Inspired by a prompt from universal-noire (tumblr user).
Elizabeth was perched on the edge of her unmade bed, her whole body curling in towards her small black notebook when John walked into her dorm room. She didn't look up or acknowledge him at all, but he would bet on the lives of every single follower of his blog that she had noticed he had entered. Old newspapers were laid at the feet of Elizabeth's bed and her chemistry textbook was flipped open to a page on poisons. There were slanted black notes on the side of the page, graffiti that John recognized as Elizabeth's.
John sighed; he knew what was going on. Every now and then, Elizabeth would find an old newspaper that revealed an unsolved murder or disappearance and Elizabeth would hide out in her dorm room for days, kicking out her roommate and her roommate's friends, allowing nobody near her but John until she thought she was able to solve the case of whatever had happened all those years ago. John sat down next to Elizabeth, who looked like she hadn't slept at all in the last couple of days, and picked up one of the newspapers on the floor.
It dated back to the 1920's, the story told of a woman who had passed away at twenty four years old, her health at a peak and her marriage happily reaching its fifth anniversary. Her name was Constance Lloyd, she was apparently a well-liked woman in her time, and she seemed to have been friends with everyone from the mayor to the town's baker.
The newspaper said her cause of death was completely natural, most likely a heart attack or a stroke, both of which ran in her family. Nothing about it seemed suspicious, but obviously Elizabeth didn't seem to agree.
"Elizabeth," John said, poking her in the side. "Earth to Elizabeth, are you in there somewhere?"
"John," Elizabeth said, glancing up briefly and turning back to her notebook again, her pen poised and ready. "Can I help you with something?"
"Depends," he said vaguely. "So what is it this time?"
Elizabeth assumed, correctly of course, that he was referring to the 'case' she was working on. "The woman, Constance, I have a theory that she was cheating on her husband and he poisoned her. Or that her husband was cheating on her and she killed herself. Either one will do, really."
John sighed again, he seemed to be doing that a lot recently. "But it says she was happily married and that she died of natural causes."
"Yes, but people lie about their marriages all the time and she was only twenty four years old. Bit young for a heart attack or a stroke, even in the 1920's."
John laid back and left Elizabeth to scrawl in her notebook as she pleased. Playing along, he said, "Okay, so which do you think it was? She cheated or the husband cheated?"
"I think the husband cheated. She was too well liked in the town she lived in and it seems she was obsessed with keeping it that way. I doubt a woman like that would have risked being shamed out of her town for a quick shag with the butcher," Elizabeth said. "Although, if she did cheat on her husband, he had plenty opportunity to kill her. The husband says himself that they went out to dinner the night before she died to celebrate their anniversary. He would have been able to poison her then."
"If someone did put poison in her dinner that night, couldn't it have been one of the cooks?" John asked.
"What would their motive have been though?"
"I don't know," John said. "It's a bit hard to find out someone's motive when they've been dead for years now."
Elizabeth ignored him for a while more, until she picked up her chemistry book again. "I'm trying to find a poison that would have been easy to acquire in the twenties."
"Hey, don't you have a test for Chemistry next week? You should probably get studying Elizabeth," John said, trying to distract her from what she was working on. She ignored him.
"I wonder if the Apothecary would have sold these types of drugs…" she mused to herself, lying back and flipping through her Chemistry book.
"You know there's a party tonight, maybe you should take a break and we can go together," John said.
That caught her attention. "Why don't you go with Hazel, she likes you."
"How do you know?" John asked, suddenly interested in what Elizabeth was saying.
"She stares at you in English lit. and she's always asking you for help on her assignments, but she's getting a 94 in that class. "
"Again, how do you know this?" John asked.
"I pay attention," Elizabeth said with a shrug, turning her attention back to the book again. "Anyway, why don't you go with Hazel?"
"Because I don't like Hazel like that," John said, as if it was obvious.
"So? You don't like me like that either, but you'd still go with me. Hazel is nice," Elizabeth insisted, even though they both knew that Hazel was actually quite annoying and superficial.
"You're really smart sometimes Elizabeth," John said.
"Thanks."
"And yet at other times you're incredibly dim."
"Hey!" Elizabeth sat up, looking displeased. "I am not dim."
"Right, of course you're not," John said. "So, party tonight?"
Elizabeth sighed and flipped off the bed, nearly tripping over the laces of her Chuck Taylor's as she made her way to her over-packed book case. She picked up The Valley of Fear, one of the books in the Sherlock Holmes series and sunk into the arm chair near the bookcase. "But I don't like parties," Elizabeth said, opening the book to the beginning.
"But I do," John persisted.
"So?"
"So…"
"So why should I come if I won't enjoy it if you could go alone or with somebody else?" Elizabeth asked.
"Because I want you to come." John started picking at a thread that hung out of the end of his jumper, waiting for Elizabeth to get the message he had been trying to send for the whole of three years they had known each other.
"John…"
"Elizabeth," John said, mimicking her exasperated tone. "Please? For me?"
Elizabeth snapped her book shut. "When does the party start?"
"At ten," John answered.
She sighed, weighing her options. "I'll come for two hours."
"Yes!" John exclaimed, jumping up to pull the tall, thin girl into a bear hug. "Thank you Lizzie. I'll come pick you up at your dorm room."
Elizabeth sat back down when John released her. "Don't call me Lizzie," she said, trying to sound annoyed and cross, but it was ruined by the small smile creeping onto her face.