Hey everyone! This is my story about Cassie and Sherlock. I haven't made up my mind yet when this happens, maybe I'll do that later. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: I'm neither Steven Moffat, nor Mark Gatiss nor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, so I just own Cassie :(
"I'm sorry."
"I don't believe you!" I screamed, crying.
My tears mingled with the water pouring out of my hair and dropped of my chin. I shot a last look at Sherlock, turned around and started running.
"Cassie! Wait, please! Let me explain!"
I heard his footsteps behind me and ran faster, but with his long legs he had soon reached me and gripped my arm. I whirled around, deliberately hitting his face with my long hair. My vision was blurred, but I could still see him. His dark curls sticked to his head,wet from the down-pouring rain, his usually dark coat even darker, his scarf wet, but snuggly around his white neck that was so beautiful and that had been mine not long ago.
Sherlock loosened his grip on my thin jacket and I yanked my arm out of his hand. I shivered violently, and despite my anger about Sherlock I wished I still stood so close to him, his coat around us both, me safe in his arms. But I wasn't going to go back to there.
"What?" I spat out like venom.
Sherlock held his hands up in surrender, like he did with the little terrified girl on the last case. She had been scared to death and hadn't spoken a word. Was I a little terrified girl to him now?
"Please, Cassie... I love you, I'm sorry." He said.
I could only stare at him. New tears welled up with the memory of how we met, how we first kissed, how he became my boyfriend, I became his girlfriend, how it developed into more than just a crush. But these memories were built on lies. And I didn't want to live a life with a liar.
"It was fake. Everything was fake! I hate you! I don't want to see you ever again!"
The words were mean and were meant to hurt him, but it was true. I knew my anger changed what I felt but in the moment these words were true.
Before I turned around, I saw the look of shock and hurt in his eyes. Sherlock always knew if someone was lying. In this moment I knew he wished he didn't, because he saw that I really meant those words.
"Cassie..." His voice broke, it wasn't more than a hoarse whisper.
I turned and ran, violently wiping my eyes and knew he wasn't following me, but I didn't look back. I stumbled slightly as I ran out of the dark alley onto the street.
Suddenly I heard Sherlock shouting my name, as something hit me and send me flying through the air. I was out before I touched the ground.
And in that moment Sherlock's broken heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
Cassie
I looked around my kitchen in confusion. Where had I put that blasted knife? I knew I had used it just a few minutes ago to cut the meat for the chicken curry. I went to the bathroom, I had a bad habit of taking whatever I had in my hand with me and putting it on the small table next to the bathroom. But it wasn't there.
I jumped when I heard the scream, a terrified, blood-curling scream, through the open window. I ran towards it and looked outside. My flat was in the fourth story of one of the oldest buildings in London and I had a pretty good view but I couldn't see anything suspicious. My hands were shaking as I took out my phone and rang the police.
"Hello? My name is Cassandra Floyd, I just heard someone screaming. - No, someone who was scared to death, it was really... unnerving. - I don't know where it came from, certainly not the building I live in. - My address? Yes, sure, sorry..."
I quickly told him my address, then hung up. I had completely forgotten about the knife.
Sherlock
24 hours later
"Miss Floyd, these fingerprints are definitely yours. I'm sorry, but they are."
Sherlock watched as the young woman burst into tears as the sergeant told her about the fingerprints on the murder weapon. He was excited. Finally, a case! Lestrade had phoned him and told him about the strange case in Manchester that nobody could figure out, because there was no motive.
"Sherlock! What have you got?" Sherlock turned around to John and the officer, looking expectantly at him.
"Hm? Oh, yes, sure." Sherlock looked at the victim again, a man in his early thirties, who had died because of several knife wounds and a slashed throat.
"Alright. Our victim was in his early thirties, recently left his girlfriend, parents are dead, two sibling, one sister, one brother, he had one dog. He has always lived here in Manchester, and lived in this flat for about ten years now. The killer was smaller than him and stabbed him a few times, then, as the victim was on his knees, slashed his throat. The killer knew where to stab, he always cut big arteries. Even without the slashed throat he would have died. The knife was probably used by a woman."
He looked at John who smiled slightly.
"I'll question the woman in a few minutes. Coming, John?" He asked, and left without looking back.
John quickly caught up with him.
"Do you think it was the woman? Cassandra Floyd, was it?" John asked quietly.
"I'm not entirely sure. From what I deduced and heard, she really doesn't have a motive. And she isn't a psychopath or sociopath either. But there aren't that many other people who could have done it and her fingerprints show that the knife was hers and she was the last person who used it. Lestrade was right, this is not as bad as expected." Sherlock smiled.
Cassie
I was in shock. I knew it, but I didn't try to do anything against it. Tears silently fell down my cheeks. I didn't understand anything. How did my knife become a murder weapon? How did the real killer get the knife? Why did everyone think I was the killer?
Suddenly the door to my cell opened and three men entered: the sergeant, a blonde man who was as small as I am and a tall man in a dark blonde man introduced himself as John Watson and the other man as Sherlock Holmes.
"Cassandra Floyd."
Now I had time to look at them both, closer this time, because neither of the men said anything, Mr Holmes just looked at me intently.
John Watson was a nice guy,he wore jumpers and jeans. His face was tanned, his smile open and honest.
Sherlock Holmes was different. I couldn't see what he wore underneath the long, woolen coat, but a blue scarf was tied snugly around his neck. He had very pale skin, and was very thin. His mercury eyes looked into hers and the cold steel in them caught her and didn't let her go.
"Miss Floyd, why, do you think, do these idiots see you as the killer? You haven't had any contact to the victim, and you loath killers ever since your father was murdered, so who did it, and who would want you to be in jail?" Mr Holmes said with a deep, calm baritone voice.
I just stared at him. How could he know that? His steel-like gaze never wavered as I frowned.
"I simply observed. Now, who?" Mr Holmes said.
"Mr Holmes, how did you know that? And secondly, I have absolutely no idea." I said.
Sherlock
2 hours later
Sherlock sat on the sofa, thinking. The girl clearly hadn't done it, but who had?
He shifted his mind from the case, he didn't have enough data yet, to something else. Something he had planned a long time ago. He wanted to do an experiment, on how people acted when they were in love, what they'd do, what they'd believe. He wanted to test whether anyone could love him. He knew he wouldn't fall in love with anyone, but he was curious.
This girl, Cassandra Floyd, was intelligent and seemed quite open for strange things. Maybe...?
He pondered a few minutes about it and with the conclusion not to tell John, who would say it was 'a bit not good', he made up his mind to get to Cassandra Floyd.
Thanks for reading! To everyone who is confused about whether Sherlock has feelings for her in the end or not, this is Romance. So yes. Probably...
Please review, it'd make my day!
- It's-Somebody
PS: I am in the process of writing a story with 'SweetMango22' and am writing another story, so I'd be happy if you like to read them as well as this one.