Corin sat in her favourite chair staring out at the busy London street. As person after person passed, she read a bit of their lives, either in their gait, acquaintances or even what they were carrying. She looked at the time on her wall clock. It was nearing rush hour. She closed the curtains. The last time she watched during rush hour she had a headache for another two hours afterwards. The room was silent, but out in the hall she heard familiar footsteps. It was Mrs. Hudson. Judging by her pace, which was quick but not hasty, she had news. Not bad news though, (she wasn't moving fast enough for that.) so a patient wasn't calling. However, it had to be important otherwise she wouldn't trouble herself with any kind of speed. So why any kind of hurry? She was excited, the only explanation. In her mind she rummaged through all the possibilities of what she could be excited enough about that she would come and tell her, Miss Anti-Social, Corin. Then it hit her. She was getting a flat mate. Just then a knock at the door.
"Come in Mrs. Hudson." Mrs. Hudson entered with a grin on her face. "So, who is it? What's their name?" Corin inquired.
"What?" stammered Mrs. Hudson.
"The new tenant of course, Mrs. Hudson, who is it?"
"How...How did you...oh never mind you're always doing that! His name is Sherlock Holmes. He's the man who..." Corin cut her off.
"Sent your husband to death row, yes you've mentioned him before. Why is he moving here?" Mrs. Hudson shrugged and then shook her head.
"Wonderful, something to do when he comes. Speaking of which, when is he coming?"
"He's to move in tomorrow."
"Hmm. Interesting. A fast, most likely decisive man. He'll be an interesting read. Does he have a back up plan?" She asked.
"I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Hudson stammered, obviously surprised by such a question.
"For lodging after he moves out of here. Oh Mrs. Hudson, please, don't give me that look, nobody can tolerate me for any length of time except for my patients and they're all mental. Don't think I don't know about those times you've almost kicked me out!" Mrs. Hudson looked away, embarrassed. "We both know I'm an insufferable, anti-social, trigger happy know-it-all. Who would want to share a flat with me?" Mrs. Hudson looked down at the ground, beaten. Corin leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Mrs. Hudson left the room and closed the door just as Corin was slipping away into her memories.
She was back in America, flanking the president and listening intently to her earwig. Her eyes flicked from person to person, reading them each like a picture book. Mothers, fathers, children, students each boring and innocent. Then, she searched above the crowd to the tree line. At a glance, it was peaceful, but something wasn't right. There was a guy, seemingly bird watching, but yet, he seemed so sinister. His steps were anxious and he more than once directed his binoculars toward the president. Though he was at a distance, Corin could see that he too had an earwig. But this man was no friend of the government. No, nothing he did was calculated, not even his steps. He was scared, this was new to him. Yet whoever was on the other end of that earwig was a hardened professional. Most likely military trained and a sniper, judging by size of the weapon the scared man was tripping around. For the scared man it was probably his first time with a weapon that large. Then it hit her, WEAPON. He had a weapon. She had been so busy reading the book of his life that even when she deduced that he had a large firearm, she barely noticed it. This realization came just in time. In under a second she was pushing the president into the crowd, she heard a gunshot and a huge bullet blasted into her left shoulder, narrowly missing her neck. This sudden shock whipped her out of the past. She bolted upright in her chair and stared at the air-force blue* curtains protecting her from a brain overload. With a deep breath she slumped back into the chair. Running her fingers through her shoulder length auburn hair she forced herself to calm down. Breathing deeply, she walked to her bathroom and looked in the mirror. Then she lifted her hand the slid her shirt off her left shoulder to reveal a large scar on her shoulder from a bullet wound. She gazed at it for a second and once again remembered that fateful day. Again she was thrown back into her flash back and she felt like she was going to pass out. These episodes were frequent and unpredictable. Between them and her constant people "reading", she was sure that she would never find a human on earth willing to share a flat with her. She was also sure that she'd never find another human on earth like her. So the next day, her world took a new kind of bullet. And this one was named Sherlock Holmes.
