Chapter 1: The peculiar case of Sherlock Holmes
One day I met a man. A very odd man. One whose brain worked like computer chip stuffed with only a certain amount of information. The rest was deleted, forgotten or simply left out as unimportant. Because after all, everything that was not work, was unimportant. The dynamics of how he lived and worked made no sense to me. How could it? When everything was either 'interesting' or 'boring'. Sadly or perhaps good for me 'boring' included every single aspect of everyday life. How could society go on outside of his apartment when all people did is go, day in and day out, doing trivial things? How can something so uninteresting and just generally boring keep working like clockwork? Something so mundane?
He could only ever find interest in something that tested him; something in the end that would make him 'clever' and show all us regular people how we simply do not use our brains enough. It was madness distilled into its purest form, a certain hyper awareness that came at a cost. Yet I don't believe he ever truly understood what these powers of observation cost him. Never do I think it occurred to him, just how simply different he seemed to us. To him, we were idiots not using the full potential of our brains to understand the world around us and missed the most important details just because we simply were not looking. We were not 'observing' as he did.
221 Bakers street, looking at it now, I don't think I ever fully realized what I was getting myself into when I stepped into those doors. A buddy of mine had told me to look it up, said a friend of his had a vacancy and I should go check the place out. After all I was new to London, far away from my original home in the United States. There were reasons why I couldn't go back at the time, though that's not really important until later. Let's just say that at that moment, I was completely on my own. Bakers Street was my last option if I didn't want to live in a card board box for the time I was in the city. 221 Bakers Street was in essence, nothing spectacular. It was brown, very brown. The only thing that seemed to save the building from looking like some sort of prison was what was below the balconies located on the second floor (though I guess they call it the first floor there in London). Everything below the balconies was made of white stones; all lined up perfectly next to each other, and making it look like an honest to god apartment.
A series of stones created an archway over a black door with 221 printed in golden numbers. The building itself though looked almost gloomy, or perhaps that was just the sky, as it seemed to want to make sure that everything in London looked as gloomy as it did. It was always raining in England, and when it wasn't it was cloudy and when it wasn't cloudy it looked like it was threatening to be cloudy. The few days they had sun people still walked around with umbrellas in their bags or in their hands as if to warn tourists and fellow Londoners that no matter how nice it looked the scenery could change in a second.
Needless to say I hated rain, it held bad enough memories for me and I thought for sure that I was crazy for moving to a place that was known to rain all the time. At the time, standing right in front of 221 Bakers street I was indeed sure I was crazy.
'I should have listened to Mathew. I should have gone somewhere warm like…Spain or something. Maybe Italy…that's next to Spain right?'
That day the rain was pouring down the hardest I had ever seen it do since I had gotten to that gloomy island. The streets seemed to flood with rain water as if the sky itself was crying about something.
'Come on Alfred, you can do it. Just grab the handle and take the room! You don't have anywhere else.'
It was not that I had not wanted to room with someone, quite the opposite, I loved company. The problem was that taking this ment that there was no turning back to go home, not that I really had a choice of course, but I liked to think that I at least had the option of walking away from this.
"Ms Hudson! The new tenet is here from America!" A thick accent said from the now open door in front of me.
Looking up I blinked surprised to come face to face with sharp green eyes instead of the black painted door of Backers Street. When had this man open the door? Perhaps it had been some time when I had been engrossed in my own thoughts, as even my hand was still out to knock on the door. Immediately I dropped it down.
"Who—"I managed to get out before being interrupted by the man,
"I must warn you that I do have a certain love for the violin, it helps me think."
I raised an eyebrow at the sudden comment, well that was…strange…even by my standards. I had expected, when my friend had described my soon to be roommate as tall, someone a good six feet in the making...but instead the man talking was a few inches shorter than me, and I had to look down to meet his eyes. They were green though; very green however they were framed by the oddest looking eyebrows I had ever seen. They were dark like two caterpillars, almost as if some had decided to take a rest on his face. Perhaps at one point he had tried to hide them with his bangs, but his hair sprung out at all directions to the point it seemed impossible for it to do so. His hair was not dark like his eyebrows though, instead it was a very light blonde which gave his face a slightly odd look to it. I suppose the girls of London would call him Handsome though, it wasn't a bad kind of odd…more of an attractive kind, one that you thought only models could get with a little Photoshop editing.
It wasn't until he finally stopped to take a breath that I managed to say anything.
"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked after a while, this man managed to talk so quickly it was as if he spoke another language and one could never get to a point that one could interject.
"You're here as my new roommate after all. You would want to know if you start hearing something like that at midnight. Now, what about you? Was the fight with your brother that bad that you had to move all the way across the pound? Or no wait!"
He stopped for a moment and looked me over as if I was some sort of specimen in a lab. I had seen the same expression once in the biology apartment of college; a University professor had been teaching the students how to 'properly' dissect a jelly fish when I had walked in late, of course, as per usual, back in those days.
"It was your brother's boyfriend and your Father."
"I…what?" It seemed like through this entire conversation I could only ask questions.
It was a huge turn around as it was usually me who dominated a conversation.
How does he know about all that stuff? I haven't told anyone since I got here!
"Elementary, first the accent it's not English, it's obviously American, New English, Massachusetts. Second your 28 years old, but has a cane, why is that, that someone so young would have one? Easy explanation Shot. Screams solider, later you're going to tell me in which country, though never mind, with that tan it's Afghanistan. Third, your time difference is messed up, your watch is still showing the time in Kabul meaning you've just recently come back but you've been kicked out of your house because of some sort of upset friend or relative. And that is you don't want to take over the family restaurant that your, oh I say Great grandfather set up. Don't give me that look; look at the logo on your bag."
Quickly I turn around to see that indeed I had grabbed one of my family's bags that had our logo on it, including the date that the restaurant was founded. When I had left I had been in such a hurry it seems that I hadn't even paid a lick of attention to the design on the bag I had brought.
"Finally the phone, it's a bit old, seen years of being in use, obviously something of sentiment. But it's not a phone that a girl would most likely pick at a store and has limited technology. This leading to the fact that it's your brothers who has trouble with keeping up with how fast everything comes out and instead uses something simple. Then he gave it to you because his boyfriend ended up getting him a new one. Thing is, your brothers boyfriend doesn't really like you and so there was a fight over it. Not just that they feel uncomfortable with….."
The man stopped talking for a moment and I tried to hold in a laugh. While what the other was deducing was…astonishing to say the least, the thought of my Brother having a boyfriend…well that was a funny image to have. Mathew was simply never the type, neither was I really. I had told my family a few years ago that I was bi. It wasn't really a 'coming out' sort of thing, strictly as I simply preferred girls more. Not to say I hadn't had a boy or two before, as I had, it was just more usual to see me come home with a girl instead of a man.
"My brother has a girlfriend." I said simply.
"Girlfriend! Always something!" the man exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation and entered into the hallway of Baker Street, for a moment perhaps forgetting I existed.
"Well are you coming in or not?" He asked after a while, if I hadn't known better I would have thought the man was sulking. Thing was I didn't know better and he truly was. But at that moment I simply nodded quickly,entered the apartment and shut my umbrella behind me. For a moment I looked down at the cane I was forced to carry with me. It made me look like my father, something I desperately didn't want to do. Who would want to look like my scary faced old man? I was to young for a antique like this, and at the time it had been given to me it had taken all my effort to except it.
"That was pretty cool what you did there Mr.…?" I closed the door behind me and tried to pull the man I had just met out of the slump I had unknowingly caused.
"Arthur…But in public you are to call me Holmes understand? And…You thought that was…cool?" the man stared with disbelief for a moment.
"Well yeah, I mean I've never seen some one do something like that before. Pretty awesome if you ask me—"I probably would have said more if not for the woman who half barged half ran into the hallway.
"Are you the new tenet?"
I nodded.
"Uh...yeah...Hi...I think?"
"I'm Mrs. Hudson; it's nice to meet you dear. I'm your landlady. Arthur here was supposed to tell me when you arrived so I could show you around. Hopefully he hasn't been too much of a bother…"
From somewhere up the stairs Arthur yelled back, "I did tell you!" only for her to sigh, and gesture for me to follow her upstairs. I wasn't sure when but some point between the time I was talking with Mrs. Hudson to the time I looked back over at Arthur he had disappeared up the creaky looking steps. This was the first of many times I some how managed to get lost, loose, and be left by Arthur. No matter how hard I tried to keep track of him it was like he was a ghost disappearing and reappearing on a whim just to scare me. The only thing that seemed to keep me from thinking he was a spirit hell bent on sending me to my own early grave was the occasional bump of the shoulder or pat on the back that would happen between us.
"Whoa…This place is huge! Bigger than any apartment that I've seen back in the States." I exclaimed stepping into the apartment and looking around. It was big, one hallway stretched to one side, doors peaked out from around corners to prove that there was indeed two bed rooms in the flat. A odd floral print wallpaper decorated the room, it looked old...ancient even. Odd for a expensive flat in central London. Two windows sat on the back wall over looking the street, there a work area seemed to be set up with a clutter of things. Books, upon books, test tubes, vials of liquid I couldn't quiet figure out what they were and a scattering of clothes. In fact the only clothes that seemed to be picked up off the floor was a deerstalker sitting on one of the couches and a jacket. Standing now in the living room amongst the clutter I could make out the faintest smell of something burning. But it wasn't the smell of toast or something normal. No, it was the odd smell of rubber, acid, and something else...some sort of meat...chicken maybe? What was this man doing?
"Ms Hudson!" Came a sudden call from the kitchen.
"What is it Arthur?" the woman asked walking towards the kitchen and leaving me to inspect the odd objects on the mantle place.
"Where have you put the body parts that were in here?"
I stopped searching; my fingers only a few inches away from the skull on the mantle when I heard this …perhaps I had simply misheard Arthur. Yeah that had to be it.
"Putting arms in my fridge! And Heads! And eyes! Well I wouldn't touch them! I'm your landlady not your housekeeper Arthur!"
Okay, so I had defiantly heard body parts. Had I, somehow become acquainted with a serial murder on only my third day in London?
"It was for research!" Arthur stressed from inside the kitchen and stormed out to see me holding the skull from the mantel.
From what I could tell though, this was indeed a real human skull. I had after all worked with enough injuries from the war to identify one.
"So you found that?" Arthur asked coming out of the kitchen, the burning smell from earlier seemed to become more profound as he moved closer to me. I wondered why I hadn't noticed it earlier. I nodded, setting the skull down carefully and beginning to reach for the gun I carried with me.
To tell the truth, it wasn't so much for protection any more as it was that I simply did not feel safe without it. I needed it. It was like a drug that I couldn't wan myself from and I had found that I could only go an hour or so without it being on my person.
"No need to make it seem like I'm going to kill you Mr. Jones." I snorted, why did this sound like one of these really corny police dramas?
"The bodies?" I asked eyes flickering towards the kitchen.
"Research." Arthur said nonchalantly, there was a hint of testiness in his voice, as if he hated to repeat himself.
"So you just, oh…go out into creepy cemeteries and dig up bodies for…research?"
My hands were itching to grab it; it was a M1911 semi-automatic I carried in my jacket pocket. And if you're wondering, yes I do indeed have a license for it. Thank you very much.
"No need to reach for the gun Mr. Jones, I work in a Morgue. But. I'm also a consulting detective. No need to ask what it is I made the job up. I am, after all the only one in the world. When the police aren't sure how to solve a case they come to me for help. This research of mine helps me keep track of the different ways a body can deteriorate to help with my most recent case. "
I studied him for a moment as he did the same, "You could be lying." I said suddenly.
"I could be." He agreed but sat coolly, calmly as if we were chatting about the weather.
"I could call the police." I said "To confirm it."
He simply shrugged. "Go ahead."
After a long pause though, I sat down and slumped back into the chair opposite of the detective and tried to relax.
"I'm sorry I—"
The detective sat down as well and shook his head.
"Oh no no, quiet fine, I quiet understand. Being a solider straight out of the war is going to make you nervous about people, especially after the attack. Oh don't give me that look, the shot in your shoulder. You were caring for someone out on the battlefield, turned out to be a spy and they shot you, yes trust issues. Evident from the sweat, the flickering eyes, the dilated pupils, obvious. The fight at home worsened it. That's why you're here, it is not simply that you can't trust others, but you cannot trust yourself either."
He paused for a moment.
"Well no need to worry about that. Welcome to Baker Street Mr. Jones. I've been looking for someone like you."
I looked him over wearily for a moment, not understanding.
"I've been looking for someone who will not believe everything someone tells them simply because. The underworld is a very dangerous place, especially London's." He specified.
I was both amazed, and though I care not to admit it, slightly terrified. At the time I blamed it on the fact that this man could tell my entire life story, problems that I didn't care to admit to myself, and the answers to questions I hadn't even asked with little evidence. His powers of deduction were amazing.…. I know now however it was something different. There's a certain pull to Baker Street or more like it, the person who would come to be known as Sherlock Holmes by the public, and I was pulled in head first. The time at Baker Street always seems to slow when he is there, like it is at the command of the detective, and I was no different. I always wanted to be a hero when I was younger, someone to save people. That is another reason why I became a doctor, but at that moment, it wasn't just that Arthur could read me; it was that I knew I would have to step back and let someone else be the hero. I wasn't the main character of this story, no at that moment, though perhaps subconsciously, I realized my job would be to protect him.
Soooo I haven't been writing in forever! And to tell the truth I've missed it a bunch. If anyone's still watching this account or wondering, I have a few more chapters of Infiltrating capon, but that's only if you guys wanna read them. This story has been bugging my brain lately (as I really got into Sherlock a few months ago) and I figured I should do a cross over just to see how it goes over. Tell me how you like it, as there was no beta reader this time we're all really busy out here. And feel free to point out any mistakes if you see them! (Apologizes in advance) Hope you enjoyed!