strange, but beautiful at the same time.” John bit his lip and escaped from the table before a tear showed. “Elise? Are you ready? Elise?” John coughed again, this time he had to stop in the doorway and place a fist against his chest. The cough escalated, but John managed to stifle it. “Elise?”