Man harpooned by mystery murderer
Daughter abducted — please help!
Sherlock Holmes groaned and ruffled his hair. Honestly, these cases were simply so boring! Slamming the laptop shut he whipped around and picked up his violin.
The calming tones soothed him. The violin itself was beautiful — the tone was crisp, round and rang around the small flat. It was actually a gift from his sister Eurus, whom he had encountered just two weeks ago (after his own violin was destroyed in an explosion).
Thinking of Eurus brought back memories of the past two weeks. Sherrinford, the governor, being forced to shoot either Mycroft or John and putting the gun to his face instead only to be brought back to his childhood home. And Molly...
The first thing Sherlock did when he was released from the hospital with the incompetent doctors was grab the nearest cab and make sure Molly was okay.
"Hello?" Molly called through the door, "Who is it?"
"It's me, Sherlock," he called back.
Silence. Then the door opened.
"What do you want?" She asked coldly. Her eyes were red and puffy but her scowl was as deep as ever.
"I need to talk to you." Sherlock said quietly. "I need to fix this."
"Fix it!" She exclaimed. "First you force me to confess my love for you, now you just waltz in here expecting a warm welcome! No!" Molly slammed the door.
Sherlock raised his hand to knock again but at the last second clenched it into a fist, dropped it to his side and sadly left.
The emotions threatened to take over him again. Sherlock closed his eyes. He would deal with Molly later, she obviously didn't want to see him. There were more pressing matters at hand for now...
He finished playing and carefully set the violin down on it's case. Despite the bomb Eurus had sent to their flat, Baker Street looked much better in just a short two week's time. Lestrade and Anderson had plastered the walls to make them smoother and Mycroft had helped put some wallpaper up. The windows hadn't arrived yet so John put a sheet of plastic over the holes. It wasn't very private but it certainly kept the heat in. The bedrooms and kitchen were in pretty good condition, but the main room was bare since they were still ordering new furniture.
A gust of wind blew through an open hole in the wall and the music Sherlock had been composing blew off it's stand. He bent down to pick it up. Molly, it read. Sherlock quietly hummed it to himself. It was still a work-in-progress but so far he thought it sounded quite nice. If only Molly could hear it now.
"I never know if it's beautiful or not. Only if it's right."
"Often times they're the same thing.
"If they're the same thing, what is the point in beauty?"
Sherlock pushed Eurus' voice out of his head and penciled in some bowings. The melody was written in a minor key, E minor to be exact, but it was sweet and powerful at the same time. Like Molly.
Downstairs the door opened and Sherlock heard Mycroft come in. He made no move as his elder brother walked up the stairs.
"Hello Mycroft." Sherlock said, without turning around.
"Sherlock." Mycroft strode in. "I would like you to know that Eurus is safely back in Sherrinford. Secure, this time."
"Hmm." Sherlock absentmindedly ran his fingers over the dusty wall.
"You're keeping it then?" Mycroft pointed to the violin. "Her violin?"
"It's a perfectly fine Stradivarius, and I see no reason to refuse it just because it is a gift from my estranged sister, who, by the way, happened to save John's life."
"After sticking him in a well."
"Mixed messages, I grant you..."
Mycroft looked at the music. "Molly. How...sweet. Have you checked in on her yet?"
Sherlock snatched the music away. "I visited her as soon as I got back," he said testily. "which you no doubt already knew."
"How was your little chat?"
"I don't want to talk about it." Sherlock muttered.
"All lives end. All hearts are broken—"
"Caring is not an advantage." Sherlock finished. "Don't you have someplace to be, Mycroft? You know, propping up Parliament or Britain or whatever government you're part of today?" He sneered
"Now that you mention it, yes. I must go visit our parents. Good day, brother mine." Mycroft looked like he wanted to say something else but he simply sighed and left.
Sherlock strode over to where his chair would normally be and wished he could sit down. John was out and Mrs. Hudson was taking care of Rosie. Sherlock was alone, for now.
"You look sad. When you think he can't see you."
"You can see me."
"I don't count."
Yes you do! Sherlock thought furiously. You've always counted and I've always trusted you! But you will never trust me again, will you?
It felt like those horrible weeks after Mary's death, when John and him weren't talking. The look of betrayal, anger and frustration in Molly's eyes when she opened the door was so eerily familiar. What if he lost her, too?
His inbox pinged with a new case. Grateful for a distraction Sherlock set his laptop on the windowsill and opened the email. He scanned it through. It actually looked quite promising. Had to be a 9, at least. He found himself replying his assurances that he would be there to investigate. After all, there was nothing better to do.
The afternoon passed by in a blur. He had six theories, each one as plausible as the next. But to narrow it down he'd need to look at some bodies, which had unfortunately been moved to the mortuary.