Evelyn walked slowly into the bright fluorescence of the medical office. She winced as she limped, and held her side where a slow stream of blood was leaking out of a wound. There was dried blood sticking to the auburn hair on her face, and she brushed it away with her hand. She adjusted the old military jacket she wore to cover her ripped shirt beneath as she walked down the empty hallway. She was nearing the end of it, and pushed open one of the opaque, glass double doors with all the strength she could muster.
She practically fell into the waiting room, but caught herself at the last second and staggered. No one was waiting in the blue chairs, a fact Evelyn was thankful for. No doubt they'd call the police, she thought. She hobbled to the small check-in window, but there was no one sitting at the desk behind. Evelyn cursed and sucked in a breath to prepare for the walk to the back to try and find some medical equipment so she could at least fix herself up. As soon as she stood up to attempt walking again, a short woman came out of the door leading to the examining rooms.
The woman was kind of short and of medium build. Her hair was short and blond, and she looked about in her late thirties according to the lines surrounding her deep blue eyes. She was wearing a striped dress shirt and blue cardigan, with black slacks and ballet flats. Evelyn could see the twinkling of a small diamond ring on her left hand, showing off her married state. When their eyes met, Evelyn read in them signs of concern, but yet also of fear. Just like everyone else, Evelyn couldn't help but thinking, but she shook the thought away.
"Please, can you help me?" Evelyn asked as piteously as she could. The woman's eyes glanced at the door leading to her desk, and Evelyn knew she was thinking of calling the police for help.
She raised her hand in surrender, the one not clutching her makeshift bindings on the wound in her side. "Please, don't do that. I can't afford being sent to a hospital," She lied. "If you don't want to help me, you don't have to, but please just lead me to a quiet room where I can patch myself up. Then I'll be out of your hair and you'll never see me again."
The woman's eyes showed conflicting feelings, but apparently one won out by the light, nervous smile on her face. "No not at all, miss. This is a medical office, so why don't we get you some medical attention. Right this way." She came forward to help, and Evelyn leaned against her gladly, taking some of the pain off her aching legs. The woman led her to the back rooms, down a small hallway to one where light was pouring out.
"John?" She called out, grunting a bit from Evelyn's weight. Evelyn heard footsteps, and out of the open doorway poked the head of a man. He saw the state of the stranger and hurriedly rushed to help. His height was just a bit taller than the woman's, but still quite short. His hair was short and sandy blond, and cut precisely. He seemed about the same age as the woman, but his wrinkles were a bit more apparent, from what reason Evelyn couldn't pinpoint. He was wearing a green patterned dress shirt and maroon cardigan, with dark khakis and dress shoes. His gold band matched the woman's, confirming Evelyn's suspicions of them being together. He took off most of Evelyn's weight from the woman and half-dragged her into the room, surprising Evelyn with his strength.
"Thanks, Mary." Ah, so that's her name. "I'll take it from here." Mary nodded but didn't respond. John sat her down in a chair and rapidly got some medical supplies together. Evelyn looked down at her jacket and moved the fabric. The ratty cloth she had been holding against the wound was soaked with red and she shakily peeled it away from her tattered skin. The man came back and pulled up a chair in front of her. He exhaled, puffing up his cheeks, before shaking his head and going to work on Evelyn's wounds, tending to the worst one on her side first. He was working precisely and quietly for a little while, until he spoke.
"Jesus... should I ask what the hell happened to you?"
"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." She smiled lightly for the first time in what seemed like years, then winced as the needle went through the skin, sewing together the separated pieces of flesh.
He chuckled and muttered, "That would be tremendously ambitious of you."
Evelyn snorted. "Not too bad, doc. Not too bad."
He smiled as he worked. "I can't take the credit. A friend of mine came up with that gem."
Her face contorted a bit in pain, and he apologized. "No problem, doc. You're making it a lot less worse than I probably would've if I was fixing up myself." She paused. "So, this friend of yours. Does he always have something smart to say?"
John made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."
He finished sewing it up and cleaning it, and bandaged it securely, before beginning to clean the cuts on her face. "Well, doc, sounds like someone I'd like to go out for fish n' chips with someday." Evelyn chuckled, then smiled a bit sadly at the true longing in that sarcastic statement.
John caught the look in her eyes and they made eye contact. "Maybe." Then he went back to work. "I doubt you'd want to meet him if you knew him. His name's Sherlock Holmes. You ever heard of him?"
Evelyn shook her head, wondering what kind of mother gives their child such a ridiculous name.
John smiled. "Maybe it's for the best you haven't. He's a consulting detective, and solves crimes all the time. He's right brilliant, but can sometimes be a real git." That made her laugh. She looked around the room and noticed a war badge laminated in a frame on his desk, while he continued. "And then there's his landlady, Mrs. Hudson, who can be sweet but also occasionally has some 'herbal soothers' on the side, if you know what I mean. Also, our friends Greg Lestrade, who's is a DI, and Molly Hooper, a pathologist that helps with cases. I do on occasion, but I've got the wife at home, so I can't exactly be running around London all the time, shooting at criminals."
Evelyn's eyebrow lifted at his explanation, and couldn't believe someone's life was almost as crazy as hers. She laughed at the irony of his statement, which made him only look confused.
She explained, "Sorry. It's ironic because I used to be a forensic sketch artist, so I'm used to that kind of lifestyle."
His brows smoothed out. "Ah. What a small world." They were silent once again, until John sat back in his chair with a huff. "There. That should do it."
Evelyn lifted her left arm to test out her side wound, which surprisingly only ached a bit. She reflexively flexed and checked the rest of her muscles, which were definitely sore.
"Wow, you did a fantastic job. Thanks, doc."
"No problem. And you can call me John. John Watson." He held out his hand and she hesitated a beat, before taking it and shaking.
"My name's Evelyn. Evelyn... Well, let's just leave it at that." She smiled weakly. John looked a bit confused but just nodded. Evelyn stood and looked around awkwardly.
"Well, thank you for all your help, John. Give my regards to the missus as well." She smiled. He stood suddenly, which made her teeter backwards a little bit in surprise, and he caught her good arm to keep her from stumbling. He looked into her eyes seriously.
"Evelyn, I don't know what happened to you, or what you're afraid of, but I know someone who might be able to help. Sherlock Holmes is the cleverest and bravest man I've ever known."
At this outpour, Evelyn's eyes began to tear up to her amazement. "I... He can't. I'm sorry, if you think he can, but he can't. I really have to go." With that, she rushed out the door back into the waiting room. He followed close behind and called out as she was almost out the entrance.
"Wait! Where will you go?"
Evelyn stopped and turned around. "Oh you know, just wandering the streets of London. Looking for absolution, purpose, all that smooth jazz... You take care of yourself, doc. Of your wife and friends, too. You won't know you need them until they're gone." With those final words, she fled the garish lights of the small medical office.
Evelyn languidly walked down the streets and alleyways, not very sure where she was going. The bright orange glow of sunset was streaming down its warmth on her face, which made her even more sleepy than she already was. The night before had not granted her much rest, with her sleeping on a park bench and all. She quietly contemplated when the last time she actually got a full night's sleep was, but couldn't recall.
In her dazed thoughts, she didn't notice that she had been walking beyond the knowledge of her current location. She was brought back to reality when suddenly alarm bells began to go off in her head. Her tiredness was immediately shaken off and she was in full alert mode, sensing that someone was behind her. She used the reflections in the windows of passing cars to look without turning her head, and noticed that a man was following her. He was doing it quite stealthily, and Evelyn thought to herself that if she wasn't who she was, she never would have noticed him. He was wearing even more ragged clothes than she, and had his hood on his sweatshirt over his head, hiding most of his features.
Evelyn stood up straighter and continued walking at her normal pace to not give any indication she knew he was there. She casually turned the corner into an alleyway, but as soon as she was out of sight of passerbys and knew he was right behind her, she whipped around and grabbed him by the collar, shoving him up against the brick wall roughly.
"Who are you? Why are you following me?!" Evelyn hissed dangerously.
When his hood fell back, Evelyn saw that it was just a young boy, barely a man. He was in his early twenties, just a few years younger than she. His face was dirty, which only made his light blue eyes stand out more. His hair was brown and he had some stubble. His face was squarish in shape, and his nose rather large. His eyes were rimmed pink, and he looked tired as well. His eyes widened and he held up his hands in surrender.
"Woah, dere miss. There's no need to be 'ostile. I'm jus' doin' my job. I'm s'posed to be checkin' up on yah. For a mister Sherlock 'olmes."
"Sherlock Holmes?" Evelyn let out a groan. "Dammit, John."
He nodded, his cockney accent thick. "Yeah. John Watson wanted 'im to do it. Said you needed 'elp."
She released him and stepped back, crossing her arms and glaring at the man. "What's your name?"
"Some call me the Wig, but you can call me Wiggins."
"Alright, Wiggins. Where can I find this 'Sherlock Holmes'?"
He shuffled and looked down. "'e lives a' 221B Baker Street. The doctor used to live there too, but 'e went an' got 'imself married."
"Thanks, Wiggins. I hope we won't have to meet again." Evelyn strode off to find a map, but heard the strange man call after her.
"You an' me both, miss."
Evelyn walked along the busy streets until she came upon a street merchant for magazines, newspapers, and other wares. She quickly found a map and looked up the address, and left when the man started yelling at her: "Are ya just going to stand there or are you going to buy something?!"
She continued on to her destination, and observed the incredible bustle of life going on around her. It was chaotic, but still beautiful, the way the large, red buses of London loomed over the streets, casting dark shadows, and the way people shoved past everyone in their hurriedness. Evelyn was reminded how much she truly loved London. She was born in America, but some complicated circumstances forced her to retreat to the United Kingdom, living day by day while struggling to survive.
The autumn air suddenly gusted by her, and she wrapped her jacket tighter around herself. She felt like she was completely out of place in the crowd, although to others she was almost invisible. It made her sad sometimes, knowing no one would ever know her, or her story. People rarely even showed kindness Men often leered at her on the street, though she knew she could take care of herself. John and Mary were the first people who have actually taken the time to talk to her and help her when she was in need without calling the police. True, they still showed fear, as everyone has and always will, but it was soon squashed from their eyes as their true altruistic nature showed itself. At the thought of their kindness, Evelyn resolved to be polite to Mr. Holmes when she met him instead of telling him to just fuck off.
She had just finished promising herself this when she looked up and realized she was on Baker Street. She found a small building and a black door with the label "221B" plated on it in a golden metal. She took a deep breath and knocked. She waited a minute, and almost was deterred into leaving, when the door cracked open.
In the doorway was a small, old lady. She looked about in her sixties and had short brown hair that spiked out at the ends. Her eyes were big and smile lines crinkled when she saw Evelyn. She wore a maroon, flowered dress and brown leather flats. She smiled up at Evelyn like she had known her all her life, to which Evelyn just stood there dumbfounded.
"Oh yes! Come in, come in! It's quite a cold day outside isn't it? You must be used to it though I'm sure."
"...Yesss." Evelyn responded hesitantly, wondering how the woman knew that. She stepped inside the small hallway at the woman's quick gestures and looked around. It looked like an ordinary collection of flats, with stairs in front of Evelyn that she thought must lead to more. The woman started up those stairs, and Evelyn had no choice but to follow. Whilst Evelyn trailed behind the woman, she called up the stairs.
"Sherlock? It's another one of your homeless network! She might have some information for you!"
Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks at the top of the stairs. "Excuse me?" She ignored Evelyn and walked right into the flat without knocking. Evelyn continued walking behind her, and curiously looked around the empty living room. There was a nice fireplace which currently lay unlit, that had a skull resting atop it, and Evelyn tried to fool herself into believing that maybe he just really liked Hamlet. There were two armchairs in front of it, and a large table beside them that was absolutely littered with books, papers, and other strange objects. Also around the rest of the room were so many books, it made Evelyn's heart sing in longing. There was also a sofa with coffee table in front of it and a peculiar, yellow smiley face on the decorative wallpaper that Evelyn noticed, to her dismay, had several bullet holes permanently cut into the wall. The skull and now that made her extremely wary of the man she was about to meet.
The lady went around the corner and started speaking rapidly to someone Evelyn couldn't yet see. "Oh Sherlock! What have I told you about doing experiments on the table!? Oh it's ruined now! You're buying me a new one! By the way, if you didn't hear, one of your homeless network is here!"
"Mrs. Hudson, do shut up. Your speaking is deterring my scientific methods." A deep, rumbling voice came from the mystery person, annoyance lacing his tone. "And you're incorrect on the woman. She is not one of my homeless network, as she wouldn't have knocked, and her pace is light but slow, showing signs of trepidation which usually shows wariness, in this case, of being in a new environment. Also she would not have waited in the doorway, and her heavy breathing indicates hidden agitation. Now get out so I can finish without your petty interruptions." Evelyn's eyes widened as she heard Mrs. Hudson's frustrated scoff, and saw her come back around the corner.
"Good luck." She whispered with raised eyebrows, and Evelyn muttered, "Thanks, I guess." Evelyn watched her return downstairs and hesitated about turning the corner.
"Oh do come in already. Your hesitation is driving me up the wall." The man's voice rang out.
Evelyn took a deep breath and headed into a room that was apparently the kitchen. The dining table was a mess, cluttered with chemicals and scientific equipment, as well as a microscope, to her delight. But what amazed Evelyn was the figure standing beside it.
He was very tall, and looked like he was nearing his late thirties. He was very slim, which only made him appear taller. He was wearing a t-shirt, pajama pants, and a blue dressing gown, but also wore no shoes. He had on safety goggles over his dark, curly hair. His face was the most unique thing Evelyn had ever seen. It was rather long and his cheekbones were so prominent and sharp she was sure they could cut someone. His eyes were small and piercing, and Evelyn couldn't even distinguish the colour. In them were coldness and condescension, that made you feel like you were completely stupid. Evelyn shrunk back at his calculated expression, feeling like he was reading her mind. His eyes raked over her, but she didn't feel like he did it in a lascivious manner.
When his eyes met hers, his brows furrowed together. He spoke quickly, barely taking breaths. "You're homeless, but have signs of artistic skill, as apparent in the muscles of your hands, so you were not always so. You wince occasionally with certain movements, showing you were wounded recently and are still recovering. You seem comfortable with the lab equipment scattered about, so you used to work around forensics. You were a forensic sketch artist for the FBI. Your accent is originally American, where you are from, but you left, quite hurriedly given the state of your clothes, showing you didn't have time to bring extra with you. So, you were running from someone. Parents? No, your parents died tragically when you were young. Lover? No, you are introverted and reclusive, and have not had many partners at all. Must be the government. Small government branch, probably limited to the FBI. But you were a lowly artist, so what could you have done? Or known? Hmm... requires further information."
Evelyn just stood still during his speech, and after he was finished, she was frozen on the spot, her mouth slightly parted.
"Do close your mouth. Your loud breathing is quite nettlesome." Evelyn did so, but not without a glare.
"How do you know all those things about me?" She spoke low.
He smirked, which made her want to slap it right off his face. "I simply deduced it. It was quite easy, Evelyn."
"John had to have told you some of that stuff about me, like my old job and lack of housing, but how the hell did you learn everything else, like my parents?! Who are you?" She pointed a finger at him angrily, which only made him smile wider. He removed his goggles with a flourish and placed his hands behind his back, standing up straight.
"I assure you, Evelyn, that I was not informed of anything by John other than your name and that you required help. As for your parents, when I mentioned them, your face expressed their fate easily enough, and if only one was deceased, you surely would have gone to them seeking refuge when you were on the run, but you didn't, so it was obviously both of them. Lastly, John already informed you of my name, being Sherlock Holmes. I am the world's only consulting detective. People come to me when they need help, and I solve cases for them, and do help the police on occasion when they are at a loss. Well... I suppose that counts as every occasion."
"But... you... that's..." Evelyn was at a complete loss with this man. Then, she remembered her promise to herself.
"Yes, if you're going to tell me to 'piss off', I am perfectly prepared."
She shook her head in feigned confusion. "No... I mean... that was... completely brilliant. Kind of blunt, I'd say, but you made up for it in the end."
Sherlock's rigid stance grew still, and his brow scrunched together. "A compliment? Unexpected, but... not altogether unwelcome."
"Yes, it was extremely clever. But, I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline on the help."
His head tilted to the side a fraction. "John told me you were desperate."
"I'm sorry, but John was wrong. I'm perfectly fine on my own." Evelyn gave him a smile for good measure.
He squinted. "Highly unusual. You obviously have some pent-up emotion, but are very good at hiding it, indicating a long life of solitude and loneliness. Yet even with your lack of understanding human nature, you still somehow possess the ability to empathize and grant kindness. Peculiar."
Evelyn's smile wavered. "If you would stop analyzing me like I'm some math problem to be solved, that would be great."
Sherlock ignored her comment, and continued to stare into the distance stiffly, like he was in completely different place.
She stood awkwardly in the small kitchen, until they both heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
Sherlock looked like he relaxed, as did his posture. "It's just John," he mumbled.
Evelyn looked at him incredulously. "How did you know that?"
"His footsteps are heavy, and his stride is recognizable." With that, John came through the door leading to the kitchen, and when he saw Evelyn, he smiled and nodded.
"Evelyn, I'm glad you're here. I assume you've met?"
Sherlock responded first. "Yes, we are quite acquainted."
John addressed Evelyn. "So, how's your side?" He approached her and lifted her shirt exposing her abdomen and bandaged wound, in full doctor mode. She stumbled backwards a bit, but Sherlock reached out and caught her arm. Having two men in such close range and touching her made her face burn.
Sherlock released her and cleared his throat once again. John stood up straight after making sure her side was fine.
"It looks like it's healing nicely." He said.
"Thanks to you, John." She replied, smiling, her face still bright red.
He looked to her then Sherlock. "Well, have you found a way to help her?"
Sherlock turned his body toward her slightly. "I was going to assist, but the lady refused my succor."
John looked confused and turned to Evelyn. "You refused? Evelyn, I promise you, this man can help. Whatever is happening to you, he's the man for the job. He's solved hundreds of cases before."
As both pairs of eyes turned on her, she took a step back. "John, you make that promise, but let me make you a promise, that no matter how intelligent Sherlock is, he cannot help me on this. Please. Please, I'm begging you. Just leave this... me... alone." She turned to go, when Sherlock blocked her path, causing Evelyn's eyes to widen.
"Miss Evelyn, I believe you greatly underestimate my skills. It's obvious what you have dug into has caused you a great amount of pain. No matter whom is after you, I am positive I can be an intermediary. They are, after all, simple Americans, and will no doubt rely on brawn rather than brains. You have been alone all your life, and I must tell you that I, too, have known the feeling of alienation. Do not think I am disingenuous, because you would be wrong in that aspect. But, you must trust me in order to secure the life you should be living and end this conflict." The calculated look in his eyes gave nothing that looked like he just said what he did say, but Evelyn heard the underlying emotion in his voice.
John looked at Sherlock with surprise, never hearing such a confession of his past to someone he barely knew. Evelyn peered into his eyes, looking for some flicker of deception.
She spoke softly. "You know, I have an ability that most do not. The ability to read how someone truly feels in their eyes. And I do not see insincerity in yours." She looked at both of them and sighed. "I will allow you to help me, but only if I can assist on the case as much as possible. As much as you think you can overcome this with ease, I must tell you that you need my help as much as I need yours." She stared into Sherlock's eyes, unwavering, and she thought she saw a sliver of appreciation.
The corner of his mouth rose slightly. "All right, then. Your temerity is most refreshing, I must say, Miss Evelyn. Before we get started I need to know all that you do."
Evelyn cringed but nodded. "Fine. But if you're going to learn me inside and out, you might as well do away with the formalities. Just Evelyn is acceptable."
"Deal... Evelyn." He held out his hand and she grasped it firmly, shaking it once.