Caged
Sherlock stood at the other end of the room, staring with a dry mouth at the dark haired woman who sat stiffly by the window, her head bowed down as her hand wrote furiously in a leather bound journal.
He swallowed and cleared his throat, his fingers gripping further into the paper packaging of a book he ha clutched to his chest. Never had he been more fearful in his life. Through all the crimes he had been faced with to solve under a time limit, and they had not sent more of an adrenaline rush than this.
He blinked madly.
He hadn't spoken to her since he was eighteen. What could he possibly say?
"Mr. Holmes?"
A small voice questioned him beside his ear and he turned quickly, looking into the middle-aged face of a sympathetic-looking doctor, who smiled lightly and reached to put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched beneath the touch and the woman instantly noticed, lowering her hand and sighing.
"Hello." He replied coldly, looking quietly at the woman still. Standing in trembling fear.
"She's writing in her journal again, about you." She laughed lightly and clasped her hands together in front of her. Cocking her head slightly as she watched the woman continue writing in large strokes across the paper. "She calls them your adventures, and personally, I think it's wonderful that you send her a letter everyday. It's the highlight of her day."
Sherlock stiffened beneath the odd lime-light he placed in, feeling much like how he had as a seven year old when forced into his Elementary School plays.
His phone buzzed and dug through his pockets quickly, looking at the text being from Lestrade.
New Case. Interested? GL
He shoved the packaging at the woman, "Will you make sure she get's this? Thank You." Sherlock questioned without waiting for a respond.
He turned to leave and the woman grabbed his forearm, "Wait..She would be so excited to see you, please just-"
"Thank You." He repeated, exiting through the door, leaving the woman with an opened mouth and a sad expression in her eyes before looking down at the package.
"Okay.." She whispered in response, though it fell on deaf ears, as he was already out the door and into the hallway where he quickly made his way towards the reception desk, and then out the door into the cold air of the biting winter.
His phone buzzed again.
Where are u? JW
This time it was John. He had been forwarding the same text off and on for the past two hours, though he continuously ignored them. Now, he figured, was the time to come up with a good lie.
He sighed and before his fingers could punch in some sort of lie, it buzzed again, this time from Mycroft.
My sources say you went to see Mum. My sources are never wrong. MH
Sherlock glared at the phone before sending appropriate responses respectively.
Yes SH
Paying my Homeless Network a visit. SH
They *are* wrong. I didn't visit her. Saw her, yes. Did not visit. SH
He pushed the phone back into his trench pocket and slipped into the warm cushions of a waved down taxi before receiving two more texts.
Meet me: Central Rd. Youll see cars outside flat unit. GL
U could have told me, U know. JW
Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's text and bit his lip,
I know SH
He let a small smile break on his lips when the following text came back:
Not what I meant U arse. JW
Whatevs SH
No reply came back to this and Sherlock had to fight back a chuckle as he put the phone once more back into his pocket, receiving no other texts before he remembered and pulled it out for what felt like the umpteenth time.
Meet me on Central Rd. You'll see the police cars around the flat unit. SH
He had almost forgotten to tell John about the new case.
He sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Sherlock arrived at the designated flat, noticing the many police cars and crime tape instantly, he stepped out of the taxi and entered the building with a few curious stares, his trench flying behind him like a super hero's cape.
He fled up the stairs and found without a surprise that John was already there, standing beside Sally Donovan, Anderson and Lestrade. All of which were waiting patiently as Sherlock looked over the body lying there in the middle of the apartment floor. Blood pooled around the victim's mouth and eyes wide open. One single stab to the head.
The woman was middle aged, light blonde hair, and light blue eyes. The furniture all around was tousled, as though someone had been searching for something before killing her.
Sherlock was just about to open his mouth when a door slammed open.
"Sherlock."
Sherlock turned to be faced with none other than Mycroft Holmes. He blinked quickly for a moment as though to try and make the hallucination go away, however, this wasn't a hallucination. He swallowed, his eyes widening.
"What're you doing here, Mycroft?" He whispered sharply, "This a crime scene."
"And you're text is a crime scene." He cleared his throat and smiled charismatically at the other men and Sally, "Excuse me, may I borrow him for a moment, I'm afraid he's in some trouble."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, "I'm not five, Mycroft." Sherlock bit at him as he quickly stood, puffing his chest out slight as though to regain some of his stolen dignity, walking out of the room with a sharp glare.
They left the room, the door being closed behind him, as Mycroft glared at him fiercely.
"What do you mean you saw her but didn't visit?"
Sherlock sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment before swallowing, "I saw her, but I didn't talk to her."
"Why?"
Sherlock blinked in response before shaking his head, 'May I get back to work?"
Mycroft let outa huff, "You're scared. You couldn't face her."
"That's enough."
"No, I don't think it is. Sherlock, all you do is send her letters. She wants to see y-"
"Mycroft, I believe you fail to remember who it was that was forced to be there when the men took her."
"I was at the university, the best I could do was give advice."
Sherlock bit his lip, "Well that wasn't good en-"
"Sherlock."
It was silent betwixt them and they both simply stared into each other's eyes, glaring softly.
Mycroft was the one to rekindle the conversation as he tapped his umbrella on the ground as though to further insinuate his point.
"You feel bad. That's good. Remose, is good, but..." He paused half-way through his pause, "Sherlock, I apologise for not being there. Truly, I do. Though, that, I'm afraid isn't a good enough excuse to avoid our mentally ill mother. She practically worships your letters, talking constantly about how she'd love to see you."
Sherlock swallowed harshly.
"She doesn't have any hatred towards you." Mycroft murmured looking deeply within his brother's avoiding eyes before Sherlock put a hand on the door.
His brother placed his own hand on Sherlock's which caused a shiver to run through him. "Sherlock, at some point, promise me you'll visit her. Before you grow old."
Sherlock blinked only once and re-entered the room. Leaving his brother outside the door and became center spot-light of many confused faces.
"Who was that?" Anderson sneered quickly as Sherlock cleared his throat, looking down at the body.
"The killer didn't just want to kill this woman. He wanted something else too."
"Make it a person and you're a winner.." Lestrade replied quickly, putting a hand on his waist subconsciously before handing him a file which Sherlock quickly flipped through.
"Marie Arlington was taken from this apartment at th same time her mother, "Lestrade paused to point down at the body, "Sam Arlington, was killed."
Sherlock nodded and handed the file to John who held it carefully, "Sherlock, did Mycroft want something important?"
Sherlock shook his head, "It was nothing."
"You know that other man, too?" Sally murmured with a confused face. "Freak, who was that?"
Sherlock ignored their questions once more.
"Marie's father?" Sherlock questioned, noticing no information on the father was disclosed in the file.
"Well, for starters, Sam and Milo Arlington were both Marie Arlington's adoptive parent's. They adopted her at the age of six. Samantha was killed, but then Milo was apparently at a business meeting. He received this news earlier today. He's waiting down at the station, actually."
Sherlock nodded, "Fine."
Sherlock quickly moved through the house before standing in the living room, "All irrelevant things as far as I can tell. I'll be interviewing Milo Arlington as soon as possible which would be..."
Lestrade looked up, "Now."
Sherlock nodded, "Good then. I'll make my way to the station."
Sherlock fled the room at a quick pace, John trailing behind him his mouth quiet though questions buzzed through his head.
They entered the taxi and John gave him a curious look which Sherlock returned with a glare, "What?"
"What did Mycroft need, if you don't mind me asking?"
Sherlock turned his head back towards John before shrugging dumbly and sighing, "It's nothing. Family affairs."
John took this as his que to look silently on at him. If Sherlock wanted to say more, he would. If not, he would remain quiet.
Sherlock remained quiet.