Hello fellow Sherlockians. I decided to write this after watching TRF (which was EPIC!). So here you go. Hope you like. Oh by the way, if you enjoy reading my fanfics, why not search for Tealheartleopard? She's my BFF and her stories are really good!
Disclaimer: Despite many an angry letter to the BBC demanding the rights to Sherlock, I don't own it :(
"Describe exactly what you saw."
"Hurry up, we don't have all day!"
"Shut up Anderson, she's just a kid. Take your time if you want, sweetie."
I close my eyes, blocking out the voices around me. I don't want to hear any of them, don't want to focus on them. There is only one thing I can concentrate on.
Sherlock Holmes.
It was just another normal day, a day like any other. I'd got up, had a shower, eaten breakfast, and read the papers like I always do. I don't know why, but I just do, although they're just filled with rubbish. And today would probably be no different. Countless pages of junk. Then, The Sun caught my eye. There was something strange about it. I picked it up. Sherlock Holmes was on the front page, but that wasn't the unusual bit. What was unusual was the headline.
Sherlock Holmes: Fraud on the run.
I frowned. The press do turn quickly. Only a week ago they were calling him a hero. I glanced at the other tabloids that were strewn across the table. They were all the same, the words fraud and criminal leaping at me from the page, catching my attention. Well, I didn't believe a word of it. A fraud couldn't be that clever. And newspapers hardly contain the truth, do they? But it had already planted a seed of doubt in my mind. No, no. I was not going to believe something just because a newspaper report said so.
"Morning, Amelia." my father said as he walked into the room, mug of coffee clutched in his hand.
"Hey Dad." I replied. "Have you seen the papers this morning?"
He sighed. "Yes I have. This Sherlock Holmes man seems to have come under fire recently. I don't believe a word of it, really. He's one of Molly's friends."
I raised an eyebrow. "The woman who works in pathology with you?"
"Yes. That reminds me. I have to go down to St Bart's later. Some corpses to examine. Would you like to come with me?"
I grinned at this. I'd always taken an interest in my father's work. I wanted to do something like it when I was old enough. Now and again I went to the morgue with him. Most thirteen year olds wouldn't be able to do this, but since my dad was practically the head of pathology in St Bart's Hospital, he was able to make exceptions. "Absolutely!" I said.
"Can you tell us anything, anything at all about the incident?"
"This is a complete and utter waste of time!"
"Anderson!"
I still kept my mouth shut tight. I didn't want to talk about it. I was too confused. I didn't understand any of it...
It was nice walking along the street, the slight breeze blowing in my face, the buses and taxis driving past. I loved the hustle and bustle of London. I know it sounds weird, but I don't like the quiet much. Maybe it's because I've been surrounded by noise my whole life.
Just as we were rounding the last corner, I noticed someone stood on the roof of the hospital. It looked like none other than Sherlock Holmes. What the hell? I thought.
"Dad, is it me, or is Sherlock Holmes stood on the roof looking like he's about to leap into oblivion?"
"Hmm? What?" My dad looked up, then turned back to me with confusion crossing his face. "No, it's not just you. But I don't think he's going to j-"
I gave a small scream as he jumped. Well, more like let himself fall. Whatever he did, it probably wouldn't have made any difference. My father's expression changed to worry as the bus obscuring our view of the ground moved, revealing the body behind it. Oh the blood, all that blood that surrounded his head. I started to move, about to run over and help, but my father grabbed my arm, pulling me back. "No Amelia, you stay here. Don't move." With that he hurried across the street and joined the small crowd that was already forming around the broken figure that lay on the pavement. I just stood there, open-mouthed, unsure what to do. So I just averted my eyes from the scene and acted transfixed by a rubbish truck that had just started to pull away. I stared, following it with my eyes. And that's when I saw it. He was in the back of the truck, amidst all the bags of rubbish that must have cushioned his fall. I shook my head, convinced I was imagining it. But when I looked up again, he was still there, now gazing back at me thoughtfully. He gave me a small wink and put a finger to his lips, telling me to keep quiet. I nodded, not quite understanding it all. As the truck rounded the corner, one question formed in my mind and would not budge.
How the hell could Sherlock Holmes possibly have been in that truck?
I sat still, not daring to move, let alone speak. I glanced at the clock. I'd been sat here for fifteen minutes without uttering a word. Why choose me as a witness? Why not talk to John Watson or whoever he was? There were plenty of other people who saw the suicide first-hand. Why me?
"You must have something to say about it, sweetie."
I sighed. "Please stop calling me that."
"Oh wow, she speaks!"
"Get out, Anderson!"
I giggled slightly, getting a smile from the woman that sat opposite me. Anderson left the room, and the other man- Lestrade, his name was- closed the door behind him with a snap. I took a deep breath.
"Well, Mr Lestrade, I think I saw pretty much what everybody else at the scene saw. Sherlock Holmes stepping off a roof and plummeting to his death." I paused, debating whether I should mention the truck. "But there's something else."
Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"Um... I might have been imagining it... but after he jumped, a rubbish truck that was parked next to the hospital drove past me... and I thought I saw..."
"What did you see?"
"I saw Sherlock Holmes in the back of it. I'm too confused to remember if my eyes were deceiving me or not."
It was the woman who spoke now. "Well, your information has been quite helpful. Thank you. Hopefully we can find out what really happened, why he jumped."
I threw my hands up in exasperation. "If you want to know what really happened, why don't you just ask him yourself?" With that, I got up and left the room.
As she heard the door click shut, Donovan turned to Lestrade. "Do you think she's telling the truth? About Sherlock?" she asked.
Lestrade just shrugged. "Who knows?"
Somewhere, Sherlock Holmes smiled to himself.
What did you think? Do you like it? Please review. It would make my day.