Sim had only made a few pounds in fortunes as it was raining like a banshee outside, and it had been all day. She sat on her daybed, watching the rain come down through open door of her trailer. Her door was open to get a good breeze going, circulating cool air around the room. Even though it was the end of autumn, it was warm out. Sim ahted hot weather, the way it made her feel. It was like walking through warm, sticky butter. The rain came down hard and pelted the ground, splashing after it fell.
She wondered how life would be now, with her knowing Sherlock Holmes once again occupying the flat over on Baker Street. It simply confounded her. The whole situation seemed surreal, like a dream. How could he still be alive? "If this is a dream," she said to herself, nearly whispering. "I do not want to wake up." It had been a few days since Sherlock had chased her to her trailer and they had spoken. She still couldn't wrap her head around things. Her heart was torn in two, happy that he was alive, but sad. She knew he would never be hers. Perhaps it would have been for the best, had he passed away.
Later on that night, the rain began to let up. She was whipping some cool candle wax off the table when she heard someone walk into her trailer. Keeping her hand close to her knife, she turned to whoever it was. "You don't seem busy today," Sherlock said, smiling at her. She let her hand fall and she smiled back. "Well, hello to you, too."
Sherlock allowed himself further into her home, clearing his throat as he went. "I was wondering if you might assist me on a case." Her eyes moved over him as she listened to him speak. He was dressed in an old pair of plaid slacks and a white cotton button down, accompanied with a jacket and scarf. "It seems my dearest Watson has left me for good this time." He smiled awkwardly, as if he were mad at Watson even though he knew he shouldn't be. "Help you? How?" Sim asked as she leaned back against her table, slipping her tarot cards into her coat pocket.
Sherlock poked a stuffed owl she had, touching a feather on its wing. The owl stared back at him, looking all too terrifying. He stood up straight, slightly scared off by the dead bird. "I need an assistant," he told Sim as he walked over to her. "And as it would seem, you're the only one I trust, besides Watson, of course." Sim tried not to show her excitement. "Let me think on it?" she asked, lying. She didn't want to seem like she was throwing herself at him, especially after the kiss she gave him the other day. She already knew her answer was yes.
"Alright." He nodded as he looked over at her. "Do know though, this case isn't too-" He stopped short, looking for the right word. "Dangerous." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Hmmm, the last time you said that, you died in my lap and John had to revive you with your wedding gift." He looked to the floor as he laughed. "Touché, Madam. This time though, I doubt we will be leaving the country." She nodded her head, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Thank goodness for that, at least."
He looked around her small trailer, taking its contents in. "Nice place you have here." She nodded and looked back over at the detective. "Why thank you." He smiled as he put his hands behind his back. "Rightey-oh then," he began, as he fixed the scarf that hung loosely around his neck. "My address is 221 Baker Street," he informed her. "Stop by anytime." With that, he smiled at her and politely gave his leave.
A few minutes later, Sim's friend Jake stopped by. He worked for the traveling circus and was only in town for the next few weeks but the two had grown close. He was like her little brother. The two had pondered him staying with her when the circus moved. Perhaps, he would stay.
"Who was that?" he asked, a smirk playing on his thin lips. "You got a new boyfriend?" He was young, merely in his late twenties, with a good heart and a heavy Irish humor. He was a sweetheart and nothing less. "A very dear friend of mine…" Sim answered with a small smile. She went on about clearing the table and cleaning the place up.
Jake shrugged and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Are you sure? He looked a lot like that consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes." Sim chuckled to herself as she looked over at the Irishmen. "That would probably be because he was…"
