I am currently doing my best to edit this one my own and also put up the new chapter, but just bear with me and soon enough I'll get it done.
Straining helplessly, Imogen Featherby was trying to replace her cart to the others in the supermarket, while trying to hold onto her bags. She was failing immensely.
It didn't help that after those two torturous years in that institution, her physical state was less than desirable. Don't even mention her emotional and mental states.
"Do you need help, dear?" a kindly voice sounded from behind Imogen. It would've normally just made Imogen jump, but that was before she had been locked up. Nowadays, she would've started so badly that she would knock a couple of things down and almost get a concussion from falling down. And so that's what she did.
"Oh dear, are you alright?" the voice said again, and Imogen managed to twist around enough to spot a stout old woman with a kind and maternal disposition.
"Mmyes," Imogen mumbled, hoisting herself up and brushed herself off, embarrassed. She could tell that her lip was split from the impact of the face plant she just did, and that her navy blue hair was probably mangled.
"Here, dear, I have some tissues," the kind old woman, as she removed a crumpled white tissue from her purse. Imogen gladly took it and pressed it to her bleeding lip, and when she pulled it away it was flooded with red. Wrinkling her nose, she folded it over and replaced it on her lip.
"Thank you," she said automatically, her expression and voice flat. The old woman broke into a smile.
"Martha Hudson. And you are?" The woman asked, the smile still on.
"Imogen Featherby," she responded, pulling the tissue away to inspect it. Still red.
"I'm sorry to pry, but where is your home?" Mrs. Hudson said suddenly, and Imogen gave her a wary glance before answering.
"I'm staying at a friend's. 266 Bale Court. Could you bring me there?" Imogen brightened up, her expression still flat but she had a hopeful gleam in her eyes.
"That's what I was offering, dear. Come on, we don't want to get into traffic at the wrong time," the stout old lady said kindly, and Imogen followed her, arms laden with bags.
Now sitting in her "friend's" flat, surrounded by food and other items of necessity, Imogen dreaded her next task. Putting the items away.
In order to put that off, Imogen grabbed her laptop and started a search for a flat of her own.
Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to live in your grandmother's flat right after she had died and the landlord had no idea you existed.
A knock sounded upon the door of 221 Baker Street. It had been a rare quiet afternoon for the inhabitants, but of course it was interrupted.
A very unhappy Mrs. Hudson answered the door, but she instantly brightened when she saw who it was.
"Imogen!" She cried happily, and opened the door to let the willowy young woman through. Imogen flashed a painful looking smile at her before looking around.
"I saw that you had a flat open?" Imogen said slowly, still looking around.
"Yes, dear. Do you want to see it?" Mrs. Hudson inquired, already going into her flat to retrieve the keys.
"Please, yes!" Imogen called, seemingly happy with the surroundings and had stopped looking around.
Just Mrs. Hudson came back with the keys, there was a shout above and then various loud noises. The stout old woman's demeanor changed immediately, and she ran upstairs, annoyed and worried. Intrigued, Imogen followed her, listening closely.
"SHERLOCK! What are you doing to that bloody wall?" Mrs. Hudson yelled, and Imogen slowly turned the corner to see this "Sherlock".
There was a tall, thin man with black curls and alabaster white skin standing there in a simple t-shirt, sweats and a dressing gown, staring down with a barely hidden smirk at Mrs. Hudson while she scolded at him.
The man glanced at Imogen, then did a double take, silencing Mrs. Hudson.
"Who are you?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.
"...Imogen Featherby," she responded hesitantly.
"Oh, Imogen! This is Sherlock Holmes, another one of my tenants," Mrs. Hudson said, straightening.
"Pleasure," Sherlock said nonchalantly before turning once again to Mrs. Hudson. "Now, Mrs. Hudson, I'm sure that this Imogen wants to see the flat before she takes it and I'm sure that I want to be left alone. So, go away."
Imogen watched with slight interest as the argument between the two resumed, then flinched when all of a sudden the smiley face on the wall started to join in the shouting, accompanied soon by more faces and wailing voices.
The voices flooded her ears and mind, making a huge racket. She tried her hardest not to respond, not to clap her hands over her ears, but apparently something physical revealed her troubles because Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock looked at her and the kind old woman asked her, "Are you alright, dear?"
Imogen barely heard the question, as one of the faces was wailing exceptionally loud, but she shook her head vigorously and then responded.
"I don't know," she said, distracted by yet another voice. Shooting a withering look at the wall, the voices' volume went down a bit, just enough to hear the real people.
While this might have made sense to Imogen at the time, Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock were confused at her answer.
"Hmm? Oh yeah, fine," Imogen mumbled, as one of the faces let out a loud laugh. She spun around to glare at the wall, knowing perfectly well that the others couldn't see or hear what she was experiencing. But, god damn it, she needed to deal with this.
"What is she going on about?" Mrs. Hudson wondered aloud, and this seemed to shake Imogen out of her reverie.
"The flat. I'll take it," Imogen said, turning to the perplexed Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. She smiled, then dropped the expression.
"But you haven't even seen the flat, dear," Mrs. Hudson asked, confused, but Imogen just waved her off.
"I don't need to. I'm sure it's okay," she said flatly. Mrs. Hudson looked to Sherlock, who shrugged, grabbed his gun, and walked into the kitchen.
"Oh - well, alright. You can move in whenever, just make sure to contact me first," Mrs. Hudson complied reluctantly.
"Right, good. See you… whenever I see you," Imogen shot over her shoulder before walking back down the stairs.
Mrs. Hudson shook her head, a small smile on her face, and left, leaving a Sherlock quite intrigued by one Imogen Featherby.
I hope this new and improved chapter is as enjoyable as the other one. I realized that Imogen's condition (which I am not revealing until the release of the new chapter ;)) was not AT ALL believable and edited it so it was better. I'm pleased with it, so I hope you are as well.
If you can guess her condition, I'll give you something! ... Maybe.