Rain Falls: Chapter One
Sherlock stood, a child of fifteen, in the cemetery. It had been five years since the incident and nothing had changed. No weapon was found, no people suspected, and no murder solved. Rain fell on top of Sherlock head, clung to his hair, dripped down his face and soaked his clothes. It had been raining for the past three days, but he didn't care.
He heard the footsteps approaching him from behind and recognized the sound of the raindrops on umbrellas. Sherlock didn't turn around. He knew who the man holding the umbrella was, and he did not want to talk.
"Sherlock," A soft voice spoke behind him. "You'll catch a cold."
"You can't catch a cold just because it's raining," Sherlock replied. "You can only catch it from people around you, and right now the only person near me is you."
"Don't be like that," The voice sighed.
"Like what?" Sherlock raised an eye brow. "I'm simply looking out for my health."
There was another sigh and a shuffling of feet. "If you don't want to be caught, you really ought to not come here every year."
"I don't need your advice thanks," Sherlock replied.
"I have to take you to the station you know," The voice hinted.
"That would be your job," Sherlock acknowledged with a nod. "But we both know you won't."
The voice paused and thought for a moment. "You know, one of these days I very well might."
"No…you won't."
"And why won't I? I'd get a lot of recognition for tracking you down."
"Because," Sherlock turned around and faced D.I. Lestrade, "You know it was murder. And you know I'm the only one who can solve it. And I can't do that behind bars."
"It wouldn't be behind bars," Lestrade corrected. "They'd put you in a foster home."
"There's a difference?" Sherlock asked, turning back around to face the three graves.
There was silence. Lestrade wasn't quite so sure what to do and Sherlock was waiting for his next move. The quite lasted about three minutes.
Lestrade cleared his throat. "Well, how have you been?"
"Fine," Sherlock replied curtly.
Lestrade's phone rang and he picked it up without taking his eyes off of Sherlock. He held a one minute conversation with a police officer, answering in short words or even grunts.
"I have to go," He announced.
Sherlock just waved his hand over his shoulder.
"Are you going to be all right?"
"I always am."
"I'm not so sure about that," Lestrade let that be his final thought as he walked back to his car.
Sherlock remained at the graves for a moment thinking. Of course he was alright; he had food, water and shelter. He was fine…wasn't he? Not wanting to dwell on that subject any longer, Sherlock turned away and walked out of the graveyard.
The rain was picking up as John Watson stepped out of school. He had woken up late and thusly forgot his umbrella that morning. He figured the rain had stopped early and would continue to be gone, he was wrong.
John placed his books under his jacket and made a run for it. He only lived a couple of blocks away, but everything seemed to take more time when it was raining.
His feet splashed in the puddles and got the bottom of his trousers wetter than the rest of his legs. He could feel the water soak through his socks and shoes, making him incredibly cold.
John turned a corner and ran into a boy who was staring at the ground where he was walking. The boy stumbled a bit, but John fell to the floor, a couple of his books and papers slipping from his coat.
John looked up and met eyes with a tall pair of brown eyes half-hidden under a shag of black hair. The kid didn't have an umbrella and just stared at John as if he was an enemy.
"Sorry," John mumbled, ducking his head to avoid the angry face. He quickly went to work gathering his books up.
He reached for a book when another hand grabbed it. John rose to his feet and looked at the boy, who was staring intently at the book.
"Do you need this?" The boy asked.
"Kinda, yeah," John replied.
The boy turned the book over in his hands and then handed it back to John. "Watch where you're going next time," He mentioned before walking off, alone and slow, in the rain.
John stared after him for a while before remembering the rain and running home.
There was a knock on the door but it went un-answered. Jim Moriarty was too busy staring out his window. He could see the person below the second story window and they weren't worth his time. He'd much rather spend his time staring at rain falling on the window, predicting which would reach the bottom first. It was the only thing readily available to occupy his mind.
The back door opened and closed and Jim looked towards his bedroom door. The light came on in the hallway and the stairs creaked. A light of hope came into Jim's heart, but it left when the light went out and a different door closed.
Jim turned his attention to the mostly-empty room, filled only with a bed. He was so bored. He opened the window and allowed the rain to fall in. He reached out and grabbed the bars around the outside and leaned out a bit, getting his face wet with rain.
The couple across the street was talking at their table and Jim used this moment to practice his lip-reading skills. They seemed to be having an argument about milk.
Jim's attention was pulled away when he heard the rattling chains. He looked down at his watch and came to the conclusion that it was too early for the orphan to be returning. He turned to the left and watched the boy climbing through the gate. The boy turned as well and caught Jim's eye.
They didn't say a word, but they both could tell something was bothering the other; Sherlock wasn't feeling very alright at all, and Jim was feeling very bored, and very alone.