The last lecture of the week had come to its end and the hall shared a mutual sigh. Some of my peers were out the door before I had the chance to pack away my notes, eager to start their weekend. I had been slow at late, my mind elsewhere. I confess that I was guilty of letting my thoughts and ideas wander to my writing. You see, my blog had become far popular than I had anticipated, and my roommate was quickly becoming an esteemed member of Baker Street. There was a knock on the door at least once every other day. Each one brought with it another client for the mind of Sherlock Holmes.
I had kept myself out of his affairs and acted only as onlooker. Occasionally I took notes during his meetings, which he was happy to oblige my presence in. Most cases had been trivial, and often Holmes was able to make his deductions without leaving the room, much to his client's shock. At least four had been solved in such a way, and I struggled to flesh out these events into something worth a read. Until that day.
That particular case makes itself most worthy of attention, and it is of this that you read about today. I hold it close to me, for it marked the beginning of my journey into Sherlock's world. The crusade of Jefferson Hope and his path to revenge found me dragged along most involuntarily, but this time I became entangled in the madness of criminality of my own will.
I had forgotten about my session with the Councillor that afternoon. They were going well, and I was beginning to open up. I did, on occasion, bring my father's cane along with me, but I was finding the strength to leave it behind some days. I no longer lent on it, for the notion was daft and I was starting to see that truth for myself.
I rushed back onto campus before it was too late. I most certainly didn't want to make the habit of skipping sessions, for that would only be a downward spiral and I would never hear the end of it from Sherlock. One way or another, he would discover even the most irrelevant acts performed by me that he found strange and made a note of pointing out why I would do them. I was sure it was his way of showing off, but maybe it was simply a test of his skills. Sometimes I would check the floorboards around the apartment for his little spies. He had come to calling them his Baker Street irregulars. The only thing that seemed irregular to him was me when he caught me at the act.
"No need for spies when the walls have eyes and ears." He would say. I never quite understood what he meant by that.
The halls were mostly empty now with most students either returning to the library to continue their studies or heading off home. I hadn't expected one peer to be in as much a rush as myself.
I had no time to react to her haste. My books suddenly took flight in our collision. Papers were scattered to the wind and came to rest all around us.
"I'm sorry…I…Oh, God." She gasped.
We both made a bumbling attempt to recover from the mess we had made. Kneeling down, I watched as she gathered her papers with one hand, and wiped her reddened eyes with the other. I didn't recognise her, but for whatever reason that fate had decided, I kept my gaze on her. Her short cut, blonde hair was well kept, and she had made more effort than I in keeping her uniform presentable. Though her face was eschew from all that. It was clear to me that she had been crying, but she was making every effort to hide the fact. Once my own work was sorted, I went about helping her in gathering page after page that had tried to escape in our collision.
There was a cold silence between us until both of our work was back where it belonged. It was not at all like the thought provoking quiet between Sherlock and myself, for my growing understanding of his mind had made it feel like nature. This silence, I had the sudden urge to break.
"I… haven't seen you around campus before."
"I… sorry, but I really have to go."
She was passing me by before any more words could escape my lips. Her eyes had darted between me and the ground in a most erratic manner. I couldn't help but think that the incident had unloosened her from a deep thought process and now she struggled to grasp it back. I had often done the same when thinking about my father.
"I… thank you, and sorry again…"
She took a short moment to turn back and say these words. I watched her leave with all answers to her saddened state following her. I hadn't notice that my work was beginning to slip from my arm once again. I suddenly took hold before they could elude me, and in the same moment I cursed myself inside. Already I was starting to consider the world as my calculating roommate would. Why was this student so upset? What could have brought her to distraction? None of it mattered, for it was her business. Still, I couldn't break out of my curiosity, and her face lingered in every thought as I made my way home.