The Science of Sentiment (BBC Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 21: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

--

My pencil flew over my sketchbook, filling the room with a soft scratching noise. Jumbled thoughts clouded my brain, and drawing was the only way I knew how to clear them.
Part of me wishes I had joined them on the trip, but the wiser side of my brain was content with staying here. It wasn't just Sherlock's presence that bothered me- simply the thought of going back to that house made me shudder.
That home in California was a dreaded place in the back of my mind. No matter how hard or how often I tried not to think about it, memories of my childhood would still resurface.
I shook my head, trying to focus back on the paper in front of me. My hands had been moving on their own- as they often do- and before me was a messy sketch of Sherlock. His expression was forlorn and hurt- just as it had been a few days ago when I left his flat. I huffed in frustration and threw the book at the wall as hard as I could, knocking down a vase in the process. The ornate vase shattered when it hit the floorboards, but I couldn't have cared less. In fact, the little destruction was relieving. I felt almost like a small weight was lifted from my shoulders.
Grinning slightly, I pulled myself off the couch and headed for my room. An idea had crossed my mind- it was a dangerous one, sure, but it beat sitting around the flat feeling sorry for myself.

I emerged a half an hour later in a leather mini skirt- one that rode far higher than modesty's standards- and a tight, blood red tube top. I slipped on some black pumps and pulled my hair into an up-do before heading out.
Tonight was gonna be one hell of a night, and there was nothing my rattled thoughts could do to stop me now.

--

"Sherlock, it's two in the morning," John whined. The pair had been searching the main level of the house for the past hour, looking for an entrance to a cellar or crawl space.
"Hush," Sherlock grunted as he moved through the next room. "I'm sure they must have one- where else would they be storing the drugs?"
"Drugs?" John asks alarmed.
Sherlock sighs dramatically and whips around to face him. "Really now John- The drugs! They've got to be here somewhere! We know that this cult they were involved in was a cover for a drug cartel, so they must be here in the house."
"Hold on a minute," he catches up with the detective and grabs his arm. "We believe that her parents might have been involved in the cult, but that doesn't mean they were dealing out drugs-"
Sherlock cut him off with an exaggerated groan. "John, you aren't seeing the bigger picture." He gestured to the room around him. "Mr. And Mrs. (L/n) were professors at a community college- do you really believe they could have afforded a place like this on that salary? I can only imagine what kind of money they were making trafficking drugs for this cult," he said it all as if it should have been perfectly obvious.
John nodded with an annoyed sigh. "They needed more money to raise their family- I can see why they did it."
"Exactly," Sherlock said as he searched the master bedroom. "However, they got greedy. They ended up in some sort of trouble, and that's why they sent (y/n) away, letting her believe that her intelligence was to blame."
John shook his head sadly. "If that's true, then she's certainly grown up with a twisted perception of her parents... Not that I would blame her," he quickly adds.
Sherlock nods gravely and exits the room. He heads down the hall to the last door, the only room left unchecked.
He jiggled the handle, but surprisingly, the door was locked. He rapped on the wooden door, feeling the weight of a deadbolt lock behind it.
"We're going to have to break the door down," he muttered flatly.
"Can't we just pick the lock?"
"No, there's at least two more latches on the inside. Both of which would be impossible to unlock from this side. Whoever put them there clearly didn't want this room discovered."
John heaves a sigh and both men walk backwards to the opposite wall.
"On three," he murmurs. Sherlock nods and they both get into position.
"One....Two...Three!"
The pair lunge for the door, shoulders braced against the wood. The door splinters and creaks, falling off of its broken hinges with a thud.
"Nice work," Sherlock says, striding in with excitement. John rubs his stiff shoulder and joins him in the room.
The space was littered with documents and files- Newspaper clippings were taped up all around the room, small notes written on the pages here and there.
"Aha!" Sherlock calls. "I found it!"
His flatmate walks over to him, seeing him crouched in the closet of the room. Sherlock swings open the small trapdoor and a musty smell fills the room. He reaches into the shallow crawl space and comes up with a huge paper sack.
"Hang on, there's more," he mumbles as he searches the space.
John leaves him to retrieve the bags, and begins examining the room. A piece of paper on the wall catches his attention- mainly because the other newspapers around it have been torn down, leaving this one to stand out. The page isn't covered in dust like everything else, which he found odd. A pocketknife pins the page to the wall, and John easily wedges it out. He sets the knife down and begins scanning the note.
From what he can tell, it's a long list of names, each of them having been crossed out save a few. The first set were unfamiliar to him, but as he read more, his heart sank to his knees. About five names in, he read (Mother's name) and (Father's name). The next four were the names of the girls that had been found in the parking garage, and the next two were the elderly couple that had died at the music hall.
All of the names were slashed out with black ink except for the last one.
(Y/f/n).