Ok, I'm finally over my writers block! The stupid block was sticking out of my head, I swear. I would like to say before I begin, Thanks to all those who supported me through "Darker Days". I'm really happy that you liked it, and I'm glad to work on this one. Thanks to Hannah Holmes, who wrote the first review to this story, and thanks to Goth_Flutist, who has been helping me overcome my writers block. All though, I must say that if she comes that close to swearing again in a review, I'll have to hurt her (hint, Goth, don't swear. You know I detest it). Here's chapter two, and I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter Two: A Tale Untold
Holmes gaped at the girl-Irene-in astonishment, and I had to say that I agreed with him. The girl standing before us was his sister?
She was very pretty, just as he had said. Her hair fell down to her shoulders and had small curls at the end. Her hair was deep brown. Her green eyes bared no resemblance to Holmes', but I could see Marie's eyes when I looked into hers. I made me shudder to see her mother reflected in her. Finally Holmes began to speak.
"Irene? You? Here? Now? I thought-dead..." Holmes stuttered. Irene rolled her eyes.
"Come along, little brother. You remind me of a fish, I swear. I suppose we'll have to take you out back to prevent you from causing a scene. Although, you did that already, didn't you?" Irene said quickly. Unlike Holmes, this girl was accustomed to quick thoughts and rapid speeches. Holmes usually thought about his words before he said them, and spoke in smaller sentences. The- Irene, I thought, I must think of her as Irene- smiled at my stare and at Holmes constant stammering and took us into a dark alley.
Irene set herself upon a dumpster and smiled down at us.
"Kindly shut up, Holmes. You sound like a parrot who has not yet learned to speak," she pleaded down at us. Holmes jaw snapped shut and he stared at her.
"Irene?" he finally said. She rolled her eyes.
"Yes, I believe we've already established that, Sherlock," she verified. Holmes took a tentative step toward her.
"Where have you been?" he asked carefully. She sighed.
"Really, we sound like lovers. 'Where have you been all my life?'. God, I hoped to prevent that. However, I'm pleased to note that you scored well in the girlfriend department. Miss Watson here is a lovely specimen of a lady," Irene remarked. I felt myself blush at her kind, yet odd, words. Holmes glanced at me.
"Well, I suppose she is. I never really looked. At any rate, you've been to America. Your careless use of the English language confirms it," Holmes declared. Irene rolled her eyes again. She seemed well versed on that.
"Can't you just say I use slang like there is no tomorrow?" she asked. Holmes shook his head.
"Definitely America," Holmes murmured under his breath. Irene looked at me.
"Tell me about yourself Jenny. How long have you and Sherlock been dating. And how did it come by that your arm should be in a cast?" she asked. I looked at her in confusion.
"Why do you think Holmes and I are dating?" I asked. She sighed.
"Major duh. Sorry Sherlock. Isn't it obvious. Sherlock here did not deny it when I stated that you were a lovely girlfriend. Therefore, you must be lovers," she explained. I decided to challenge her.
"How do you know we're not just two ships passing in the night?" I pressed. She laughed.
"I'm not nearly as smart as my younger brother, but it really was obvious. 'Two ships passing in the night', as you put it, would not feel comfortable enough around each other to pull off that marvelous jest. Very dramatic, by the way. Now please, answer my questions," she continued. I frowned.
"Fine. I met Holmes around September or October of last year. We've been 'dating' for about two weeks. We, however, don't call it dating. It is more of an unspoken agreement. My arm is in a cast because we finished a case that didn't end well," I answered. I neglected to tell her that Marie had done this to me, however, because she did not yet know about her mother. Holmes intervened at my mild conversation with Irene.
"Now, ladies, before we get into what color you like to paint your nails, I desire to find out why my sister left, and where she went. The state, to be exact," Holmes acknowledged. Irene frowned and leaned up against the wall.
"I should of known, my dear younger brother, that there really was no use in trying to put a bloodhound off the scent. As you have requested, I shall tell you the lengthy tale of my disappearance. And it was not foul play as I had made it out to be," Irene commented. As she closed her eyes in concentration, Holmes and I found an old packing crate to sit on. And so Irene began.
THE NEXT PART OF THE STORY IS TOLD AS THOUGH JENNY IS WATCHING A MOVIE.
London, 1996, Ten days before Marie Moriarty is hurt in the car accident...
"Mother, may Sherlock and I go play outside?" a younger Irene asked. Her gorgeous mother looked up from her quilt work.
"Sherlock is asleep honey. You know that," Marie answered gently. Irene sighed. Her fourteen year old mind yelled in her ear. He's sleeping to avoid you. You know that too. Irene stood and went into the living room and sat next to her father.
"Good day Father. I trust that the newspaper fares good news?" Irene asked. Her father grunted. Irene continued to try to talk to her monosyllabic father.
"Does it say when Mother's new opera opens?" Irene asked. Fredrick Holmes looked up from the newspaper.
"Do I really care? Go bother your brother. He always listens to you," her father stated. Irene stood once more. Father doesn't care about how I feel. Sherlock never actually listens. He acts as though he does. Nobody cares about how I feel. No one in the entire world. Except Robert. He loves me.
Irene smiled at the thought of her boyfriend. Robert was a sweet young man, who loved her more than life itself. She walked over to the phone in her tiny hallway. As she quickly dialed his number, she thought about what to ask him to do. He picked up on the first ring.
"Hello?" came his pleasantly accented voice. Irene smiled at the sound of it.
"Hello Robert. Would you like to go see a movie today?" Irene asked. A soft grunt came from over the phone.
"Uh, sorry luv. I'm a bit busy," he said. Irene sighed.
"You're lying. What is it really?" she asked.
"Look, Irene, I don't think we should see each other anymore," Robert began. Irene dropped the phone.
Robert is dumping me? I was right the first time, nobody loves me. Not even my boyfriend!
Irene carefully picked up the phone and dropped it onto the table. She closed her eyes and walked upstairs. She began crying as she lay down on her bed.
The world doesn't want me. Death is so much better. I'll kill myself, tonight, when the family is at Mother's opera... Carmen, isn't it? Doesn't matter to me. A gun might be good... no, to loud. A knife? To bloody, they'd never be able to get the blood out of the carpet. Well, that leaves hanging or drowning. Hanging is to painful and takes forever. If I jump off a bridge, I might get lucky and get knocked unconscious and not feel myself die. So, I'll jump off a bridge, Irene thought. A low knock came from the door and she looked up.
Her ten year old brother stood there in the doorway. She waved her hand, permitting him entrance.
"Hello Irene. What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Sherlock asked. Irene looked at her sweet brother.
"Nothing is wrong Sherlock. Robert broke up with me," she replied. She received a sympathetic look from him as he sat down on her bed.
"I'm sorry. I know that you loved him," he sighed. Irene smiled and pulled her brother to her.
"Sherlock, would you miss me if I left?" she asked. She needed to know. Sherlock looked at her.
"Are you leaving?" his childish voice asked. Irene thought a moment.
"No, I'm not. At least, I don't think I am. Just answer my question!" she answered, growing impatient.
"Yes, I would. Don't leave Irene. Mother and I would miss you. Maybe even Father," he said. Irene hugged him.
"Go tell Mother that I won't be going to see Carmen tonight. I don't feel well," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse as she made up her decision. Sherlock nodded and jumped off the bed. As he reached the doorway he turned around and looked at her.
"I love you Irene," he said and then ran down the stairs.
No he doesn't. You know he doesn't. Why would he love a scumbag like you? The nasty voice in her head screamed at her. But she heard the nice one too.
A child's innocence is their greatest gift. You know your brother is incapable of lying.
Sure he is. That's like saying that pigs fly.
Irene sighed as the voices in her head did battle. Finally, the nasty voice destroyed the kind one and turned to her.
I'm leaving. Tonight. For America. I can make it seem as though someone took me. Some fake blood, the scuffle signs... it will all be elaborately staged. I won't actually kill myself. For Sherlock's sake. No one will ever guess. And then you can watch the world in peace, with no one pretending to love you. With no one saying that they do and then leaving you. You'll be left alone with your thoughts, and you can figure things out.
"Yes," Irene said aloud, "I just need to figure things out. Then I'll come back. But they'll reject me. I can live with at least seeing their faces again."
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Irene packed that night. A few clothes and some money. Toothpaste, toothbrush, washcloth, soap, all the essentials. Finally it came down to the hard part. She had to trick everyone that she had been taken against her will. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a dull knife that would draw enough blood to make it look as though they had hurt her. Whoever 'they' were. She went upstairs and sat in her bed, prepared to drench the sheets in her blood. As she bit her lip, she ran the knife over her wrist. Gasping as the flesh tore, she smeared the blood over the sheets. With tears in her eyes she moved the bed, ran the knife over the windowsill, added footprints with her Father's shoes. Finally, she was ready to go. She looked at her room, then walked to pick up one more thing from her dresser. The picture of her family was to dear to leave behind. Then she climbed out the window and walked toward the airport.
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One year later...
Irene sat on the park bench. The birds flew through the sky. Next to her sat her teacher, Miss Richardson. Her teacher smiled at her.
"Now Rachel. The birds. Contemplate them for a moment. What do you like about them?" Miss Richardson asked. Irene looked at them.
"They can fly. They can fly far away from this world. They can leave whenever they want," she responded. Miss Richardson nodded.
"Very good. Your ideas are beautiful, but as your English teacher and friend, I must tell you that you need to stop thinking about things like that. You know that you can't fly away from your troubles. You need to confront them. Tomorrow I will help you confront your problems with your classmates," her teacher said.
That night Irene ran away again.
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July, 1998
Irene walked faceless through New York. No one asked her who she was. No one tried to make her change her ideas on life. No one tried to get her to stand up to her problems. Everyone left her peacefully alone. She convinced herself she liked it like that and disappeared into the crowd.
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Present
"So, Sherlock, does that answer your question?" Irene asked. Holmes stared at her.
"Yes. Come on, I need to tell you about things that have happened since you ran away," he said, standing and brushing himself off. Irene jumped down from the dumpster.
"Good. I'm looking forward to seeing Mother again. Is she well?" Irene asked. Holmes winced visibly and looked at her.
"That is one thing I need to talk to you about. Come," he whispered. Irene nodded and followed him in the general direction of Holmes' new house, leaving me to my thoughts.
It was obvious that Irene had some mental problems. She needed a psychiatrist, and a good one. Her mind didn't permit herself to believe that someone, anyone for that matter, loved her. It was sad.
The Holmes family tragedies continue. I wonder how she'll react when she finds out that Marie is insane and nearly killed Holmes and I. Not well, she'll view it as another betrayal, I thought, walking home. I prayed that Holmes could handle her reaction.
So, what do you think? Is it living up to my standards? Give me ideas, flames, or constructive criticism. Also, I am now taking requests. I will write anything you want about Jenny and Holmes. If you want something, I'll work on it. I'm very flexible. I hope someone has a request, because I want to write something else. So send reviews, or e-mail me at
kep05@excite.com
Please title the e-mail "Ideas". Otherwise I'll delete. Please, stick to telling me in reviews, I don't read my e-mail very often. Hope you all have a nice Thanksgiving!_____ Moonshine.
