Episode 2:

A Sherlock Home

Scarlett groaned in her bed as the sunshine shone through her bedroom window on a Saturday morning during the spring of 1970. The sleepers in her eyes made her vision blurry but she could see the outline of someone sitting on the radiator that sat underneath the window. Not surprised, she rubbed her eyes and let out a yawn.

"You haven't eaten or slept in three days. How are you not exhausted?" Scarlett yawned.

As her vision cleared, she could see a man whose face resembled that of John Barrymore.

"I won't respite until I've established a logical conclusion from all the facts of this current case," Sherlock Holmes smirked. "With your lethargic behavior, I should prove to be a symbol of inspiration."

Scarlett stumbled out of bed and went into the bathroom to get around for the day. She wasn't surprised by his presence anymore. She was startled by his appearance on New Year's Day of 1969. Honestly, she had expected to see Basil again, but he never seemed to visit her anymore. His disappearance didn't bother her too much, since she had her newly found Holmes obsession to occupy her time. However, she did miss the comfort of his friendship and made the wish of his return when the holidays made their rounds for the year. Luckily for her, the wish she made had turned out better than she originally desired. Scarlett Bathurst was now entering her teenage years, and the company of a childhood mouse wasn't going to fully satisfy her desires for friendship and companionship any longer.

Scarlett came out of the bathroom, all prepared for the day, only to find a William Gillette-faced Sherlock Holmes asleep on her bed. She smiled and dived into the bed, startling him out of a deep sleep. She playfully jumped on the bed as she rang out in excitement:

"Let's go! Let's go! It's Saturday, and I'm absolutely, positively bored! I thought we had a case to solve. You can't go to sleep now. Don't you dare tell me that you chased down the Aurora without me…?"

Annoyed, Mr. Holmes stayed in his stiff sleeping position and glared up at her.

"I informed you a few moments ago that I had to establish a conclusion and I did just that. All that was required of me was a little brain power. The case was drawing to an inevitable close; it was only a matter of time. Trivial matters, such as sleep, are only insignificant until they are of low supply. Indeed, I ventured out with Watson last night and got my interview with Jonathan Small, my one-legged friend. I am of no use to my future clients if I am drained of body and mind," Sherlock yawned as he closed his eyes.

Scarlett groaned at his defiance as she slid off the bed. Knowing that she now had nothing better to do, she picked up her copy of The Sign of Four and continued where she left off from last night. She'd been re-reading it the past three days and curled up in a corner of her room; she gave in to Mr. Holmes' hibernation from his work. With a cantankerous look on her face, she mumbled under her breath.

"You talk funny."

Mr. Holmes opened one eye to glare at her.

"If you find it so humorous then perhaps you should educate yourself. Keep reading; bother me when you have an actual dilemma," he yawned.

Scarlett's teenage years went slow and had its ups and downs. There were moments of excitement and moments of resentment. Scarlett Bathurst has always had noticeable mood swings that seemed to affect her overall attitude towards everyday struggles and joys. Unlike what everyone had predicted, it was not a childhood-only issue. Her main problem was that she viewed everything as a waste of time and energy. Her grandparents took her boredom as a sign of depression, since she still has the same negative attitude that she's had as a child. Scarlett didn't consider herself depressed, since she knew that she'd never be amused with life. To please herself, all Scarlett could do at her age was read, write, study, and visit Anita. She couldn't drive and her grandparents didn't own a television. Most everyday pleasures didn't seem that important to her in the overall scheme of her life anyway. She preferred the company of her imagination to pass the time instead of making friends and running off to go do shenanigans elsewhere. While being extremely introverted, her only hope for enjoyment was being locked away in her bedroom for the entire day.

Scarlett's entire physical appearance seemed to change throughout her high school days. Rapid mood swings eventually became the least of her grandparents' worries. She has always had seemingly dramatic mood swings but now she started to act abnormally. Lack of sleep during the week became routine, but it appeared to be a problem once she started sleeping through entire weekends. Teenagers typically stay up late during school nights but at least they sleep for a couple of hours. Scarlett didn't seem like she had slept a wink. Her grandparents, especially her grandfather, had hoped that her spry behavior after school was caused by a consumption of caffeine and nothing else. They assumed that she had found a way to stay awake during the week; although they found no evidence of any. They only suspected the worse but didn't want to believe the alternative enough to investigate the probability. It didn't make sense to be so energetic on zero hours of sleep but have no energy on 48 hours sleep instead.

As the months and years went on, her facial features became more pronounced and her anorexic figure stood out more. She looked as though she had aged a decade within a matter of a couple years. The Bathurst grandparents chose not to interfere or question her lifestyle because she would only get upset. Her fits of rage were so colossal at this point that it almost didn't ever seem worth it to get her upset. That's how her grandparents see it anyway. So naturally, Scarlett frowned upon her grandparents' inability to accept her everyday life choices. To her, it seemed as if anything she did was wrong... based on everyone's concern for her. She didn't see what the concern was for; she was perfectly content with herself, even if her choices for contentment may be questioned by everyone and anyone. All that the grandparents could do was call the school and find out what the problem might be. Restroom bitch-fights and black eyes were just as routine as elementary school had been but not near as reported. As the master of persuasion, Scarlett could change she attitude in a heartbeat in order to fit the situation. If a young boy were to report that Scarlett had bashed a carton of milk into his head in an uncontrolled fit of rage, she'd be balling her eyes out in the principal's office in order to trick him into believing that it was an accident. However, as a student, she was an absolute delight with a smile glued to her face and never said an unkind word. She'd perform in musicals or win the latest calculus competition in the best of spirits but all it would take is one uncovered sneeze in her general direction and she would crack. Despite her unpredictable rage, peers still found her somewhat seductive in nature and still sung the praises of her. The Bathurst family never traced a problem that led back to Scarlett's behavior such as bullying or drugs. If anything, she appeared to be the negative influence… not anything around her. Scarlett Bathurst does what she wants whenever she wants. Her desire of materialism is small and has learned to not rely on wealth to gain happiness… opposite of a typical teenager's way of thinking. Her daily actions, along with reading, studying, and writing, gave her more joy than her family could ever understand. Putting on a performance in order to get through high school life was the only way she knew how to survive it. Her grandparents knew that neither school nor themselves could've been her inspiration for such a bohemian lifestyle and wondered where she could've observed it from.

"Sherlock, could I ask you a question?" Scarlett whimpered with her head held between her knees.

She'd eaten her grandmother's new recipe for beef potpie one summer evening in 1970, and it didn't agree with her very well. That night, she stayed locked up in her bedroom and sat on the floor. She wanted to stay as close to the door as possible in case she had to make a run for the bathroom. Sherlock Holmes, with the face of Basil Rathbone, stood at his favorite window and ceased smoking his calabash pipe.

"Certainly," he said as he turned around to face her.

"Anita is dating a senior," Scarlett whispered without making eye contact with Mr. Holmes. "And there's a friend of his that, quite obviously, has his eyes on me. Explain to me again why you think pursuing him is unwise?"

Mr. Holmes kept an emotionless face as he slugged his way over to the bed and sat on the corner.

"You've never questioned my judgment before," Sherlock coldly stated.

He paused for a moment until the corner of his mouth lifted into a half smile.

"I suppose…," he started up again as the tone of his voice became a little less serious. "Your distrust in me was bound to happen. You're a woman; nature's feminine instincts take over the logical verdicts of all women in due time."

Scarlett's head shot up with a look of anger on her face.

"My judgment is perfectly clear!"

Mr. Holmes let out a bellowing laugh.

"It is for that reason alone that lies the problem! Women cannot be trusted… not even the best of them," he grinned while studying her reaction. "Deceitfulness is a performance that everyone can play beautifully. You cannot trust the human race… although bias can make some lies favorable over others," he stated as he lifted himself off the bed and started pacing.

"Love is bias; a chemical reaction that not only affects the brain but also the body. A handsome face reflects a handsome heart… but the heart is not the powerhouse of judgment; the mind is!" Sherlock shouted as he aggressively paced in front of the window.

Scarlett let her head tilt towards the floor again.

"But the heart allows the brain to function," she whimpered in defiance.

With a stern look on his face, Mr. Holmes faced her while puffing on his pipe.

"I never question my own ability to determine rulings but I do yours. You find me handsome, do you not?" he asked.

Still not making eye contact, Scarlett blushed. She started to look up as she saw his feet pivot his body so that he didn't face her anymore. She could see Mr. Holmes' smoke rise as he puffed on his pipe while staring out the window. After a couple seconds, he quickly swiveled his entire body around to face her again. His face changed to a resemblance of an elderly Robert Rendel.

"Ms. Bathurst, it is of the first importance not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. You're letting your bodily chemicals get the best of you. You must learn to change that. Here," Sherlock pulled out a small, paper bag out of his robe pocket and bent down to hand it to her.

"This'll stimulate the mind and put it to better use. Focus on what is important, not on what is inconsequential."

Scarlett groaned at the sight of the bag, knowing that the contents inside would only make her feel sicker than she already was. She snatched the bag out of his hand because she did not like his attitude and manner of shrugging off her problems. He stood up and walked back towards his favorite window.

"Maybe if you'd stop staring at that photograph of Irene Adler… oh wait, I meant to say 'Mrs. Norton'," she snarled under her breath but loud enough to be audible.

Mr. Holmes was bothered by her sly comment and knew what she was implying.

"Indeed, she is a married woman, but that is of no nuisance to me for she means nothing more to me than an attractive face. Not like I would give into such temptations, married or not. I'm disappointed in my inability to do my duty to the King of Bohemia when he called upon my services. It is nothing more than mere fascination of a woman's wit," he defended.

Scarlett, staring and fiddling with the bag, got annoyed.

"Well, you sure are saying 'nothing more' quite a bit. For the first time since I've met you, you're starting to sound like a hypocrite."

Mr. Holmes took one last puff from his pipe and dumped the ashes outside of the window that he just opened. To Scarlett's surprise, Mr. Holmes sat on the windowsill and started to crawl underneath the glass and proceed out the window. Once he was outside, he turned around to look at Scarlett through the window. He slowly shut the window and left without saying his routine goodnight wish.

Twelve years of schooling had come and gone, but Anita and Scarlett were still dear friends. Anita still wore bright colored dresses to go with her golden, long blonde hair and blue eyes. She still wore expensive jewelry and kept up with the top-style fashions. Pink lipstick was a signature of hers. Through the years, Scarlett has mirrored Anita's sense of style. Scarlett has black, shiny hair but she doesn't like it long. It's cut in a pixie style. Scarlett goes for an elegant, professional look. She dresses less feminine than her grandfather would like her to. Scarlett also mirrored Anita's signature by always wearing bright, red lipstick. Scarlett's favorite color was red, so she was known around the neighborhood for styling red lips and nails. Anita stayed at her father's house as a form of a housekeeper. While her father worked as a plumber, Anita kept the house in order. Scarlett's one theory turned out to be correct all those years ago after all. Anita's mother left her husband when Anita was three years old to go marry another man. After the divorce, she kept all her money from her profession as a manager of some big company. It's rather thought provoking, to Scarlett, as to how she got that position in the 1950's… being a woman and all. It was unlikely but not impossible. Nonetheless, Scarlett gives Anita credit for keeping her attached to reality and helping her realize that some everyday pleasures are, in fact, important.

However, Scarlett gives Sherlock Holmes the credit for making her who she is to this day. She gives Anita the credit of being her John Watson, in a sense. If she didn't have her as a friend and social mate then she would be lost in her fantasy world for the rest of her life. Anita keeps her grounded. Scarlett is now a skeptical woman who knows that life will only get more boring as time goes on. It'll go fast too, if she lets it. Anita made time seemingly go faster; she was very set in stone. She'd always talk of romance and having a future with a family. Scarlett couldn't relate with Anita's humanistic dreams. She never even thought about love since it wasn't a necessity for her. Scarlett's favorite and most loved man in her life will make life worthwhile if she lives by his words of wisdom and skills of deduction. No one, not even Anita, knows of her thoughts and dreams. Scarlett didn't expect anything too extraordinary unless she made it happen. She didn't have the heart to share thoughts with a friend who has unrealistic and unachievable dreams of fairytales. The only problem Scarlett ever had was that she didn't know what amazing thing she could possibly do; especially in the meantime while she is working to make enough money to actually do stuff. That'll be enough time to think of something. Maybe she'll go on a trip to Europe and have an epiphany or some bullshit like that. She was too realistic; it kind of bummed her out sometimes. It's a waste of time to dream if there's no possibility of the dream ever happening. She was at a loss as to what to do with herself since there are limitations now that schooling came and went. Not having any goals to achieve, she now has all the time in the world.

"Why not?" Scarlett screamed at her grandmother in the kitchen one summer morning.

Emma Bathurst was leaning against the kitchen sink while facing her upset granddaughter. Mrs. Bathurst knew better than to say anything while her granddaughter had a sudden temper. A few moments ago on that same morning, Scarlett was sitting at the table while eating her routine breakfast and had been engaging in a simple conversation with her grandmother. Douglas Bathurst was still asleep in the living room. Scarlett asked a simple question before one of her mood swings hit.

"I just graduated a week ago! Why can't I be handed the respect I deserve? According to your standards, I'm almost an adult. I've waited my whole life for the time when adults will treat me like one of them. And this is what I get? I make a simple request to come with you to Prospect Park and you deny me? What the hell, Emmy?"

Mrs. Bathurst turned around and proceeded to wash the dishes in front of her. She could hear the screech of the metal chair as Scarlett got up to approach her. Her grandmother cringed at the sound, because she anticipated what would happen next. Emma turned her head up and to the side just to find a fury-red faced Scarlett towering over her. She didn't know what to say to her granddaughter and looked back down at the dirty dishes.

"I'm waiting for an answer," Scarlett coldly stated.

Typically, Scarlett just walks away from the situation when she gets upset. The Bathurst grandparents try not to say anything until she does. However, if they argue back and give an answer that their granddaughter doesn't like, Scarlett gets cruel.

"An answer."

Emma still didn't make any eye contact but stopped washing the plate in her hand. She held it as she just stared down at the soap suds that still resided on its surface. She was in deep thought as she tried to think of something to say to Scarlett. Emma didn't want to offend her granddaughter, but Prospect Park had intimate and sentimental value that belonged to Emma and Douglas alone. She didn't quite feel comfortable taking Scarlett with her as she strolls down memory lane of when she and her husband first came to America. Emma tried to think of something to say that doesn't sound selfish.

"I… I like my alone time," Emma mumbled.

Scarlett grabbed the glass plate from her grandmother's wet hands and threw the dish onto the floor with as much force as she could muster up. It collided with the hard floor with a loud clash and glass fragments were scattered throughout the whole kitchen. Douglas Bathurst was startled out of his sleep when he heard the shatter. He came out of the living room and into the kitchen to see what had happened. Before he entered, Scarlett had already left. As he made it into the room, he could see the violent swinging of the backdoor and his wife still staring at the soapy water. She hadn't moved a muscle. Mr. Bathurst tiptoed around what was left of the broken plate and put his arm around his wife. Emma was not shaken up like she used to be when Scarlett took control like that. Although the fury of their granddaughter is a routine thing in the Bathurst household, Douglas and Emma are still at a loss as to how to handle it. Self-pity consumed them daily as they wondered where they went wrong. However, their concern about how to take care of her was not for their own emotions' sake but for their granddaughter's.

Meanwhile, Scarlett sped-walked down a vacant Union Street as she got more and more angry. The Robert Rendal-faced Sherlock Holmes fought to catch up with her. From behind her, he stretched out his arm to grab her shoulder.

"Stop," he demanded.

Scarlett spun around as soon as she felt the touch of his hand on her shoulder. He didn't even have enough time to grip her hard enough to turn her around himself. She hyperventilated as she awaited his predictable conversation.

"You've done this with me a million times. You know the steps. You know how to do it. The day may come that I will not be around to assist you and walk you through it. Now, take a deep breath."

Scarlett did as Mr. Holmes said and tried to calm down.

"Make sure that your shoulders are down. Yes, that's it. Relax them. Now, another deep breath."

After a couple minutes of listening to the commands of her friend, Scarlett's blushed faced began to fade and cool down.

"Better?" he asked with a smile.

"Better."

"Excellent. Now let's go home," Mr. Holmes said as he put his shoulder around her and pulled her in close.

Mr. Holmes led Scarlett back home as they walked down the street of her childhood that first introduced her to the name of Sherlock Holmes.

"I still don't understand," Scarlett complained as she rubbed her eyes.

She had the short story, The Final Problem, opened on her lap while sitting at the kitchen table. An Italian priest with the face of Christopher Lee spun around to face Scarlett. He had been pacing in front of the backdoor with a bag of ice on his bruised knuckles.

"The book explains the whole situation; I don't see what's so difficult for you to comprehend," he grumbled.

"I understand this part," she confirmed as she flipped through most of the book's pages. "It's this part that I don't quite get."

She pointed to a couple sentences as she looked up at the priest to make sure that he was looking at what she was pointing at. Mr. Holmes threw off his disguise as he walked closer to Scarlett in order to get a closer look. He leaned over her right shoulder and squinted his eyes.

"What are you implying by questioning my motives, Ms. Bathurst?" Sherlock asked as he cocked his head.

Scarlett gawked at his know-it-all attitude.

"You knew there was no sick Englishwoman. You knew the note was a hoax. Why wouldn't you tell Watson? I mean, I understand why you faked your own death, but I don't know why you didn't inform John about it. You invited him along to Switzerland but for what purpose? Moriarty's surviving henchmen and your brother, Mycroft, knew you were alive. While you were lollygagging around Persia and France, Dr. Watson's life had taken a turn for the worse. I question your motives because you didn't seem to have any," Scarlett interrogated as she slammed the book shut.

Mr. Holmes straightened his back since he was quite insulted.

"Duty called me around the world, not just London. I was taking care of matters that were of the highest importance; it was certainly not a waste of time," he proclaimed. "I did not acknowledge or realize the possible severity my loss would have on Watson. In the possibility that I were to never return to England, I had confidence that my friend would make sure I went out in a blaze of glory to the public's eye. The defeat of 'The Napoleon of Crime' is a victory that'll be held in highest regard," Sherlock half-smiled.

Scarlett smiled back at him, knowing that he was lying through his teeth. Thinking that he had satisfied Scarlett's curiosity, Mr. Holmes began to walk towards the backdoor; he began to step outside. Before he shut the door, Scarlett turned around in her chair to face him.

"You're such a liar… a good one, I'll give you that. You could care less what the public thinks about you. Nevertheless, the public will know the real you... that's for sure. Your personal vanity is stupendous and never fails to amaze me; it becomes you. It was your god complex that led you to mislead John… pure narcissism," she grinned.

Sherlock Holmes chuckled as he lightly closed the door behind him while he walked out. Scarlett's pride was just as visible as Mr. Holmes' when she realized that she had just deduced him.

After Sherlock Holmes left the kitchen, Scarlett stood up and headed towards her bedroom. She put The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes back on her bookshelf and pulled down The Return of Sherlock Holmes. She headed back into the kitchen. Scarlett thought that she'd stay near the backdoor incase her grandparents needed help carrying in groceries when they got home. Actually, she wasn't that selfless. Her grandfather promised to take her out driving when they got home. Reading had been the only pastime of hers that seemed to make time go quickly. She leaned into the kitchen counter and opened her book. The Adventure of the Empty House began with the 'Great Hiatus' and Sherlock's revelation to Dr. Watson. She held her head up with her hands and put all her weight on her elbows as she began re-reading. She swayed with boredom as she stood. Suddenly, the backdoor swung open and banged loudly against the wall of the kitchen. Scarlett was startled and quickly turned around to see who it could possibly be since her grandparents would never enter a room with such hurriedness or suddenness. An elderly man shuffled into the kitchen while holding an enormous stack of books. He tilted the books so that the top one fell to the floor. It opened up to two pages that had words scribbled across the length of the pages:

'My deepest apologies for lying. I had no idea that my self-love would have such an effect on you.'

It only took Scarlett a few blinks to realize who it was before she rang out in laughter. While giggling, she skipped towards the old man and started to playfully push him back out the door.

"Go home, Sherlock! Get outta here. I forgive you, now go!" she laughed.

The elderly disguised Sherlock smirked as she shoved him out the door. She calmed herself down to a smile as she leaned against the shut door.

He's such a smartass.