In Memoriam: Sherlock Holmes
By: Eleanor Taylor
It had been rare as of late to read a paper with no mention of Sherlock Holmes. Therefore, it should not be news to anyone that Mr. Holmes jumped to his death last week from the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. This came immediately after the acquitted criminal Moriarty was reportedly claiming to be an actor named Richard Brook whom Sherlock Holmes paid to be a master criminal. An investigation of these claims is currently underway.
Though the nation speculates, this reporter does not. I have been fortunate, and admittedly exasperated, to be personally acquainted with Sherlock Holmes. And so I feel that it falls upon my shoulders to tell the world who Sherlock really was.
Long before Sherlock was The Reichenbach Hero, he was a boy. This is when we met, when we were seven-years-old. My family had moved into the house next door to the Holmes family. I still remember our first meeting vividly.
Eleanor was nervous. Her family had just settled into their new home just yesterday, but her mother insisted they head next door and meet their new neighbors. There were children, Ellie had been told; which was an exciting prospect considering she had left all her friends behind. The neighbor children were boys, however, and what if they were gross boys who picked their noses and ate bugs?
When Eleanor's mum knocked on the front door of the neighbor's house, a lady wearing a blue dress answered. She greeted the Taylors with a genuine smile, cooed over Eleanor's pretty auburn curls, and escorted them inside.
"The boys are in the lounge if you would like to say hello," Mrs. Holmes smiled down at Ellie and pointed down the hall.
Ellie glanced uncertainly up at her mother, who nodded in encouragement. As the two women launched into a discussion, Ellie began her timid journey towards the lounge. The little girl expected to hear the sounds of the telly but even as she reached the entryway of the room, there was none. Perhaps that was because there was no television, as Ellie noticed upon examining the room. Instead, the room was lined with bookshelves and stuffed with cozy-looking armchairs and objects safely stored behind glass. It reminded Ellie much less of a lounge, and more of a study.
Ellie spotted the boys near a window. They sat at a small table, immersed in a game of chess. Not wanting to interrupt, Ellie made to leave, but it was then that she was noticed.
"Ah, you must be our new neighbor," said one of the boys. He got to his feet and his brother followed.
Ellie's first thought about the brothers was that they looked like royalty. They were perfectly trimmed and manicured and both were wearing suits. The boy who had addressed her was the older of the two. He was tall enough that Ellie guessed he was a teenager. He stood straight, with his hands clasped behind his back. As he looked at her, he seemed to be looking down at her in such a way that Ellie felt very silly and small. She quickly turned her attention to the younger brother.
The second brother appeared to be her own age. He was much taller than her and very skinny. His curly hair was black and his very blue eyes were scanning her, like he was looking for something. While this made Ellie uncomfortable, it was not the feeling the older brother had given her.
"I am Mycroft Holmes," said the older brother. "And this is Sherlock."
"I'm Eleanor Taylor, but you can call me Ellie if you'd like," Ellie said timidly, shifting her feet with anxiety.
Mycroft nodded his head in acknowledgement, then returned to his seat. Feeling slightly put out, Ellie moved her eyes to Sherlock. His attention remained on her for a moment more before he too nodded and returned to his game.
I did not see much of the Holmes boys after our initial meeting. Mycroft waved politely, if not lazily, at me should our families cross paths. Sherlock would acknowledge my existence with a slight nod of his head. But I went to public school and Sherlock did not. Sherlock's house was home to books and chess sets and I was not a stranger to after school cartoons.
It was not until six months after I had moved in that Sherlock and I interacted again. A late August afternoon found me hunched beneath the oak tree in my back yard, head buried in my arms.
She did not hear him approach through her sobs. Who knows how long the boy stood next to her before he spoke.
"Are you crying because your cat died?"
Startled, Ellie peered up with tear-filled eyes. Sherlock peered down at her, hands in the pockets of his slacks, looking bored. At the thought of Buttons, new tears sprang to life.
Sherlock's face scrunched together in discomfort, ready to retreat. But Ellie quickly wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. While her eyes still watered, she peered up at her neighbor with curiosity.
"How did you know Buttons died?" Ellie asked shakily, having to gulp down a fresh wave of tears.
"It was obvious," Sherlock shrugged, hands still tucked in his pockets. "There's fur on the legs of your pants, suggesting that you do have a cat who sheds moderately when they brush up against you. But your sleeves are covered in fur, suggesting that you've been holding the cat recently. Since you're crying, you're obviously upset. I heard a car break hard earlier so I can assume that your cat was hit by a car and you cradled it before you came here."
The words were insensitive and Sherlock's tone suggested he cared extraordinarily little that a little girl had just lost her beloved pet. Yet, Ellie did not cry further. Instead, her cheeks began to dry as she stared up at Sherlock Holmes in wonder.
"That's amazing…!" she whispered.
Sherlock blinked, seeming taken aback. Although Ellie could not know at the time, Sherlocks astounding talents were not frequently commented upon at his house. Mycroft particularly was quick to point out that his deductions were rather elementary and that he was far superior to Sherlock in every way.
But Ellie was smitten with Sherlock's talent and she was already on her feet, caramel-colored eyes looking pleadingly up at Sherlock. "Can you teach me!?"
Sherlock did not teach me. I notice more than the average person, I'd say, but Sherlock could only show me so much. One needs a certain level of genius to do what Sherlock did. Despite this, Sherlock had gained an adoring fan in me and we became inseparable. If this bothered Sherlock, he never said. Truthfully, I imagine he enjoyed having someone be in ore of him at all times.
Still, Sherlock and I were very different. As we aged, we still retained our unique friendship, but we spent much less time together. I was busy with other friends, hobbies and after school activities. This did not stop Sherlock from being there when I needed him, however, whether I knew that I needed him or not.
A sixteen-year-old Ellie dashed from her house as a blue jeep pulled into her driveway. Her excitement at seeing Jack was so great, she did not notice her neighbor skulking about behind the fence that separated their yards. Jack killed the engine and barely had time to close the door before Ellie jumped into his arms, planting a wet kiss on his cheek.
"I missed you!" Ellie gushed, peering up at her boyfriend of eight months.
Jack chuckled, placing a kiss on Ellie's forehead before she stepped back. "I missed you too. It was a long holiday without you."
"Well, I have a surprise for you," Ellie smiled impishly, taking Jack by the hand and gently tugging him towards her house.
"Good afternoon!" a voice suddenly called, stopping the young couple short.
Ellie glanced over to see Sherlock strolling through the gate of the fence and over towards Jack and Ellie.
"Sherlock!" Ellie hissed, narrowing her eyes in a warning that clearly said: clear off.
But Sherlock did not listen, as he rarely ever did. His focus was on Jack, and while his face was even and straight, his eyes were narrowed.
"Ah, Jack, I don't believe we've ever truly spoken face to face," Sherlock addressed Jack, but did not offer a hand to shake. "How was your holiday?"
Jack glanced questioningly at Ellie. "Did you tell him I was on holiday?"
Ellie shook her head and immediately rolled her eyes, as Sherlock would take this opportunity to show off and tell Jack all of the subtle clues he could deduce that proved Jack had been on holiday. But much to Ellie's surprise, Sherlock did not, perhaps for the very first time in history.
"Did you tell the girl you had relations with that you were in a committed relationship?"
Stunned silence met Sherlock's words. Jack stared at Sherlock with a mix of fear and fury. Ellie's attention was now on Jack, her face slowly crumbling, eyes pleading for Sherlock to be wrong.
"Jack?" she croaked.
"I-I-um…" Jack stuttered, which was the only proof that Ellie required.
Ellie did not wail or sob, although tears were already starting to form in her eyes. But even if Ellie had made a sound, it would have been drowned out by the rather unpleasant crunching sound of Jack's nose breaking.
Jack hollered out in pain, cupping his nose with his hands as it began to bleed profusely. Sherlock stepped back, shaking his right hand out and wincing in pain. He was not really in the habit of punching people in the face.
The next ten minutes were a blur for Ellie, so consumed was she in her heartbreak. But she soon found herself in her kitchen, wringing out a wash cloth over the sink. Sherlock sat at her dining room table, examining the cuts and bruises already appearing on his knuckles. Silently, Ellie approached him, wiping away the blood on his hand.
All was quiet as Ellie set to work with bandages, but it was finally broken by Sherlock. "I'm sensing that you're upset."
Sherlock's sentence was met with a roll of bandages being thrown at his head. "Of course I'm upset, Sherlock! Why do you always do stuff like that!?"
And before Sherlock could say anything in response, Ellie was collapsing in the chair beside his in sobs. Sherlock sat awkwardly, frowning.
"Didn't you want to know?" he finally asked after several excruciatingly long minutes of listening to Ellie cry.
"I don't know…" Ellie groaned, her sobs easing into hiccups and silent tears.
Sherlock frowned at this. That didn't make any sense. Why wouldn't someone want to know their partner was cheating on them? One wouldn't want to keep seeing someone if that was the case, right? But Ellie certainly wasn't acting like that was true. Perhaps Sherlock was wrong. He was, admittedly, a train wreck with human relationships.
Sherlock, for once, was at a loss for what to say. Even he could clearly feel the grief radiating off of Ellie. It was uncomfortable and not something Sherlock was accustomed to dealing with. He did not know how to make it stop and he did not know how to help.
After what seemed like ages, Ellie seemed to gain control of herself. She determinedly wiped the tears from her eyes and pushed wet curls away from her face. She glanced down at Sherlock's hand, and then to Sherlock's face, where she suddenly burst out laughing.
"That was a really nice punch," she laughed, choking back a sob, but still smiling nonetheless.
Sherlock said nothing, as he was still adjusting to Ellie's swing in emotions. But that was okay. Ellie had spent a countless amount of time in silence around Sherlock when they were younger and she was comfortable with his silence.
Ellie got to her feet, bent slightly at the waist in front of Sherlock, and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Thank you, Sherlock."
Sherlock became a very successful chemist, and I a journalist. Our paths took us far from one another, but never for very long. Through the years, we were still somehow just as inseparable as we were as children. And I still remained just as captivated with him as I once was with every case that he solved.
Sherlock Holmes has helped a great deal of people. And so I plead with the world, do not turn your back on my friend. For I have no doubt in my mind that Sherlock is innocent of all the claims being made about him. Sherlock Holmes may have been an arrogant know-it-all who lacked basic social skills, but he was just as willing to speak to a little girl in mourning on the day of his death, as he was as a child, in his own bizarre way. I will dearly miss Sherlock Holmes for his genius, his right hook, and his heart.
"I saw your article in the paper," John said.
John Watson and Eleanor Taylor stood side by side, their backs against the wind as they stared down at a black headstone. The pair has said nothing to one another throughout the funeral and it was almost startling to hear a voice break the silence.
"It didn't do him justice," Ellie said quietly.
"No, I think it was perfect," John replied before the pair lapsed into silence again.
"Do you…do you think there's still a chance he's not actually dead?" John finally asked quietly.
Ellie turned her head to look at the doctor. Her eyes were shimmering with tears, yet, there was a shaky smile on her face. "Oh yes, John, I do. See, he still has to kill me for publishing an article about his soft side."
John chuckled weakly. "Ah, so we'll see him very soon then."
Ellie's eyes turned back to the gravestone just in time to see a vague reflection in its polished surface. Maybe it was her grief playing tricks on her, but that would just be too coincidental for Sherlock Holmes. Ellie closed her eyes and smiled. "Yes, very soon."
A/N
Thank you for reading! This idea has been floating around in my head for a little while and I just really wanted to get it out. I was considering making this into a series. It'd be pretty much a fluff fic, with every chapter focusing on a different event in their lives. I just have a few ideas for I guess drabble-like chapters for this pair. If that might be something you're interested in, please let me know your thoughts!
Much love.