The next day was my last job-less day, John was not home when I got up, so I made myself tea and decided to read his blog. I had asked myself for days whether or not I should, but oh well, in was there, out in the open, for everyone to see, so why not me?
I skipped the new articles, went back all the way to his first post, and started reading. When John came back home, I was drinking my fiftieth cup of tea, still wearing panties, knee-high socks, and my poncho… Which would have been quite fine…
… If there had not been a young woman with him. I looked at them, I looked out the window, I looked at the time on my computer.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry! I didn't… I lost track of time! God, 7 P.M.! Just give me a minute."
I stormed out without another word, spending the next fifteen minutes showering, dressing, and cursing myself. By the the time I got back to the living-room they were both talking quietly.
"Mary, there you are! This is Molly, Molly, this is Mary." We shook hands as I sat next to her on the couch and apologized for earlier. She looked shy and mousy. And sad. She was quite pretty, in her strict, studious way. We decided to order Indian food, and I observed the two of them for a while, the must have been the same age, maybe Molly was slightly younger. She did not wear a ring, or anything, I thought maybe she was single, and I was positive, John was, too. Yet this was really not a date. The body language, the tone, the conversation… No, these two were friends, and it was quite obvious that the affection they had for each other, was a projection of the love they shared for a third person: Sherlock Holmes.
I had done my reading, and now I started to understand. The people I met in 221B Baker Street were believers. They all believed in Sherlock Holmes.
"So, what is the story, Mary? How did you come to live here?"
"Oh, just an ad, I was looking for a nice, quiet, little place, I ended up here, it was packed with noisy journalists, so I thought it was the perfect spot!"
She was laughing when John said: "About a hundred people applied, it was hell. Only about twenty of them got an appointment, but I chose Mary… She looks nice, and apparently had no clue who Sherlock was, is… was."
My mouth must have been hanging open, because John had a little laugh when he saw my face.
"I had no idea, John, why me?"
"As I said, you seemed nice, agreeable, trustworthy, and genuinely excited about the flat." Turning to Molly, he added: "I think the first thing she did was checking the books and touching the skull."
She smiled, but her eyes stayed sad. To break the silence, I said: "Well, I did catch up. I read your blog today."
They both looked at me with expecting eyes, I had no idea what to say next. "Herm… Your writing is quite fascinating… And so are the stories… I mean, so is he."
Molly's throat made a strange little noise, but John stayed focused on me.
"What do you think?"
"Of the cases? Oh, they certainly seem impossible to fake, and I do love a good charismatic hero. I really want to believe you, John. That this man was for real. He seemed incredibly smart. But of course, I was not there… Well. I trust you. That is for sure. I think I trust you."
"Thank you. It means a lot. Really. I cannot believe he is dead. I just can't. It's strange feeling. Something stuck in my guts."
"That's why you keep his things? The violin, the books… the skull?"
He nodded.
"So I have to expect that, some day, a guy with a weird hat will come and claim his bed, that's right?"
"Oh, he probably won't have the have the hat, but if an insensitive prick barges in, tells you everything about yourself, and sits in your armchair, it would probably be him, yes." He finished with a malicious smile.
They both told me a few stories about him and his inappropriate behaviors. We laughed a lot, it seemed to sooth them, to actually help, it felt good. I was in bed early, my head full of this peculiar character… I dreamt about doors, stairs, screams, and blood.
The screams must have been mine, because when I woke up, my throat was sore. John was in my room alarmed.
I was shaking like a leaf and covered in sweat, panicked, and sobbing. I could not seem to calm down, John was talking and I could not hear. I felt outside of my own body, I felt like I was going to die. I squeezed my arms around my body, hugging myself, trying to get a grip, to pull myself together.
That is when he hugged me. And he held me for a long time, until my breathing slowed down, until my pulse went back to normal, and a little longer than that. I did feel him let go, but I was already drifting into calmer dreams, I felt the touch of my red blanket on my cheek, his hand in my hair, and then nothing.
When my alarm started singing in my ear at 7:00, I couldn't tell if it had been real or not. It is only when I entered the kitchen and found him cooking breakfast for me that I realized. It was true, he probably thought I was nuts. Full of embarrassment and hunger, I said: "John, I am sorry, I have these nightmares sometimes… I am just… Weak, guess. Sorry."
"Breakfast is ready, you wouldn't want to go to school with an empty stomach, now, would you?"
This man was simply too adorable, he was now my nurse and house-keeper… I apologized a dozen times and he ignored most of it, except when he sat down with me to eat and said:
"It's when you don't have nightmares anymore that something is really wrong. Fear is healthy Mary, as long as you do not let it devour you. You spent your days looking fine, I was starting to wonder if you were human!"
This of course, made my first day a lot easier, and the ones that followed. We talked more and more, about ourselves, about the ones we lost, about anything, everything, and I think we laughed a lot, too, from that day on.
My job was nice, some of the kids were so bright, so curious, I loved it. I even managed to befriend a few colleagues, and went on a date with 'the cute history teacher' after a few weeks. I was nice, but I was really not ready for anything more than 'diner and a movie'. Within three months I had a good group of friends around me… Had I gone through the toughest times ? No idea.
But Christmas was coming, with its pretty light and its mood.
I was missing my parents, but I really did not want to cross the channel, so I asked them to come by for a few day in January. Iseult could not go to her parents', I invited her over, John asked Molly and Lestrade, I planned the meal with Mrs Hudson, half French, half Brit. It was all going quite smoothly.
A few days before Christmas Eve, I was doing some late shopping, desperate to find a great present John. What could me good enough? A print of his favorite painting? A book? A watch? A scarf? Socks…? God, this was hard. I was lost in my train of thoughts and I did not see a black car pulling over next to me.
When I did notice, I started giggling, as I do, because clichés are funny. And laughing at a super fancy dark car, and imagining all the strange stuff that could happen in it is quite harmless… Or so I thought.
So there I was, giggling and walking away, when I realized the car was actually following me.
Nope.
No, it's not. It can't be.
Mary. You're freaking out.
Still following.
Nah. You went through a rough patch, and now your mind is doing funny things.
Still following.
Ok, maybe it's a mistake, and anyway, what could happen? The street is crowded. I'm fine. I am fine.
My phone rings.
I stop. The car stops.
Blocked number. I answer.
"Get in the car."
I freeze. The door opens.
"Why?" I say flatly.
"Miss Morstan, get in the car. This won't take long, and then we will drop you home, 221B Baker Street. Or you can run, and get arrested at the street corner because you stole that beautiful necklace from Tiffany & Co. a few minutes ago."
"I… what now?"
"Look. In your purse."
And there is was, a small heart-shaped Tiffany pendant. I didn't even like that kind a jewels. The adrenaline rushed to my head, I jumped in the car, everything was spinning. I took the necklace out of my bag and threw it on the leather seat.
"Who are you? What do you want from me?"
A young man was sitting next to me, he was typing away on his phone, smiling gently.
"Can you actually hear me?"
He nodded quietly, and went back to his phone. I could not see the driver and we were going quite fast, but smoothly, through the streets.
"So, where are you taking me?… Will there be tea? I really could use a cup of tea. God, I feel dizzy. You see, I'm a very anxious person, I have panic attacks and things like that."
My heart was pounding and my hand were shaking as I reach my phone.
Keep it together.
9
Breathe slowly.
9
Concentrate.
9
"Don't."
The man was looking at me as I pressed the call button.
No reception.
Right is the middle of London.
"You've got to be kidding me."
He simply shrugged.
What could this be? Diplomatic thing? John? John's friends? Sherlock Holmes? The police? But why… Why?
The car stopped, along with my rushing thoughts. We were in front of a house. A very pretty, very big, house. It suited the car perfectly. I started laughing nervously, I don't know why but I was expecting some abandoned building. The mute, handsome guy was walking me up to the door… And I was just laughing. It was that nervous, almost hysterical laugh one gets at a funeral or a scary doctor's appointment. What was happening to me? Was I going to die? Was I in any kind of danger? I tried to call John. No luck. I was supposed to meet him a few minutes ago anyway, he will be worried soon.
My quiet guard had taken me through quiet rooms, I was now left alone next to a fire place, with a cup of tea. No milk, no sugar, no talking. I started to text John, at least, I will get it when my phone has reception again.
— Sorry, something rather unexpected came up. I hope I'll make it home. —
It worked. I let out a sigh of relief.
— For diner, or at all? Mary, you're worrying me, don't be cryptic. JW —
A tall, slim, and rather scary-looking man entered the room.
"Texting our good Doctor Watson now, are we?"
"Who are you? What do you want from me?"
"I am a friend of one of your friends, that should make us, friends, I suppose." His smile was creeping me out. I sat down in a too neat, too new, too beige, armchair, and decided to wait. I got the silent treatment, that freak will get it too.
My phone kept on bipping.
"So, how is John?"
I raised an eyebrow at the man. What… What was this?
"I simply thought I should introduce myself to you, I am Mycroft Holmes." He paused, waiting for the effect of this name on me. Sherlock's brother. Yes. I was surprised, and curious. He must have seen it on my face, because he gave me a satisfied smirk.
"John and I… We've been through a rough patch. I just wanted some news."
Now, that was too much, from what I gathered, the only man in this solar system John would be gay with, was a Holmes, but not this one.
"Mister Holmes. You should call him. I need to go, now."
"Very loyal. Very quickly. You two are cut from the same cloth it seems."
I was already walking away; I stopped at the door and turned to him, looking right into his cold eyes, and said:
"Sir, I am very sorry for your loss."
