Roses & Absinthe | 6
A secret never to be told…
"If loneliness is a kingdom then honey I'm the fucking queen,"
"Rosalie Grace Hamilton," he read off the woman's ID. His eyebrows were drawn together as he observed the crime scene. He quickly searched through her wallet to find her driver's license, the student ID only giving him a name.
"21," he mumbled.
"What? 21? Bloody hell," Lestrade said running a hand through his hair.
Her body was laid out on the hardwood floor, her striking blonde hair splayed out around her. Flowers surrounded her, the overall paleness of her standing out against the wilted black roses. Her wrists were tied together with a red ribbon.
Sherlock grimaced at the entire metaphor; murderers with flair did not impress him. He crumpled one of the roses he picked up, the petals falling between his fingers.
Her lips were a pale blue and her skin still had some pink to it. It wasn't long ago that she was still breathing.
No bruises, not cuts, no signs of a struggle.
"She knew the person that killed her," he stated, still kneeled beside the body.
"And you're sure?" Lestrade asked turning back around to face the detective. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the man and Lestrade huffed in response turning back around. After all his years in this line of work he still wasn't used to investigating the deaths of people so young.
Sherlock untied the ribbon, taking the dead girl's hand in his to look underneath her fingernails. They were pristine, freshly filed and painted a pale pink.
"She was getting ready for something, a date?" he questioned quietly. He felt a movement by the side of his hand; it was too soft to be anything of significance so he ignored it.
That is until the woman's hand was grasping his firmly and she jolted back to life chocking for air. Sherlock stumbled back, falling to the floor as the woman before him frantically tried to catch her breath, a look of terror on her face as if she expected her assailant to still be in the room.
Medics rushed to her, black roses scattered across the floor and Lestrade was momentarily smug at the sight of Sherlock so startled and sprawled on the floor.
He could still hear her chocking and soon gurgling erupted from her throat as crimson blood stained her skin.
It wasn't until he left the room he noticed the strong smell of licorice.
~Later~
"Ms. Hamilton, I know it's been quite a day for you but we need you to answer a few questions," Lestrade said, his notebook in his hand, pen pinched between his fingers. Sherlock stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed and brows drawn as he stared at the woman. She shrunk back under his gaze.
"Okay," she answered shyly, her voice unbearably hoarse.
"Do you know who did this to you? Anyone who may have had motive?" he asked. After a few moments she nodded.
"Name?" Lestrade asked raising a brow.
"Lavender Brown," she said quietly. "He's a classmate of mine." She finished.
"Why do you think she would want to hurt you?" Lestrade pressed. She shook
her head in response, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Rosalie, is there anything else you can tell us?" Lestrade once again inquired, ignoring the other man in the room.
"Rose," was the answer.
"Rose," Lestrade corrected, raising a brow as he waited for an answer.
"No, " she answered hoarsely, her eyes struggling to stay open. With a sigh Lestrade left the room, ushering Sherlock along when he continued to stare at the woman.
"Do you really need to stare?" Lestrade said once they left the room causing Sherlock to give him a blank look.
"I was observing," he answered.
"What?" Lestrade asked, obviously annoyed.
"Her, obviously," Sherlock said pulling away and walking down the hallway of the hospital.
"Well then?" Lestrade said walking after him.
"She's overly average," Sherlock stated, digging through his pocket and pulling out his cell.
"Then why are you here? You're obviously bored," Lestrade said growing more and more annoyed with the man.
"Precisely," Sherlock answered before leaving Lestrade behind, the aforementioned man holding back his crude remarks by biting his knuckle.
It wasn't until Sherlock left the hospital doors that it clicked.
"Rose,"
~Later ~
"You do realize the name she gave you is a fictional character," Sherlock said to Lestrade as they walked outside.
"What?" he asked angrily, turning to face Sherlock.
"Lavender Brown, she's a fictional character," Sherlock explained, his expression bored as he looked down the street.
"Why the hell would she do that?" Lestrade asked pinching the bridge of his nose as a taxi drive up to the curb.
"Absinthe," Sherlock answered.
"What? That's an alcohol, are you saying she was drunk?" Lestrade asked incredulously causing Sherlock to smirk.
"No, she was poisoned. Absinthe can cause delusions and since she was clinically dead for at least an hour she most likely has brain damage also," he explained.
"So she isn't going to give us any useful information," Lestrade concluded.
"Precisely," the other man added.
"I still don't understand how she could wake up from that," Lestrade said, looking to Sherlock for explanation. Sherlock only shook his head with a sneer before turning and walking away from Lestrade. The other man scoffed, watching Sherlock walking away from him without explanation. "Really?" he thought to himself before going his own way back to Scotland Yard.
~Later~
Rose's mind was in shambles, her body ached, and for the love of god she couldn't remember what the hell happened to her. It felt like her brain was in a chronic cramp and her muscles protested every time she moved and she didn't event want to think about the fire in her throat.
One moment she was at home studying and the next she was waking up in a bed of roses as if she was dead.
What did the doctor say?
Clinically dead for an hour…
What the actual fuck?
The panic swelled once she grabbed a hold of the situation, the heart monitor beeping wildly as she sat up in the bed, scratching at the tubes in her arms. That's when she saw it, the unmistakable blue hue to her skin, it was faint but she could see the remnants of death and she continued to panic.
"Ms. Hamilton, you need to calm yourself," a nurse scolded and grasped Rose's wrist firmly causing Rose to scream in fear and throw the nurse off. A metal tray crashing to the floor brought Rose back from her panic attack, her chest was heaving and her face red. The nurse looked miffed but tended to Rose anyway, understanding her panicked state.
"I know you're scared but you're safe here," the nurse said quietly as she finished tucking the sheets before leaving the room.
It would take her another few hours for her to realize the real gravity of the situation.
~Later~
"What is it Lestrade?" Sherlock snapped when he answered the phone, John shooting him a confused stare from across the room.
"There's been new developments in the case with Ms. Hamilton," Lestrade answered, his tone of annoyance clear.
"I thought I told you I wasn't interested in the case," Sherlock shot back.
"What? No, you never mentioned it," the other man said confused.
"Well now you know," Sherlock said.
"Maybe you will be after I tell you the information I have," Lestrade added before Sherlock had the chance to end the call. "Ms. Hamilton isn't registered at the college her ID indicated, she doesn't even live in London, all of her information is fabricated."
"Okay," Sherlock said lamely, obviously not interested.
"There is also no record of her even entering the country or leaving the U.S., no plane tickets or anything. It's as if she just appeared out of thin air," Lestrade continued, by now pinching his brow once again.
"Really Lestrade, the case bores me," Sherlock said moving to end the call.
"The apartment is registered to Richard Brooks," Lestrade added as a last attempt to keep Sherlock's attention.
"Why bury the lead Lestrade?" Sherlock quipped, already pulling his coat on gaining and incredulous look from John from behind his teacup.
"Where are you going?" John asked.
"We have a case," Sherlock said, the usual spark he gets when he's on a case returning. "Moriarty just sent us a gift," he added. John quickly stood, attempting to follow Sherlock but he was out the door before John pulled his coat on.
~Later~
"Where the hell am I?" They could hear Rose shout from the hospital room. The nurse informed the three she was having another panic attack. It seemed she had no idea what was happening.
There was a crash and then another nurse in front of the three.
"Now is not a good time," she said, her hair a mess and her skin flushed. There was a muffled shout before silence.
"We're sedating her so she calms down," the nurse added.
"She's still conscious?" Sherlock asked, still gazing at the door ahead of them.
"Yes, but she isn't coherent," the nurse answered.
"Well, we won't be long," Sherlock said with a fake smile before pushing past the nurse, she didn't protest as much knowing they were from Scotland Yard but still resisted the rude hand gesture her fingers itched to throw at them.
John was apprehensive to enter the hospital room. Lestrade was just annoyed. Sherlock was giddy with joy, as much as Sherlock could be of course.
"Ms. Hamilton," Sherlock began immediately, tugging off his gloves and taking a seat next to the sedated woman. Her head turned lazily towards the voice and grinned.
"Mr. Holmes," She said in her thick American accent setting the three aback. Sherlock shook off the shock and continued.
"Do you know where you are?" He asked and she giggled.
"Judging by your accent somewhere in heaven," She said with a sigh. Sherlock grimaced and John snorted back a laugh. She lifted her arm to rest over her eyes and that's when he saw a peculiar sight. Without a word Sherlock grasped the woman's wrist and observed the tattoo there.
"What the hell?" She asked, her voice still lazy from the sedative and her attempt to pull back was pathetic. There were seven birds tattooed to her wrist, Moriarty's calling card.
"How do you know Jim Moriarty?" he demanded and she gave him a blank stare.
"Who?" She asked slowly, John sighed heavily from behind the two.
"Sherlock, she's heavily sedated. You said she's recovering from poisoning as well her mind isn't the most stable right now, were lucky it hasn't turned to mush by now," John said, Sherlock grimaced. In a lower voice John added: "I know you want more information on Moriarty but anything she gives us now won't be credible, give it a day," he finished.
"I agree," said Lestrade from the corner causing Sherlock to glare at the man, Lestrade just shrugged.
"One for sorrow, two for joy," Rose sang from her bed. With a final scowl Sherlock turned to leave, Rose laughing quietly as the men left the room.
~Later~
Rose had enough, being like this was the worst and she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and wake up back at home like nothing had ever happened.
Fucking England.
One of the nurses had informed her earlier when she quote: "gained her lucidity" unquote. Rose itched at the tubes again, knowing that if she kept bothering with them the nurse would only come back and scold her again.
She also remembered, questions, lots of questions. Oh, and the lovely fact that she had been previously dead. Whole crime scene investigation and everything, so all the information she had at the moment was that she was kidnapped, murdered, resurrected and questioned mercilessly, and it's only Monday.
Monday February 8th 2016 to be precise. The last she remembered was taking her exam on Friday January 29th. 10 fucking days.
Not to mention the new ink she found on her wrist. 7 magpies. A little dark for her taste but it wasn't the worst tattoo she could have woken up with; it could have been a crude tattoo of a butt, she shivered at the thought.
She had no belongings, only the hospital tag on her wrist. At least the fake ID's gave her real name and age.
Rose groaned as her head pulsed with a migraine, the lighting far to harsh for her liking. She wanted to yell when the door creaked open but groaned instead.
"Hello dear, I'm Dr. Brooks," a man said, a smile stretched across his face. She squinted as the light invaded her sight and causing her eyes to water. He was administering something into her IV drip, squeezing a needle into the fluid and soon she felt her body numb from her toes to her head.
"What are you doing?" she asked slowly, barely able to keep her head up.
"Nothing to worry about dear Rosie," he said, his smile still plastered to his face. Rose's stomach fell when felt the tubes being ripped from her arms once she was completely numb. Arms wrapped around her waist and the light started to dim as she was being carried off. She was able to see the doctor place a note on her pillow then turn to face her, his smile only growing as they made eye contact.
"Dear Rosie," was the last thing she heard before she blacked out.