Disclaimer: CBS keeps stonewalling me in my attempt to own the characters for myself. So, I don't own 'em.
The sunlight leaked through the cracks in the curtain like honey dribbling off a spoon into a bowl. The light quickly touched Kitty's closed eyes, revealing her in a deep slumber. Her Joan and Kitty dolls were lying on the floor and the Sherlock doll was held close to her chest. Well, more like, she was lying on top of it, but either way, it was close to her heart.
Hannah had returned to Tyler's house to tell him that Kitty was shutting all her friends out. Tyler had hung his head, thanked Hannah and then went up to his room to figure out what to do next. He couldn't very well tell Chelsea what was going on; she would be crushed. Tyler figured Jemima ought to know, but he decided to wait until that afternoon. Why ruin her day before it even got started?
In New York, Sherlock had gathered up a stray he had brought in the night before, after Joan had gone to sleep, and placed it outside Joan's door. The scratching and little whimpers coming from outside her door quickly woke Joan up. As usual, she gathered up the source of her awakening and went downstairs to complain to Sherlock. But, this time, she was more annoyed than usual. After all, it was a dog. How were they going to take care of a dog whilst living in the brownstone?
Kitty rolled over, enjoying a good dream, and rolled right off the side of the bed! She hit the ground with a thud and her eyes popped open. When she saw what had happened and that it was morning, she groaned. She didn't want to get up and face another day without Sherlock. At least she had the Sherlock doll. That'd help at least a little bit.
She pulled herself up and trudged downstairs, helping herself to whatever she could find in the kitchen. She knew she'd have to go shopping to get more food, but she really wasn't up for the task. Her emotions made her feel lazy, so she decided to write another letter to Sherlock. So, Kitty grabbed a pen and some paper and settled down on the couch in front of the television. She picked up the pen and started to write.
A half hour later, Kitty had only written:
Dear Sherlock
What do you do when you're broken?
Love Kitty
That was all Kitty wrote. That was all she could write. She knew that her raw emotional state could very well send her down the wrong path, as it had for Sherlock. But, the thing is, Kitty didn't want to be that way. She didn't want to do drugs and then have to go through that whole painful process of coming clean and staying clean. She knew how hard it had been, and still was, for Sherlock, and she refused to put herself and Sherlock through that nightmare.
Kitty, somehow, eventually pried herself up off the couch and got herself dressed. She got some money and somehow got herself out the front door. Her goal was to post the letter, but the supermarket was on her way, so she may as well pick up a few supplies.
When she got back, Kitty lazily unpacked the bags and then flopped down onto the couch with some more ice cream. She then spent the rest of the day just flipping through the channels, not even getting up to go to the toilet, have a shower or even get anymore food or drink. It was as if her emotions had her pinned down to the couch. Or her lack thereof.
Kitty then suddenly realised that it was as if all her emotions had been abducted by aliens and they'd left the Milky Way. The feeling made her feel lazy; all she wanted to do was lie down and watch TV and then sleep for a millennium. But she did have a job at Scotland Yard. That she forgot about until that moment.
"Damn. Not good," Kitty muttered weakly, not even bothering to get up and tell them that she didn't want to work for them anymore. Not that she had actually done any work for them as of yet. Oh well. If they called, she'd drop out.
Which is exactly what happened three minutes later. Kitty's phone buzzed, and she recognised it as the number of one of the officers at Scotland Yard.
"Kitty Winter?" he asked chirpily. He was always chirpy.
Sometimes he's just so chirpy, I want to punch him in the face. Repeatedly. With a metal chair. Kitty thought to herself.
"Yes?"
"We need you to come in."
"Sorry, I can't," Kitty fibbed. Of course she could, she just had no desire to. "I'm really busy."
"Oh. Okay," the officer said. "In that case, I'll see you when you do come in. Bye!"
"Bye."
Kitty hung up and dumped the phone on the table. She then leaned her head back and ran her hands over her face while letting out a long groan. She wished she were a child again, so that she just had to ask her parents for money instead of going out and earning it herself. Kitty slumped even further down into the couch and closed her eyes for a sleep.
Meanwhile, Officer Plummer, the man at Scotland Yard who had called Kitty, was on the phone to Sherlock. Kitty had been on with them for three days now, and she had not once shown up to work. Plummer was kind of concerned about her. He knew that she was a friend of Sherlock's, so maybe he could shed some light about what was going on.
Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to receive a call from one of his friends from Scotland Yard, and upon hearing Plummer's concerns, he told the story of what happened to Kitty. Sherlock said that Plummer needn't worry and that Kitty just needed to sort through her emotions, and then she'd come in to work. In the meantime, he should just let Kitty work from home.
"Who was that?" a female asked, waltzing through the door. Plummer looked up to see his very good friend and colleague, Lucia Kirke.
"Just an old friend who worked here a few years ago," he said. "It's nothing really."
"Oh. Okay," Lucia said. "They got a hit on the windowless, brown van. It's headed for Baker Street."
Dun, dun, duuuuuuun! What's going to happen next? I honestly don't know where the story's going right now, but I promise that there will be some form of a happy ending. Leave a review, and peace out! :)
