This is a spin-off of my first Reichenbach Story, "Sebastian Moran's Journal." I had asked betareading to WritingReadingLaughing...
This story had been already published. I just wanted more nitpicks...so make my sentence flow better. I was intending to revise based on the betaread one as early as possible.
Then...I happen to write many stories and have forgotten to do it. So here it is...
Now I can see I tend to overuse "inappropriately" punctuation marks like ; and : when a simple conjuction like and/but can do better. Thank you so much and I'm sorry that I had updated the story so late.
Thanks a lot for reading and reviewing...
NEW SCOTLAND YARD
Valentine's Day.
Sergeant Donavan looked at her calendar and almost giggled. Anderson had been telling her to expect something nice today as it was her second day back after the three-month-leave she'd taken to help her mother fight breast cancer. She found a small purple box inside her top drawer. Mouthing her thanks to Anderson as he walked past on his way to the Lab, Donavan opened the small box of sweets and the card. She eagerly opened the card which read:
Dear Catherine,
Will you be my Valentine forever? I swear I'll respect the sanctity of our tenth Anniversary.
Andy.
Catherine was his wife, the woman whom Anderson had been miserably married to, according to him. In anger, Sally rewrapped the box and tossed it in her bag. As one of his New Year's resolutions, Anderson had promised her that he would divorce his wife. She was going to speak to him about this later. Feeling dizzy, she hadn't noticed that Lestrade was calling her name from his office until he barked at her as she walked past his office door.
At a glance, the DI looked worried about her.
"Are you okay, Donavan? You seem rather pale and sweaty."
"Yes. I'm fine."
"How's your mother?"
"Her prognosis is good, sir. Thank you."
" Very well, sergeant. I need you to deliver these two files to St. Bart's, room 308. This one is the disappearance of Miss. Davidson, and this one is the file concerning Ronald Adair's murder last October. All details are inside."
"Yes, sir."
"I want the files back by five o'clock today."
"Bart's. Room 308."
File delivery... An errand that a normal Sally Donavan would've already protested against, but she just mechanically repeated the address to herself and hurried out of the office.
"Donavan, wait."
Lestrade called after her behind the closing door - He had forgotten to mention it. She had just come back after three months and needed to know about Sherlock Holmes. Sally didn't stop and she just grabbed her bag and car key, before running out to the parking lot. He picked up the phone and pressed Sally's number – no one answered. Jackson, one of the rookie detectives peeked in and waved her mobile.
"Sir, Sergeant Donavan didn't take her mobile."
"Okay."
The DI texted a short message to the detective as a warning before returning his attention to the files on his desk.
ENROUTE TO ST BARTS
Donavan glared at the chocolate box in her bag. There had been an accident: a trash lorry had overturned on the icy road, and boxes and paper were scattered around whilst her car was stuck in a horrendous traffic jam. She didn't care. She was preoccupied about her relationship with Anderson. Biting her lips, she mumbled,
"I'll end this today. No respect for me at all. He is a liar."
Her decision gave her a moment of relief. Mercifully the cars began to move forward slowly and Sally glanced at the clock. She had a lot to catch on today and had already wasted almost 30 minutes in this traffic jam.
"Bart's…"
Something fell into her stomach; Bart's - the place that the Freak had taken his own life years ago. Sally had been avoiding the hospital as much as possible She should've asked the DI to send someone else. Damn Anderson and St. Valentine's Day.
Sherlock Holmes, a self-claimed consulting detective… He was an egotistical bastard without a heart. He'd only cared about proving his "genius", often terrorized witnesses or victim's families to solve a case and had never kept secret his fondness for corpses and gruesome murders.
In the "Study in Pink" case, she'd found blood-smudged footprints on the jacket of the dead taxi driver, suggesting that someone had stomped on the man while he was immobilized but alive, right before his death. No doubt, it was Sherlock and she hated him even more. How disturbing it was when she noticed some fresh whip marks on a body at the Bart's morgue and Dr. Hooper had admitted that the detective had done it for one of his cases. "Shame on you to allow it!" She had yelled at Molly Hooper before running to the toilet because her breakfast was threatening to show up again. So to speak, Sherlock Holmes was an uncontrollable psychopath that had no respect for either the dead or the living.
To her amazement, the Freak had gotten a flatmate, an ex-army veteran doctor named John Watson, who she'd warned to stay away from the Freak for a couple of times. First of all, his presence was annoying to Anderson and second, John was a good, polite, and kind person. She didn't want him to get hurt. John took no heed of her advice: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson became a team. They always appeared in crime scenes together and everybody got accustomed to John's presence. Soon the Yarders began to appreciate the doctor because he made the Freak behave little better.
Then the children of the ambassador, Mr. Bruhl were kidnapped. Sherlock Holmes, as usual, barked at the poor Ms. Mackenzie, the House Mistress of St Aldate's. He was so dramatic in the dormitory, busy boasting his superiority and she'd heard him humming as though the kidnapping was another Christmas present. The ambassador himself had asked for Sherlock Holmes so she didn't say anything about it, but her lips blistered because she kept biting them. It took only a couple of hours for the Freak to lead the police to an abandoned candy factory where the kids had been taken. For the first time, Sally "appreciated" the Freak in secret – because time did matter in kidnapping cases. It's just that she didn't expect what happened next. The Freak had entered the interrogation room to talk with the girl, Claudette and she screamed as though she was seeing her kidnapper again. Donavan was so sure that the Freak had been involved.
(A few months later Claudette admitted that a man, showing a picture of the detective to her, had threatened her to scream when she saw the man in the picture– otherwise her brother would be killed.)
Donavan and Anderson had voiced out their suspicion that night to Lestrade. The police raided the Baker Street flat; the Freak and John were running away with their hands handcuffed. That was the last time Sally saw the detective alive. The next morning she'd witnessed as Lestrade crumbled to the floor after answering a telephone call. He told her that John Watson himself had watched Sherlock plunge from the Bart's building and Sally couldn't imagine what it would be like to watch your friend commit a suicide, and her guilt for John burned her heart. She felt like she had pushed the detective to death and though she'd hated him it didn't mean that she wanted him to be dead. When she saw the doctor at the funeral, she barely kept herself from crying.
A few days after the funeral, Sherlock's brother, Mycroft Holmes visited the office and deduced why Sherlock had jumped. There had been snipers on the three people that the Freak had associated most often: John Watson, Greg Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. The detective didn't have any choice and killed himself to save his three friends. Sally wouldn't have believed any of this, but she was present in the interrogation of one of the snipers, a rookie detective. The Freak had been a human. She realized it too late.
Since then, Donavan had never called him Freak again. The cases that Sherlock had been involved were reopened and investigated only to prove his genius. Whenever Anderson made a derisive comment about the dead detective, she never agreed. Kitty Riley, a reporter working for the Sun, had visited the Yard once for a follow-up story right and Donavan kicked the reporter out of the office. Once the number of cold cases began to pile up, every Yarder admitted that Sherlock could have cleaned them all up before they were abandoned.
From time to time, Sally visited Sherlock's grave to lay flowers. On one of such visits, she came across John. At first the doctor flinched at her and just nodded without saying a word. It was her apology that made the doctor turn around. They talked for an hour about the human side of Sherlock Holmes that they didn't know and when she left the grave, a glimpse of smile lingered on the face of the doctor.
The Bart's building came into view. Lestrade hadn't told her to whom she was supposed to hand over the files, so she rummaged through her bag while trying to find a parking space. No mobile. She must've left it at the office. At least, she knew the room number.
She noticed a flower shop around the corner and remembered that John Watson was hospitalized here, too. A lunatic had shot him inside a pool that was crumbling down – a through-through on his leg and head injury. Lestrade had told her (that) the previous day: he was hesitating to say some more, but an incoming call stopped the conversation (, but as he hesitated to say some more, and incoming call had stopped the conversation.) She bought a few stems of roses for the doctor.
ST BARTS
Room 308… Sally Donavan knocked the door.
"Come in."
A low baritone voice answered and she saw a tall man with black curly hair sitting on a chair near the bed with his back facing her. The bed was empty.
"Excuse me. I'm from the Homicide Department at New Scotland Yard. I was told to deliver these files here."
"Yes, Lestrade had texted me. Leave them on the table and I'll go through them later."
The man didn't stand up or turn around. His voice sounded very familiar…irritatingly confident.
"Ah, the DI also wants them back by five today."
"No problem. Sergeant Donavan."
"How do you know my name?"
"Would you put the flowers in the vase before you leave?"
"Sorry. This is for my friend... No, you're... It can't be..."
There was an alarm in Sally's voice – it wasn't possible; he died almost two years ago... The man stood up and turned around slowly.
"Your friend? For John Watson?"
Her bag and the files thumped on the floor and the roses she'd been carrying scattered. Sally couldn't register what she was seeing; the familiar face - pale, high cheekbones, curly black hair, blue eyes and the blue scarf and coat… Sherlock Holmes. She must be hallucinating; she had attended his funeral. She staggered and leaned on the wall as he picked up the stems and put the roses in the vase on the refrigerator. He filled the vase with water. With a quick glance inside her bag, he picked it up for her with a peevish grin.
"Sally."
"You were… dead… How? … How... It's impossible...?"
"Oh, Sally. Let's not waste my time to answer such obviously mundane questions."
Impatiently, he brushed off her question; his eyes scanning her confused face.
"Humn, Sally, You still on a rocky relationship with Anderson? I see the Valentine present in your bag, purple wrapping paper… … Imagine when he goes home tonight… Purple is his wife's favourite colour… Moron… Presents were switched! He never fails to entertain me with his stupidity."
It was the old Sherlock Holmes again. Strangely, his deductions didn't bother her at all. Instead, she glanced at the empty bed.
"John's at physiotherapy at the moment."
He seemed genuinely surprised when she didn't defend Anderson. His eyes locked hers briefly, and then he continued in a softer voice.
"I recommend that you break up with Anderson. You deserve a better person."
Sally was still trying to comprehend the resurrection of Sherlock Holmes when the door opened and John, wheelchair-bound, wheeled his way into the ward. His face flinched at his flatmate, but soon it smoothed out into a small smile of welcome to Sally.
"Sergeant Donavan. Hello."
His voice was faint. Sally hastily greeted the doctor.
" How are you, John? I heard from Lestrade that you'd been injured. I didn't know. I just came back from…"
"Months of leave… Her mother's surgery – breast cancer…. A pharmacy receipt. Cancer medications…"
The detective fired away his deductions and shrugged. John crawled onto his bed from the wheelchair, refusing Sherlock's helping hands.
"John, you look good. I've brought you some flowers."
"Thank you, Sally."
"What about drinking some water before you lie down, John?"
Sherlock asked, holding out a glass of water but John shook his head and lay down. The detective put the glass back on the table, and pulled the blanket up to the doctor's chest carefully, minding the tubes around him. Sally couldn't believe her eyes at the gesture. Before she made any comments on it, the detective picked up the files.
Ms. Hales, the nurse that had followed John, complimented him for his fast progress. Sally talked a little bit with her about John's condition, but didn't fail to notice the awkwardness between the two men. Sally understood how John had been feeling at the return of his flatmate - a bitter betrayal mixed with gratitude... She remembered everyone had been walking on eggshells for a few months after the "suicide". The army doctor noticed Sally's sympathetic glance and muttered out that he was exhausted, and Ms. Hales shooed the visitors away. John nodded a good-bye to Sally and closed his eyes. Outside the room, the detective flipped the files.
"I'll bring the files back by five. See you later. Sergeant Donavan."
"See you later, Fr…."
Sally stopped herself. After seconds of silence, she finished her sentence.
"Mr. Holmes."
She walked into the elevator, leaving the stunned detective behind.
NEW SCOTLAND YARD
Anderson was protesting to the DI when she entered Lestrade's office. The forensic scientist turned pale at the sight of Sally, and though is mobile kept buzzing, he ignored his phone. She shot an icy glare at him, and reported to the DI.
"Sir, I've delivered the files."
Anderson rolled his eyes and complained.
"What files? I can't find my Adair file."
Before Lestrade said anything, Sally answered.
"To Mr. Holmes."
Lestrade groaned with exasperation.
"Donavan, hold on. Did Mycroft visit John? You didn't give the files to Mycroft Holmes, did you? "
"No, sir. I delivered them to the right recipient, the younger Holmes. He said that the files would be returned by five."
Before the door closed, Sally saw Lestrade smile.
Sherlock met Lestrade around four o'clock at the DI's office, providing a couple of critical observations that the Yarders had overlooked. However, he hurried back to the hospital after 10 minutes. Sherlock Holmes didn't leave John's side more than one hour since his return. Upon hearing this from Lestrade, Sally Donavan's next words surprised even herself as she volunteered to deliver files to Sherlock Holmes until John's release from hospital. Sally admitted it to herself; it was nice to have the detective back.