Sherlock – Sign of the Crow (Ch. 01)
Don't Look!
There were some hospital rooms that usually have a general air of death and sadness, this one didn't prove any different for that matter.
Inspector Greg Lestrade could feel this almost as soon as he walked into the room, and he didn't need to be Sherlock to see why. There was only one occupant in the room, a young man lying on the bed opposite him, most of his body covered with a blanket. A good majority of his head and face were covered in bandages with a brace holding it still. Two vacant eyes – one steely blue while the other was discolored and white – stared up at nothing.
"Hello there," Lestrade said, coming up to the bed. He glanced down and picked up the reports, looking at the name. "Eric. Eric Draven. From America, are you? Detroit?"
No response, of course.
"Anyway, the doctors said I have a few minutes before you have to go back into surgery, and… I guess all I really wanted to do was apologize to you in person. We weren't able to find the people responsible for it, though we have our best men and women on the case right now."
For lack anything else to say, Lestrade looked back at the patient report. "Severe damage to the back and spine vertebrae; deep knife wound to the chest; two bullet wounds to the head; the first bullet shattered the skull on the left temple, but did not penetrate the brain; impact has ruptured left iris and tore the head from left forehead across the eye socket and arched right, across his nose; the second shot was fired at close range at the back of the head…" Lestrade found himself not able to finish the report, just seeing someone like this was bad enough.
"Your fiancé, Shelly, was taken to the next room… her condition was just as bad, but there wasn't anything the doctors could do. You… you were lucky enough to have your heartbeat back… though at this point no one's one-hundred percent sure about how you'll turn out.
"You wedding was supposed to be tomorrow, wasn't it? Halloween. I always wondered who would get married on a day like that… and I guess this answers that. Sorry."
With that said, Lestrade turned to leave.
"… the crow…"
He froze at the door.
The raspy whisper had come from the bed.
Slowly, Lestrade turned back and walked over to where Eric lay. There was a faint sparkle of life in the one eye.
"What? What did you say?" He leaned closer, straining his ears to listen.
"… the crow… the crow said don't look…"
Before anything else, the doctors came in, and it was time for Lestrade to go.
/
The atmosphere of the waiting room wasn't any better.
It was only about a third of the way filled up, the people there either waiting for a doctor to check them or to hear news about a loved one. Two of the latter people were sitting in a far corner, away from most of the others. The first was John Watson, looking just as uncomfortable an anxious as a lot of the others waiting. Sitting next to him wasn't Sherlock; the infamous consulting detective was probably investigating Eric and Shelly's apartment right now. Instead, there sat a girl with long, sandy hair. She couldn't have been more than fourteen, or maybe fifteen, and judging by the state of her cloths she was… he didn't want to say homeless, but probably not very well off. A skateboard was placed upside-down on the seat next her, a recent gift judging by the relative newness to it… Gah! What was he doing? He was starting to think like Sherlock!
Both John and the girl looked up as Lestrade approached, a few stray tears trailing down the face of the girl's face.
"How are they?" asked John.
"Not good," Lestrade sighed. "The woman, Shelly, passed almost as soon as they were brought in, and Eric's not looking any better." He looked from John to the girl. "You're Sarah, aren't you."
The girl, Sarah, nodded.
"You knew Eric and Shelly while they were alive?"
"I did," she replied, her voice quiet, "we were friends. I always liked going to watch Eric perform."
"Perform?"
"Yeah, he was part of a rock band that played at a local club, lead guitarist I think. He and Shelly met during one of the nights he played. It was love at first sight. They'd been going out for a year, Eric proposed to her a few weeks ago."
"Do you have any ideas who might have done it?" John asked. He'd been friends with the deceased, been to the club a few times when on a date and seen Eric perform.
"We have a pretty good idea," Lestrade replied. "These guys have been causing trouble for us for about a decade now; thief, arson, murder, you name it, they've done it. If I had to guess, Eric Draven and Shelly Webster were at the wrong place at the wrong time."
"That long? I'm surprised Sherlock hasn't done something about them."
"My thoughts exactly. Evidently they're smart enough to know how to not leave any incriminating evidence behind. God, it sometimes makes me sick, the thought that someone could just do something like that to another living being, like they were nothing."
There was a moment's silence, none of them seemed to think of anything to say.
"Do you have anyone to pick you up?" Lestrade asked Sarah.
"No, mom's probably busy right now" – there was a bitter tone in her voice at the mention of her mother – "but I can get home by myself alright."
"If it helps, I'm sure we're perfectly happy to escort –"
"I'll be fine." There was an emphasis in her voice, she'd made up her mind and nothing would change it.
"Very well, have it your way."
Sarah had started to get up, taking her skateboard with her, when Lestrade remembered what Eric had said.
"Wait." He held up a hand to stop her. "Before you go, I have one more question. Eric… said something to me before the doctors came in. It didn't mean anything to me, but maybe you might have heard something?"
She seemed to consider it for a moment, and then nodded.
"Alright. 'The crow said don't look'. Those were his words. Does that mean anything to you?"
Sarah cocked her head to the side as she thought. "Well, Eric was into poetry and stories, stuff he'd heard from his grandmother back in America; I think she was part Native American or something. Anyway, one of the stories she told him was that when people died, a crow would take their souls to the land of the dead. But sometimes something so bad would happen, a great sadness was carried with it, and the soul couldn't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow could bring that person back to put the wrong things right. Sounds cheesy, yeah?"
"Trust me," Lestrade said, giving a knowing look to John, "I've heard and seen stranger."
Outside the hospital rain started falling. Sarah said good night to both gentlemen before skating off down the street. Lestrade and John likewise said their goodbyes and departed, the ex-army doctor taking a cab while the inspector left in the car waiting for them.
On a lamp post across the street, a single black bird – a crow – watched this happen, not making a sound. When they were gone, it flew off as well, disappearing into the stormy sky.