I am SHERlocked

one. || london

6:03 AM. Her eyes flickered open, her hands stretching out, desperately searching for the warmth that meant her father was close by. Her fingers met bare sheets. He wasn't there. She yawned and sat up, rubbing her eyes. It was, at least, an excellent dream. Even if excellent brought disappointment when morning came.

The entire flat was silent. There was enough light streaking through the shutters for her to notice that her owl's cage was empty, and her school books and parchment decorated the plywood floor. The jet-black line on her desk told her that her wand seemed to have levitated itself there. Not that that was possible, of course.

Her clothes were damp from the morning dew, but she slipped her navy-grey sweater over her head regardless. In London, it seemed like it always rained, the weather often stunting her happiness levels. To her, life in the middle of the Muggle world was boring.

Greg, her guardian, was a wizard himself, fresh from Gryffindor house. Despite his talents in Charms, he graduated Hogwarts only to enroll in a Muggle university off in Cambridge, graduating with a degree in Forensics. He eventually became head of the police department, much to the disappointment of his fellow wizard peers and to the joy of his former colleague, Sherlock Holmes, a Ravenclaw wizard who wasn't afraid of speaking out.

Kit yawned once more, stretching her hands above her head, much like elderly Muggle ladies would do in the morning, in a sport they called yoga before she carefully turned her doorknob and pushed the heavy mahogany door open, proceeding downstairs. She approached the double-doored cabinet at the end of the second hallway and faintly tugged on the handle, confirming that Greg had locked it overnight. After giving a huff of annoyance, Kit pulled from her ponytail a thin hairpin and thrust it inside the keyhole. She wiggled it a few times before the lock gave way with a click and the cabinet door swung open.

Once she closed her bedroom door, her fingers rolled the needle between them, the pale sinewy skin wet with sweat and dew. Kit's eyes traced the clear liquid, her pupils narrowing as she heard the swishing. She brought the tip of the needle to her arm before hesitating. Her left arm only had a single puncture mark, about an inch from the inside of her elbow. Then, without warning, her wrist snapped; she propelled the instrument into her flesh, pressing hard on the plunger, forcing the solution into her body. She swallowed a protest of pain as she pulled the tube out of her body and examined the wound. It was perfect; lining up with the last one. There would only be one scar left on her arm. Relaxed, Kit cast the needle aside and collapsed into the armchair in the corner of the room. She gave a sigh of satisfaction.

"Kit, where are you? Colette? For Merlin's sake, will you get down here?!" Greg's nasally voice cut through the peaceful silence, startling several mockingbirds outside. "Kit!"

"What?"

"Come down here!"

"Why don't you come on up?"

There was the sound of thundering footsteps on the stairs, then on the landing, then right outside Kit's bedroom door. She made no move to get up as Greg barged through the door. His arms were crossed and his face bore a look of exasperation. Kit smiled sweetly, watching his face turn the colour of a tomato before he gathered himself.

"Kit, why was the medicine cabinet unlocked this morning?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe you were sleepwalking and decided to get some ibuprofen?" Kit watched his face turn a deep shade of prune. "You know, for your nightly headaches?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake — just answer the question and don't make up answers!" His eyes traced the room and looked the girl up and down before landing on the needle. "Knew it. Kit, I am your guardian. I have more pressing things on my mind without having to worry about you and your drug habits. You are fourteen."