You See But Do Not Observe

LIST

"You're next." John said to her.

"Alright." Serena walked into her room and took down a box from her closet she hadn't had the heart to throw out.

"Here it is." She produced the lined piece of paper.

She looked it over. She too had updated and kept it and crossed out things. There were faint watermarks she knew were tears.

1. Help people.

2. Become a psychologist.

3. Have a husband.

4. Have children.

5. Love somebody.

6. Lose somebody.

7. Get over that stupid fear of being trapped.

8. Be loved.

9. Reunite with parents.

10. Reunite with Greg.

11. Travel the world.

12. Have adventures.

13. Forget.

14. Find a family.

15. Have someone say I love you and mean it.

Serena knew she was crying again. The last four were recent, added only a month ago. She saw John's look of concern and Sherlock's look of curiosity.

She suddenly felt fire licking its way up her arms and crumpled the paper into a tiny ball. She pitched it at the door.

"This was a stupid idea," she muttered past the tears running into her hair. She stalked to her kitchen, grabbed a pencil with an eraser and walked back to the living room.

John and Sherlock watched silently as she grabbed the list, that damned list, and smoothed it out. She attacked it with the pink, rubbery eraser.

The lines through the numbers 5, 6, and 8 were gone. She stopped crying and dropped the list to the floor.

She saw his hand pick it up and she stiffened.

"Don't," she whispered, and the hand stopped. She hadn't expected that. She didn't expect to hear the paper brush back to the floor.

"So, the case. Any leads?" Serena asked.

"Do you have any cigarettes?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"I don't, no." Serena said, ignoring what had just happened.

"John?"

"Nope."

Sherlock sighed.

"I can't work without nicotine."

"You? No..." Serena said.

"Yes, me. I'm sorry I'm not perfect. Now, I need my patches."

"I burned them."

"God dammit John!"

"You told me to."

"You have a problem with smoking," Serena said, still in disbelief.

"Yes! Now, if you want this case solved, I need them."

"Sorry, I'm not feeding your addiction. I do have quite a lot of whiskey."

Sherlock shook his head. "Not enough."

"Is there anything?"

Sherlock straightened. "The victims' flats. Can we go there?"