Chapter One – The Facts
The rain came down heavier than it had yesterday. The city had not seen the sun today, only think banks of cloud that now covered the moon as it came on duty. The temperature had dropped too, a jumper needed under the raincoat now if you were to walk home. If you were to take the tube, however, one may adopt less thick clothing, on the basis that no matter how cold the outside temperature was, a packed tube carriage of commuters boosted the temperature considerably. One may choose to not wear a raincoat altogether, as well as a jumper, and simply wear a top and jacket. Especially if it wasn't raining when you left the flat. That was the clothing Amy Jenkins had chosen to adopt, and now she sat on the stone steps of someone's doorway soaked to the bone, wishing she'd considered this eventuality earlier. She repeated that to herself. 'I should have considered this eventuality earlier'. The eventuality in which she sat in the pouring rain after having witnessed a murder on the street outside her place of work, watching the police tape off the scene as the blood washed away down the ever-filling drains. Certainly an eventuality she should have planned for…
Amy watched the officers mill around the scene in their nice waterproof high vis jackets. There was one man who was not in one however, instead in a long blue coat which looked just as warm and protective to the freezing woman. She'd given her statement and now just wanted to go home. But apparently someone else wanted to speak to her. She sighed, running her fingers under her eyes to collect the stray mascara that had been washed down there by the rain. This caused her to momentarily take her eyes off the scene ahead. As she did, she felt a jacket being placed on her shoulders. It was well made, relatively heavy, expensive. Amy immediately felt warmer and was glad for it. She looked up at the man whom the jacket belonged to. He was tall, and had dark (now wet) curls. He was the man wearing the long blue coat, which he was now doing up again after having just removed it to give her his jacket.
"Thank you," she murmured up at him, gladly tugging it closer around her to shield from the weather. He only nodded briefly and sat next to her on the step, Amy having sat to one side to try and gain a little more protection from the wall next to her. His face was shadowed, obscured. She could barely make out his features as she glanced over at him. But she didn't feel intimidated.
"You're the one and only witness?" he asked. His voice was deep, but not gruff, gravelly but not harsh. In fact, it was rather mellower than you would first think.
She nodded in response. "You're the man who wanted to talk to me after the police, therefore keeping me in the cold and wet for longer?"
He nodded back.
She could only shrug a little. He was here now, and she'd waited, so she may as well answer the questions.
"What are you, some sort of freelancer?"
He didn't respond.
"Make it quick," she said with a sigh.
"Describe the events as they happened. Don't leave anything out. Don't be boring." He immediately gave off the impression that he was a man who liked the cold hard facts. Not fanciful details. Facts, not feelings.
She raised an eyebrow and was about to point out that witnessing a murder was in no way boring but clearly neither of them wanted to prolong their stay in the rain, so she began.
"I was working late, like I usually do on a Thursday night to make sure I leave on time on Fridays. Usually I turn out all the lights in the research department as I leave, and Steve, that's um…" She swallowed.
"The victim," the man said, but not by way of help, just because it was a fact. Facts, not feelings.
"Yeah, well, usually he hears me pack up and shut everything down and comes to the department and locks the doors after me. We then walk to the main doors together, chatting, and he locks up after us before his final patrol. Then he clocks off. But tonight he never met me at the research department. I just thought maybe he was in a different area to usual and just hadn't heard me. So I called out, but there was nothing. I walked into the Main Hall, called for him again, but nothing. Silence. Then I heard what sounded to me like a car backfiring. I ran outside. I don't know why, I guess the sound just made me think I should. Steve was standing there, back to the doors, and there was a man pointing a gun at him. The first shot, which was obviously what I'd heard, had buried itself in the stone pillar next to him. Steve was stood with his hands up. The gunman saw me and pointed the gun at me. I froze. But he wasn't interested in me. He pointed it back at Steve and just shot him in the head. Without a second thought. And then ran."
She was silent for a moment, and a shiver coursed through her. They both knew it wasn't just the cold that caused it.
"Can you describe the shooter?" The stranger's voice was softer now, less blunt. But by no means was his aim to make her feel at ease. Facts, not feelings.
"His face was covered. But white male, light hair, dark clothing. I could just about see tattoos peeking out from under his clothes. I think they were both parts of sleeves. There was a tiger on his left hand, on the top. That's all I could see. He didn't exactly hang around for a sketch."
The man nodded. "A fairly decent description. And you've told the police what weapon he was using. I'm going to assume your knowledge of guns comes from your work and doesn't make you a suspect."
Amy just nodded.
"That'll be all for now then. The police have your number should they or I need to contact you for further information. Allow me to hail you a cab."
Amy attempted to process the last few seconds of speech as fast as she could. It was like the cold had slowed down her social function.
"I don't have any money…" she suddenly blurted out. "I mean, I use the tube. And I only had money on me for lunch. I have an oyster card. So I'll take the tube home, thank you."
She stood too, shivering again as heat was released where her body was no longer hunched up. Her brain felt like the scrambled eggs she'd made for breakfast.
The detective looked around them, down the streets. "The nearest tube station is a ten minute walk away. I can't allow you to do that on your own. Besides, a cab is far warmer and no doubt quicker at this time of night. Let me get you one, on me. Least I can do for keeping you longer."
The kindness seemed a little forced, like he knew this is what he should do and so was. Like he understood the etiquette of the situation but was rather loathed to fulfil it. Still, despite picking up on this, Amy was too tired and cold and wet to argue anymore.
"Fine, but I will be paying you back."
"The police gave me your address. Your flat is en route to mine. I'm at Baker Street. So, in fact, we can share the cab."
Amy thought a moment. They were both in the same direction, true. And with the prospect of a warm vehicle, she found herself following him to the roadside. Tonight had just been… madness.
Amy was glad for the warmth of the cab. She could also see the stranger's face clearer for the first time as they rushed past the orange glow of the streetlights. He was pale, dark curls, light eyes, pronounced and sharp bone structure. Not as tall as she'd first thought. Facts, not feelings.
"Sherlock Holmes," the man said by way of introduction.
"Amy Jenkins," she replied. "But then, you already know that…" She managed a small smile. It was all she could muster after what had just happened. She continued to shiver under his jacket, despite the warmth of the cab's heating, which was pretty efficient. She couldn't wait for a long, hot bath and her thick duvet. Which seemed pretty selfish now considering a colleague had just been killed. The cab ride was silent; neither had tried to make conversation. Amy was glad that Sherlock had left her to her thoughts, though she didn't imagine he was much into small talk and pleasantries. Facts, not feelings.
The cab soon pulled up outside her flat. The fare so far had come to seven pounds. She figured it would be about ten once at Baker Street.
"Wait there. I'll go and grab some money to pay half."
"Really, there's no need. I made you get the cab," she could hear him saying as she climbed out.
"I insist," Amy sighed back through the open door.
Sherlock held his hands up in defeat. Thinking she'd return the jacket when she gave him the money, therefore sheltering herself just a little longer from the rain, Amy turned and made her way up to her front door. Her cold hands fumbled with her set of keys, more key rings than actual keys, and finally got the door unlocked. Reaching out her freezing hand she slapped the light switch and illuminated the hallway of her flat. A handy fiver sat on the cabinet just inside the door and she grabbed it, turning and heading back out, pulling the door up against the incessant rain. But as she looked down to the road, the cab was gone. She stood for a moment, eyes scanning the road as if she'd missed it, and it may magically appear again. Subconsciously, she pulled the jacket closer around her against the cold. His jacket. She had no contact number, only a name. And now his jacket. But why would he leave without it? Because he knew the police would want to see Amy again and had every confidence she'd return it then? Or was it some kind of attempt to ensure he would see her again? No. Facts, not feelings.
Amy frowned and turned away again, entering the relative warmth of her flat once more. This was not a night to be alone in silence. So she turned on the TV and went about running a hot bath, just attempting to be normal. But suddenly her life wasn't normal, it wasn't run of the mill anymore. She wasn't sure what would happen now, and how she'd be affected by this. One thing she was sure of; life wouldn't be the same for her now.
