She could see everything, but at the same time see nothing. She could hear everything, even if most of it was pointless droning. She could feel everything, from the chill penetrating the glass window to the anger from the father being accused of murdering his own child. However, nothing could distract her as those bright yellow orbs of hers swept over the room where the heinous act took place.
"Well, Cecile, anything?" asked Detective Morrison with his brows furrowed slightly. He took a step back when Cecile shot him a scowl. "When I have something to tell you, I will. If you interrupt me once more Detective, I will have to ask you to leave."
Detective Morrison stared at her, his mouth open slightly in shock; however, he didn't say anything as he simply stood back and let her walk around the room in silence.
The body had been removed and taken to the coroner, but the blood was still there.
Cecile looked past the blood so as to keep her emotions at bay, but she could already imagine the body of a small child simply lying there with fear and pain etched deeply onto its face. How any human being could possibly harm a child was beyond her, though she did her best not to focus on it since it was a distraction. Quickly, she pushed those thoughts out of her head and focused on the room.
"It is a Monday; where is your nanny?" Cecile asked.
"I-I don't know; she never showed up," the father said.
"Hmm, interesting. Well, Mr. Martins, I hope you found the subway to your liking," Cecile sighed, sharply turning on her heel to face him. Narrowing her eyes on him, she cut off his stammering and continued. "Your car hasn't moved since you came home last night and don't tell me you took a cab."
"You can't possibly know he took the subway," an officer muttered, but she brushed him off.
Without looking at him, she explained quickly. "The ticket stub is sticking out of his pant pocket. If you looked closely, you would have seen it as well, you moron." Her eyes were still on Mr. Martins, who swallowed rather hard-his Adams apple bobbing as he picked at his nails nervously. "You have a nervous tick, something the matter, Mr. Martins? Is there something you would like to confess to or do you want me to continue? I mean, this is possibly the simplest case I have worked on, I can recount the entire tale to you, but that would be boring since you already know what happened. Please be kind and just confess."
"I don't know what you are getting at," the father snapped, standing up suddenly. Cecile didn't move back, coolly saying, "You know precisely what I'm getting at; drop the act, Mr. Martins."
He raised his voice, moving toward her as if to scare her back, but she simply stood her ground and waved off the detective from coming to her defense. "How dare you! How dare you, you bitch! I would never hurt Christopher!"
"You said Christopher."
"Of course I did, that was his name," he growled.
"You said his name instead of saying 'my son.'"
"So?"
Cecile raised an eyebrow at him. "You are supposedly grieving over him, why call him by his first name? Why not 'my son' unless you distance yourself from him because he isn't your son yet your wife left you with him? How do I know he wasn't your son? Well, from the pictures in the frames that are now covered in his blood, anyone can see that he has not inherited a single physical feature from you. A simple DNA testing will prove me to be right, and give you another plausible reason to want to hurt Christopher."
"I never meant to hurt him," the father suddenly said hoarsely as Detective Morrison came up behind him with handcuffs in one hand.
"You were tired of taking care of a child that wasn't yours. The look in your eyes tells me you had gotten very drunk last night and was suffering from a hangover this morning; your rage got the best of you. You have no alibi, you have many reasons to want to harm your son-you did it. End of story."
Swiftly, she began to head towards the door, saying, "Don't stare, it's rude." It wasn't possible not to stare at the petite woman with the yellow eyes in awe, shock, and fear. How she was able to discern everything with simple glances around the room. "Oh, check the basement."
"Why?" Detective Morrison asked.
"Because you'll find the nanny's dead body down there. He most likely killed her the moment she walked into the living room and discovered Christopher's body," she sighed. With that, she left without another word- the cool air of Boston washing over her as she walked down the sidewalk in a sad silence.
It wasn't long before night fell over Boston and Cecile was involved in another case. Though, the one she solved that morning wasn't something the Detective had called her in for. It was just by chance that she was walking along and happened upon the scene, offering her services to get it over and done with quickly.
Cecile sat back in a leather chair that had once belonged to her father, who was a legend among detectives for his great work on the task force. It was going to be a long night and the chair often gave her an unexplainable surge of energy. Yet, she always felt like such a child when she sat in the chair of a great man; she was hardly great as him or ever would be as great as him. No one would be as great as her father had once been…
"Oh good, you're home!" Amanda chirped, walking into Cecile's study without as much as a knock. "Pack your bags, Cece, we're going on vacation tomorrow to London!"
"What do you mean we are going to London? I do not need a vacation Amanda," Cecile muttered as she opened up the manila folder on her table. She pulled out the pictures and spread them across the large desk, half-listening to her roommate go on about how Cecile deserved a vacation even if the term was not in her dictionary. "Amanda, shut up. You are giving me a headache."
Amanda walked over to Cecile, raising her hand to whack her best friend on the back of the head. "Ow! Have you gone mad?" Cecile snapped, rubbing the back of her head.
"No, you have," the blonde replied airily. "We're going, even if I have to drag you onto the plane myself."
"I will be kicking and screaming."
"I know, and I don't care."
"You should; you are the one that will be hurt in this situation."
"If you don't go, I'll call up Morrison and tell him that I'll be out of town and you'll be all alone for two whole weeks."
This got Cecile's attention. She frowned at the blonde with the devilish smirk on her perfect milky peach face. "You wouldn't dare." Narrowing her eyes on Amanda's, she tried to see if this was a bluff. However, there wasn't a single hint of lie within in those green eyes. Of course, Cecile knew about the detective's emotions for her and she often used it to her advantage when she needed something that she normally wouldn't have access to, but she could never reciprocate those feelings.
If the detective knew she was going to be absolutely alone, there would be many awkward conversations and moments of him trying to ask her out on a date, which Cecile wanted to avoid as much as possible. With a sigh, he shot her friend a glare before simply nodding her head in agreement without saying another word to her for the rest of the night. If she could, she would solve this next case before their early flight in the morning so as not to keep the police hanging.
Amanda and Cecile were childhood friends. Neither could remember a moment in time where they weren't friends. It was odd that they stuck together for as long as they have even though Amanda was more of the social butterfly while Cecile was perfectly content on being in solitude. When one really thinks about it, Amanda was Cecile's only connection to the outside world, not that she ever really used that connection to learn about the world. Cecile only cared about one thing and that was putting the bad guys behind bars. Nothing else mattered, if anything, all else was simply trivial in her mind.
Who cared about the royal wedding? Why does it matter if a celebrity wore something that the general brainless mass believed to be ugly? Should it really matter if two people ended up wearing the same type of dress months apart?
The answer, according to Amanda, would be yes. The answer, according to Cecile, would be no. Of course, Cecile believed she was right, so she rarely ever listened to Amanda's brainless chatter about the silly side of the world. The mass of morons could deal with the meaningless things while she handled what really mattered.
"How interesting," John Watson muttered as he read over a blog he had been following for the past couple months simply to irritate his flat mate, Sherlock Holmes.
In the kitchen was the famous and brilliant man in all of England, Sherlock Holmes. The tall man with curly dark hair and mesmerizing eyes was conducting another one of his experiments in the kitchen, not paying much attention to Watson. Though, he would hear about it soon enough since Watson always loved to bring up the girl that could possibly be even more brilliant than Sherlock, which was a huge hit to the brilliant man's ego.
"Cecile Clearwater," Watson chuckled softly under his breath as he continued to the read the blog. She was simply twenty-two but has already solved forty nine cases, counting the one she managed to solve just as she was boarding the plane to London. Her chatty friend, Amanda Hewitt, quickly typed up the blog before the plane took off. It seemed as if the friend enjoyed blogging about the young genius, even though it irritated Sherlock quite a bit.
"What about that little genius?" Sherlock asked, suddenly in the room and right behind Watson's chair. With a grin, Watson shrugged. "She's on her way here for vacation, or to steal your spotlight."
Sherlock read over the blog post, not responding to his flat mate's comment until he was done reading. "You know, I do believe a proper welcome is in order for the new arrival," he said, moving swiftly to grab his coat before making his way to the door. Watson quickly got up to follow Sherlock, saying, "You don't even know what flight she is-what am I saying, of course you know. But her flight hasn't even landed yet."
"Well I have to stop by and tell Lestrade that I solved that case that was on the telly this morning," he muttered with a small grin. "Mrs. Hudson, we will have some company with us when we come back. Please have some hot tea and biscuits ready."
"Sherlock, I am not your housekeeper," Watson heard her say just as they walked on out to hail down a taxi.
"Hold on, we're bringing them back here?" Watson asked, getting in after the insane detective.
With a grin, Sherlock said, "Well of course, I must see how this girl is really like. Silly little blogs don't really give me much insight."
"You don't call them silly when I talk about them."
"Of course I do, I just don't feel like telling you anymore."
And he was in the taxi, Watson right beside him.