The snow crunches beneath her boots as she walks across the cemetery, stopping at a simple black marble headstone, with only a name etched on its surface. Sherlock Holmes. Her breath curls away from her lips like the cigarette smoke the dead man used to enjoy so much. She wondered if he had quit. She wondered a lot of things about this man, but at this moment she only wishes she had gotten the chance to meet the great detective before his untimely "suicide".
"You're a real prick you know, not saying goodbye." She snorted, mainly talking to the snow that piled around the toes of her combat boots.
"The papers say suicide. That you jumped off a hospital. Dramatic as always I see." She choked on the last words, tears stinging her eyes in the cold air.
"I don't believe it. You're not really in the ground under my feet, right? You're too much of an arrogant sod to off yourself." She was whispering, to convince herself, but the headstone at her feet seemed to stare back at her with cold hard resentment and contradiction to the sentiment she didn't really believe.
High in the tree above her, a small surveillance camera swiveled to take a full shot of her, as she tossed something onto the grave below.
"Goodbye for now brother." She mumbled as she strode away, the last of the salty drops falling forgotten onto the snow.
Another camera, in the tree opposite zooms in onto the object at the bottom of the headstone. Three flowers, bound up with braided newspaper, lay on the ground; a spiky rod of asphodel's, a hollyhock and a star of Bethlehem. A message for a dead man, or perhaps a dead man's brother?
Doctor John Watson sat in his arm chair staring out the second floor window of apartment 221b Baker Street. The rain tapped wearily against the glass as John thoughts played wearily through his head. He didn't hear the knock on the door until Mrs. Hudson, his landlady, laid a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Sorry to bother love, but there's a young lady here to see you, says she was a friend of Sherlock if you can believe It." The motherly women shook her head with a sad smile.
The ex-army soldier stood up from the chair and looked towards the door. "Alright, well. Show her up, I guess."
The matronly women's steps echoed down the stairs, and John sat back down, turning the chair towards the door. He was only here to see to Sherlock's things, he hadn't been living here in months, and didn't like being here at all. Funny that a "friend" of Sherlock's would come today.
A soft knock heralded the entrance of that person, a young woman, in her late thirties, stepped inside the doorway.
"Mr. Watson? Hi, I'm Jane Doherty, an old friend of Sherlock's."
The small women looked wind beaten, and her stockings had several runs in them. She wore a brown suit jacket and skirt and had her mousy brown hair in a ponytail at her neck.
"Hello, yes call me John please, I um, I didn't know Sherlock had old friends, I mean, if you knew him, then, you must know."
"Yes I understand," She giggled through her nose, "He was difficult. I guess I'm not really a friend but he helped the police with...certain complications that involved me. I owe him a lot." Jane made move to sit down.
"Oh sorry, so rude, please sit. I'm only here to pick up some…mementos and then I'll be off, so is there something you needed?" John sighed.
"No, I'm sorry! I just wanted to offer my condolences. It's a great loss."
John nodded his thanks, and they sat in awkward silence for a time.
"So I suppose your donating his things or?" Jane said glancing about the room at the various boxes piled here and there.
"Yes, well, Sherlock's brother is taking care of all that. Wouldn't know what do to exactly, me." John sighed again, not very happy that his time to think had been interrupted.
"I guess you'll be keeping some things though, as you said to remember him and such."
"Yes, like I said."
"I wonder if it would be too much trouble to ask for a cuppa? I've been nearly drenched out there." The woman said too cheerfully. Obviously she wanted to sit and reminisce, which John definitely did not want to do, but he didn't have the energy to say no, so he nodded and excused himself, saying he would get it from Mrs. Hudson.
As soon as his footfalls silenced, the brown little woman flew into action, putting on rubber gloves and quickly inspecting the nearly empty apartment, even opening and resealing some of the boxes. After a time she heard a door close on the landing below. Grabbing the clunky heels she had taken off she ran silently into the back bedroom, out of the window and disappeared down the fire escape.
John walked into his former living room and stared at the empty seats. Shocked, he put down both mugs of tea and started towards the back room, but stopped when he noticed a scrap of newspaper folded neatly and lying in the middle of the room. He bent to pick it up, and stared at the article. Sherlock Holmes a Fraud, blared out from the headline. John fought the urge to shred the paper as he studied the clipping. At the bottom of the page, in neat print handwriting, was a note. John Watson felt the tiny blink of hope at the back of his mind grow as he read: "Thank you for believing in him, and being his friend. I think we'll show those doubters a thing or two yet. I have hope, how about you? – A friend of you both."
This is a tentative story that I'm having enormous fun thinking up, the hard part is getting down a plot, Ive got all these adorable little snapshots in my head, i just got to get them together! Ive not said her name yet, but I'm sure you can guess who the girl is.
This is the first thing Ive posted here ever! wow! please please please review? And tell me if you think i should continue posting with the story! Thankoo!