This is my first story published on here. I like to think I'm not too rubbish at writing, but I guess this will be the true test. Any and all feedback is welcome, just try not to be too harsh, I really hate crying. Also, if I'm formatting wrong or anything, please let me know! I've never done this before. Oh and I'm not British, so please excuse any "American-ims" I might have overlooked. Thanks!
Fly in the Ointment
She knew it was risky, being so close by. She hadn't meant to end up working in London, but the job was amazing, and the pay was great too. Sustaining a life in London wasn't cheap. Plus, she's always liked the city, just enough people to slip by unnoticed. Being in the city didn't come without its dangers though. Although she had changed in the past 5 years, there's no doubt they would be able to recognize her if she wasn't careful. There's not many people who can fool the Holmes brothers, but she'd been known to do it before. It would take a lot of brains and cunning, but she did learn from the best. She'd managed for the past three months so far.
The double murder of the Patterson family was gruesome and thrilling. It was bloody and it was disturbing, but it was full of mystery and unconnected evidence just dying to be put together. That was not her job however. Her job was in questioning. She was to question any possible witnesses, relatives, or potential suspects about the case. Her boss had told her she was the best they'd ever had. That her ability to read people and tell if they were genuine or not, was borderline superhuman. She'd calmly and compassionately ask them questions, let them cry to her as she offered them tissues, and pat their arm gently when they got too upset, all the while condemning the guilty ones to jail with their fake tears. It's not that she didn't have any compassion. On the contrary, she'd been told numerous times that her compassion was bound to be her downfall someday. All the more reason to put those heartless bastards behind bars for the grief they caused everybody; real people whose lives had been shattered to pieces by crazed criminals seeking attention and fulfillment for their selfish desires. Her heart might be her downfall, but at least she'd be going down with a heart; better than the murderers could say.
The Patterson case found her questioning 9-year-old Sarah Patterson, the sole survivor of the brutal attack on her parents. A now orphaned child who had only survived by stuffing herself in a linen closet and witnessing the murder of her family. It didn't take a genius to see that the girl was traumatized and scarred for life most likely. But not many people would have noticed her fear of dogs, her preference for reading over computer games based on the ink stains on her hands, her talent with the piano, and her love of chocolate biscuits. Most wasn't relative to the case, but she can't pick and choose the details she sees.
Having successfully cross-examined the poor child, she left her with protective services and went to report to the boss.
"Alright, so, Sarah saw a lot, but she was too traumatized to speak a word. But she's a visual person so the details should be etched into her mind for some time. It's better to rely on the visuals, since her hearing would have been impaired by the barking of the neighbor's dog, awakening her fear of them and preoccupying her mind with it. I'd say give her a few days, then bring her back in and question her again," she said as she was closing her notebook. "Oh, and give her a book to look at when you talk to her. She's an avid reader and the visual stimulation from the book will bring her memories to the surface."
Once again her colleagues and her boss were giving her their bewildered and slightly awed looks. She knew what was coming next, but she wasn't in the mood to indulge them. She held up her hand to cut them off before they could start.
"Please don't ask how I got that. Just take the notes," she said, walking away to the squad car.
It was then that she saw him. Her breath caught in her throat causing her to cough violently, causing her to have to duck behind the car before he could look for the source of the noise. She peeked up through the car windows and saw him speaking to Lestrade and looking over the notes that she'd given him a minute ago. Then he walked inside. Crap! He'd probably recognize her handwriting. She had to act fast. She was just about to make a run for it when she crawled smack-dab into Lestrade's knees. She looked up into his confused expression and cringed.
"Andie, what are you doing down there?" he asked.
"Nothing sir, just think I dropped my glasses, that's all," she answered.
"You don't wear glasses…"
"Which would explain why I can't find them. Thank you sir," she smiled then turned to leave as quickly as possible.
He grabbed her arm before she could turn though and was guiding her over to the crime scene again.
"There's someone I want you to meet. He's brilliant, and I think you two would work well together," he said as they walked. "Ah, here he is now."
The man she saw earlier was just exiting the house, removing his gloves as she walked over to them. Pretty soon she was stopped in front of the man she'd been trying to avoid since she saw him walk up.
"Andrea Carson, meet Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade introduced, pushing her closer to the man. "He's the best detective we have, but don't go telling the others."
The tall dark haired man turned to greet her with a bored expression on his face. The expression didn't last long as she saw his mouth twitch into a frown and his eyes narrow a bit. It couldn't have been more than a few second, but she knew she'd been caught. She had to leave. Now!
She took advantage of his momentary confusion and muttered a panicked "pleasure," before high-tailing it away from the three men.
"Carson! Where are you going?" She heard Lestrade call after her.
"Sorry sir! Urgent business! I'll have the report by 8 tomorrow!" she yelled back.
Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Detective Lestrade stared after her looking puzzled.
"What did you say her name was?" Sherlock asked.
"Andrea Carson," Lestrade answered.
"No it's not," Sherlock replied.
"What? Her name is Andrea Carson and she's a brilliant young thing. She specializes in questioning. The things she can tell about people from just observing them when they talk to her. It's genius! Kind of reminds me of you, Sherlock. When you first started up," Lestrade said.
Sherlock continued to stare after Andrea looking pensive.
"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked.
"Huh? Yes! Yes, I'm fine. Look, I have to be going. It's been a pleasure as always Lestrade," he says with a forced smile.
"Hey! What about the case?" Lestrade asked.
"Text me with any new information and I'll get back to you. I'm sure with Ms. Carson's notes I can come to some conclusion quick enough," Sherlock said turning his back on Lestrade. "Come along John!"
John and Lestrade exchanged confused looks and shrugged before John left to follow Sherlock.
"Sherlock! What the hell was that all about?" John asked, exasperated. "You were so excited for this case, now you're pushing it aside like it doesn't matter? What's wrong with you?"
"Shhhh!" Sherlock hushed John, creeping around the back of the houses. John didn't even bother asking, knowing that with Sherlock, there was no point.
After creeping into the alleyway behind the house, Sherlock reached into the shadows and took hold of something.
A slightly panicked "Damn it!" was heard from the shadow as Sherlock pulled Andie out to face him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Sherlock asked menacingly.
"Sherlock, what's going on?" John asked.
"I'm sorry sir, I'm not sure what you mean," Andrea said to Sherlock, backing away.
He pulled her arm more roughly and growled again. "Don't play dumb with me Adelaide! Answer the question!"
She pulled her arm from his grasp and scowled at him. "Typical Holmes greeting. Scowling and threatening. Nice to see you too."
All she got in response was a more intense glare. "I should think it's obvious what I'm doing here Sherlock. I'm working a case."
"Is anybody going to tell me what's going on?" John asked, taking in the scene.
Adelaide turned to look at John and smiled politely. "Oh it's nothing sir, I was just leaving anyways. Go on back to your guys' flat and don't worry about me," she said.
Sherlock grabbed her arm again and started dragging her towards the street opposite them. She struggled in his grasp and kicked him in the leg while trying to squirm away.
"Sherlock, get off of me! Where are we going?" she yelled.
"We're going to see Mycroft, now let's go!"
"No! No, I'm not going to Mycroft! Why do we have to involve him in this? He's going to go ballistic!"
"As compared to how angry he'd be if he found out we didn't come?"
"Come on Sherlock, please! Not Mycroft!" she said trying to shake him off of her.
"Stop squirming Addie! Or I will put you over my shoulder and carry you," Sherlock threatened.
Addie heeded his warning and became more compliant, allowing him to drag her to the main road.
"I still don't know what's going on!" John yelled, stepping in front of their path.
Sherlock and Addie exchanged looks and sighed. John thought it creepily identical to one another.
"John, meet Adelaide. My little sister," Sherlock said.
"Your….sister? You have a sister? Why haven't I ever met her before? You never mentioned a sister."
"Well, that's because she's been dead for the past five years."
John looked much like a gaping cod-fish and by the time the taxi pulled up and they all climbed inside he still had his mouth open slightly.
The Holmes family never ceased to surprise him.