Amnesia

Chapter 3: Rehabilitation

"Fine." Sherlock said bluntly, still playing his violin.

"Any symptoms?"

"No." Sherlock said bluntly.

John sighed and watched Sherlock, basking in the warm morning sun floating i through the windows.

The doorbell rang. Sherlock kept playing.

"Client, John." He said suddenly. John got up and went to him bedroom, changing his clothes quickly. He washed his face in the bathroom and came back out to find Sherlock speaking with the client, a small woman in her late sixties or seventies. White hair, wrinkled eyes, delicate hands. She wore a pink jumper, a black and baby blue knit scarf, black trousers, and pink rain boots to match her jumper. She fiddled with the fringe on the ends of her scarf nervously, and she spoke softly and hesitantly.

Sherlock sat in his chair, his legs draped over the sides and still in his pajamas. His eyes were closed in concentration, listening to the old woman speak. John sat in his chair, nodding at the woman, who smiled and continued her testimony.

"And that was when I'd noticed the door was unlocked, and all of my things were still there. I checked upstairs to see if my granddaughter was in her room, but she wasn't there. She left her cellphone, and her clothes were thrown all over the floor. I found it odd then, because my granddaughter-"

"What's her name, Mrs. Bentley?" Sherlock interrupted.

"It's Ivy, sir." She said politely.

"Continue, please. Why did you find that odd?"

"I found it odd that she'd thrown her clothes on the floor, because my granddaughter has always been very neat, even when she was a small child. She takes after her father."

"Where are her parents?"

"They died in an accident last year. She's been living with me and my husband, Oswald." Mrs. Bentley unconsciously twisted her wedding ring. It was old, John observed, thirty plus years.

"Where was he, while you were out and when you noticed your granddaughter had disappeared?"

"He was at lunch with our son."

"Has Ivy ever been in any trouble?"

"Yes, sir. She got into bad crowd of people when her parents died. She was arrested for drugs. We got her away from them though, and she's been clean as a whistle since then." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Your granddaughter has returned to old habits, Mrs. Bentley. You'll find her with her old friends. Good day." Sherlock got out of his chair, helping the old woman up and ushering her quickly out of the flat.

"Mr. Holmes, she-"

"Bye now!" Sherlock closed the door in her face. John shook his head and picked up the paper from his side table.

Sherlock's mobile rang. He huffed and put it on silent before he even looked to see who it was.

"You're not going to answer it?" John asked, looking up from the paper.

"Insignificant." He said.

The phone rang again.

"What could you possibly want Anderson?" He snapped into the receiver. He paused for a moment, and a look of surprise flashed across his face.

"Where was he last seen?" He said, disappearing into his bedroom and throwing on clothes. He came out, pulling on his shoes while hopping on one leg.

John got up, looking at Sherlock quizzically.

"I'll be there." Sherlock said, hanging up the phone.