The violin's soft notes resonated across the room and settled in the peeling floral wallpaper. They seeped into the wood and enveloped Emmeline in her music.
She had arrived at 221C Baker Street nearly an hour ago and had yet to unpack her suitcases.
The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, had been very prominent and kind in her proposal for rent. Originally costing far above Emmeline's price range, Mrs. Hudson had knocked off quite a large chunk due to "impending mold issues." Luckily, her full-ride to the Trinity Art Academy's music program allowed the college funds saved by her parent's to pay for rent. The original wallpaper had been replaced but was still, nonetheless, shabby. Emmeline continually kept making a mental note to ask Mrs. Hudson the best way to tackle the hardwood floors and the proper care to take for the stiff air. It was obvious the apartment hadn't been rented to anyone in years and Emmeline could hardly care. She preferred quite areas where should could stay holed up for days or weeks at a time. She was always working on a violin piece, reading a new book, or just simply stuck in her own head.
Her violin was suffering the backlash of her conflicting feelings now and she nearly broke a string as she clasped the bow. The flight from America to London had gone a lot smoother than she had planned. Her bare feet curled on the hardwood floor as she thought about traveling alone-again. Emmeline had traveled once in a plane, with her parents to Asia, and as she recalled the bumping of the metal machine she nearly got sick. It wasn't the same without them.
Her parents had planned to come along with her and help unpack. But since the divorce drove them to different parts of the States, she could barely convince them to see her off at the airport. Her mother didn't want to be in the same room as that "cheating fool" and her father certainly didn't care enough about her education. He didn't want Emmeline to travel to Europe for college anyway. Especially not for a degree in music.
Sighing, her fingers stopped on the strings and she slowly lowered the violin to her side. If only her parents could see her now. They questioned whether she could find an apartment on her own, if she would even be able to remind herself to eat when she got trapped in her cycles. Looking around the apartment, Emmeline decided it may be best to unpack for her benefit or the distraction, she wasn't sure.
As she sifted through boxes of her old belongings, from books to photos, she realized that it wasn't the best idea. The photo from last Christmas had a thin, hair-line crack in the glass and she slowly rose from her kneeled position on the floor and placed it on the repaired fireplace mantle. She remembered the day it was taken, days after her father came home drunk and ruined their family. In the photo, she stood between her parents. A human barrier. Her mother's eyes were brimmed with wrinkles and no makeup could hide the pain in her eyes. Her father had a monotone face, his hands were clinched tightly at his sides.
Emmeline tore her eyes away from the photo and began shoving belongings in nooks and crannies throughout the room. All her books were stacked precariously near the mantle and on the floor, under desks and on desks. By the time she finished unpacking the living room it looked like an everyday hermit's paradise. Emmeline laughed and threw herself onto the small loveseat. Dust puffed into the air and Emmeline begin choking, muffled by the laughter bubbling from her mouth. Her parents thought she couldn't do this. She has to do this.
Rising from her position, Emmeline decided to skip the rest of the packed boxes and head to Speedy's to buy some items from Mrs. Hudson. She gathered her coat from the rack and her keys from the bowl near the door and stepped out of her apartment into the dimly lit hallway. She pulled the door shut behind her and locked it. Pushing the wood to ensure it wouldn't give, Emmeline made her way out the front door and onto the busy streets of Baker. It was always bustling, people moving with their faces down against the wind. Turning up her coat collar, Emmeline trudged along the side of the fence to the cafe.
Speedy's was exactly the way she imagined it to be. It looked like a small corner shop that could be found anywhere in the U.S. with titled floor and sugar shakes on every table. The area was lite naturally by the open glass windows and door, causing the whole area to be washed in a dull gray lighting. Mrs. Hudson was leaning on the counter, picking at a sandwich and watching Connie Prince. When she heard the tinkling of the bells to signal a customer, she looked up and began smiling.
"Emmeline, dear, come in, come in. How are things gettin' settled?"
Emmeline smiled at her thick accent and walked up to the counter, hoping onto the torn leather bar stool. "Everything is going just fine, Mrs. Hudson. I've got my living room unpacked and everything looked lovely when I came."
"That's good, dear, that's good. The movers were quite a loud bunch, weren't they? Stomping around, didn't even get the mud off their shoes before they came in. I was outside cleaning up after them for hours and my bad hip don't let me bend down easily anymore. Say, you wouldn't happen to have met the other residence have you? In 221B?"
Emmeline raised her eyebrow. Mrs. Hudson had a knack for easily changing the subject, she was like a pinball machine, constantly jumping around. "I haven't."
"Oh he's a nice man. Calm, very calm. He recently lost someone close to him. Matter of fact we all did," Mrs. Hudson looks down at the peeling linoleum but quickly masks her face by turning around towards the sink. "But you know, John, he lost someone a lot closer. They were together, if you know what I mean."
Emmeline leaned on the counter, "Together as in-"
"Oh, yes, yes. They were gay. Always knew it. John, he'll deny it until his face turns red." Mrs. Hudson begins laughing, her shoulders shaking.
Emmeline smiles. "Mrs. Hudson?"
Mrs. Hudson turns around, placing a dish towel on the counter. "Yes, dear?"
"I have a few questions about some of the cleaning around the apartment. Specifically the floors..."
After half an hour of chit-chat and eating, Emmeline left Speedy's with her arms full of ready-to-make sandwiches and cleaning supplies. Mrs. Hudson insisted that Emmeline take multiple lunches to ensure she had plenty to eat and continually assured Emmeline she'd be by to teach her how to make "a proper tea."
Emmeline wobbled up the steps of 221 and barely turned the handle before it swung open. Startled, Emmeline stepped back, nearly falling backwards onto the sidewalk. Standing before her was a man. He was middle-aged, with tufts of blond hair in a whirlwind on his head. He had the workings of a mustache growing under his button nose and he leaned precariously on a cane. Deep lines formed when he furrowed his brows and peered at Emmeline.
"I'm sorry." They both uttered at once.
"Sorry..." Emmeline stated again, shifting the gifts in her hand.
The man glanced at her full arms and stepped back, pushing the door open wider with his back. "Nothing to be sorry for. I was just stepping out."
Emmeline stepped into the heated lobby and shuffled to the side of the open door so the man could go outside. "My name's Emmeline Stewart. I recently moved into the vacant apartment." Studying his appearance, Emmeline could tell that he hadn't been outside in quite a while. His eyes were bloodshot and he cringed when the door first opened. He had a thick, tan sweater that was wrinkled and shoved into the front end of his pants.
He turned towards her, a fake smile showing on his face. "Oh, it's nice to meet you. Mrs. Hudson mentioned you a while back. Something about you being from America. I'm John Watson."
Emmeline inclined her head slightly but the weight of the bags were becoming to much. "I hope you don't mind my running off but these bags are becoming heavy. I hope we become good neighbors, Mr. Watson."
John smiled. "John will do," He pauses, like he's conflicted. "Do you need any help?"
Emmeline glanced at the distance from her door and where she stood and smiled back graciously at John. "Yes, actually. Could you take my key here," Emmeline tipped her keys toward John. "And unlock my door, please?"
John stepped forward and softly tangled the keys from her hand. "I wouldn't mind at all. I see Mrs. Hudson gave you her daily supply."
Emmeline followed John down the hallway, readjusting her grip on the grocery bags. "Daily...supply?"
John nodded as he slipped the key into the door and pushed it open, "Yeah, something she does to make sure we don't starve. That and so we bring new costumers." John shook his head, as he held the door so she could slip under his arm.
"You can come in!" Emmeline called over her shoulder as she hustled towards the kitchen. She heard John amble into the entryway as she quickly rushed around the kitchen putting the cold cuts in the fridge and the cleaning supplies under the sink. When she came out, John was standing near the armchair where she placed her violin, his fingers softly running over the wood.
"Do you play?" She questioned, walking towards the mantle to place a candle she bought from Mrs. Hudson.
John pulled back from the instrument and leaned on his cane. "No, I once had a friend who did."
"Oh, your boy-" Emmeline stopped herself. "Flatmate, I mean."
John glanced up at Emmeline and shook his head. "I see Mrs. Hudson is still trying to feed those pesky lies. Sherlock and I weren't dating, we're friends is all."
John's head had traveled down and he peered at the hardwood floor. His jaw was clenched and, from experience, Emmeline could tell John was trying to hold back tears. Panicking, Emmeline tried to change the subject, "Say, you wouldn't happen to know the fastest way to the Trinity Art Academy, would you?"
John looked up and Emmeline realized his persona had morphed. He seemed distant, his eyes zoned out and weary. "Walking would probably be your best bet. A taxi would take too long, what with the Academy traffic and all. Do you go there?"
Emmeline nodded, "I'm a violinist."
John stood near the armchair and said nothing. Slowly, he began to turn on his heel and walk out the door, his cane bumping furniture as he went. "I thought I heard a violin earlier but I wasn't sure. Mrs. Hudson knows what it does to my nerves."
Emmeline was taken aback and stepped towards John, "Does the noise bother you? I can get a mute-"
"The opposite, actually," John commented as he opened the door and stepped out into the hall, "I find it quite relaxing."
Emmeline watched John close the door and heard is cane tap and the injured leg thump up the hallway and out the front door. She stood in the living room, stunned for a few seconds, before drifting off into the kitchen to unpack the rest of the boxes. She continually kept thinking about how John had believed he imagined a violin before getting tired of the heavy lifting and laid down in her bedroom, surrounded by the smell of mothballs, and falling asleep.