Eh. New chapter. Yay. It's two am and I am still writing... I hate you all for making me do this. No, really, I love you. Moving on... none of you want to hear my senseless ramblings.
Chapter Three: Oddities
Watson's POV
The train ride was fairly uneventful, sadly. We had heard nothing from Christine up to date, which managed to depress me and worry my mom to death. I managed to convince her that yes, Christine was staying at a hotel, but she wanted proof. Proof that I simply couldn't provide.
Holmes knew how distraught I was, but wisely kept his silence. I knew that at the moment he would spew nothing but insults towards her, which I couldn't deal with. Holmes had been furious at her since she had hit me. I understood that he was upset, but I didn't understand his blatant hatred of her right now. Honestly, I just wanted us all to be together again. Friends. That's all I wanted.
I buried my head into my hands and shook my head, instead trying to focus in on the lessons. We had been at St. Ives for two days, and it was pretty boring. Worse than my past two schools, which I had thought impossible to beat. None of the professors had any idea of what they were talking about. In fact, I doubted that half of them even had a college education.
If I seemed bored, I felt sorry for Holmes, who seemed smarter than me in almost every class. I say almost because his English skills really did need work. Anyway, he was currently sleeping. He actually looked pretty cute when he was asleep. He lost that hawk-like look in his eyes and his hardened features (caused by stress) would soften so that he looked his age again. His brown hair was always feathery, but when he was asleep, it always fell into his eyes. He looked so handsome.
Usually. As of the moment, he was drooling all over his textbooks as our math tutor went on and on about Pythagoreans Theorem. What's more, he was telling us the wrong thing. I knew for a fact that x2 minus x2 divided by two, and then y2 minus y1 divided by two was the theorem for getting the midpoint. Not Pythagoreans Theorem. I envied Holmes for being able to fall asleep so quickly.
"Miss Watson!" a sharp voice said, shaking me from my ponderings. I glanced up immediately and met the hard eyes of the maths professor, Mr. Binky. He was a middle-aged man with a sinister looking face. He was currently sneering at me.
"Yes?" I asked politely, trying to act like a good little student.
"It would do you good to pay attention."
"Yes sir. Sorry sir."
"And wake Mr. Holmes up."
"Yes sir."
Mr. Binky turned back to the board where he proceeded to write out the formula for "Pythagoreans Theorem", so I leaned over and tapped Holmes quietly on the shoulder. He didn't wake up, merely wiped the drool from his mouth and all over his math book. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, but continued to tap him. When he didn't wake up, I poked him hard in the eye. He jolted awake, grabbing my hand and his eye in one swift motion. He released my hand after a second, but continued to rub his eye, scowling at me with his good one.
"Thank you ever so much, Watson. Exactly what I needed. Would you care to explain yourself?" he hissed. Smirking, I pointed to his textbook, which currently had several streams of saliva running down it. Predictably, he wrinkled his nose and wiped it away. I smirked again, but then returned to staring at Mr. Binky as he explained the Pythagoreans Theorem in the form of the midpoint theorem.
I'm bad at math, but that mistake was really annoying me.
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I may seem like a lazy girl, but let's get one thing straight. Beds. Are. Comfy. So when I go into great detail about me laying down on a bed and burying my face into the soft, cool pillow, it's not me telling everyone 'yes I'm lazy', it's me saying 'the bed was comfy, so sue me'.
I went into my dorm room immediately after math class, completely worn out with pretending to be interested in the lesson. Per habit, I flopped down onto my bed and buried my face into the soft, cool pillow. I've always loved pillows. They reminded me of clouds, and ever since I was young I had enjoyed looking at the clouds and pretending that they made something. I knew better now. Science had ruined my mind. But I could still pretend. I breathed in the scent of the pillow and smiled faintly. Lilacs. My pillow always smelled of lilacs. Kline's smelled like vanilla, Holmes's smelled like some unidentifiable aftershave or something, and Christine's was green tea. My throat suddenly was clogged at the thought of both Kline and Christine, so instead I focused on the soothing scent of lilacs.
"Watson?" It was Holmes. I tilted my head to the side so I could look at him as he stood in the doorjamb of my room. He looked faintly worried, faintly sad, and faintly angry. Whole lotta faintly's, not enough facial room. I made a gesture to invite him in, and he closed the door behind him, leaning against it.
"Yeah?" I asked softly, the throes of exhaustion still pouring over me. Holmes smiled quietly, catching me off guard. He looked pretty serious, and I certainly didn't expect him to smile.
"Does it appear to you that this place is full of idiots?" he asked. I snorted.
"Idiots is an understatement. I don't think any of these people have ever been to school."
Holmes nodded appreciatively. "I am regretting our decision to leave London. We could be of so much more use there. St. Ives has nothing for us... just a pretty seaside and regular post. Speaking of which, you received a letter from Christine."
I snatched the crisp white envelope from Holmes's fingers in an instant, shredding it quickly and removing the small slip of paper from within. It had been ripped from a book, one of those blank pages you'll often find towards the back. It smelled vaguely of motor oil and gun powder. Pretty gross smelling, actually. My eyes devoured the small note as fast as possible.
Jenny,
Am alive and well. Grand old time in London. No leads yet. Will write soon. Christine
Holmes plucked the piece of paper from my hands and immediately began scanning it with his eagle eyes. He sniffed it a few times, studied it, and even licked it. Then he picked up the deceased envelope and began running his fingers over it. I watched, fascinated by the process. He didn't even do this with criminal things.
"First off, she's lying," Holmes announced. I raised an eyebrow, and he smiled a bit. "No postmark. She isn't in London. She's here, in St. Ives. She delivered this by hand. Second, she took one of your books. An older one... by the yellowing of the pages, I would say that it was your copy of Romeo and Juliet. Third, she has gotten a new job at a gas station. Fourth, she cut her hair a bit shorter. Fifth, she wrote this in a hurry, which suggests that she does have a lead. That's really all I can figure out from this letter."
I shrugged, a bit dismayed at her ripping out a page of my Romeo and Juliet book. I had really liked that copy.
"Wait, she's in town?" I asked, suddenly realizing the point of his deductions. Holmes nodded. "Will she reveal herself to us?"
"I doubt it. If she didn't tell us she was in town when she wrote..."
"Yeah, I get it. So, ready to do some detective work?"
"Certainly. Do you need to change clothes?"
I glanced down at my khaki pants and blue t-shirt. They definitely weren't my best clothes, so I shook my head. Holmes paused as he looked himself over. As usual, he was wearing dress clothes.
"Well I do. Meet me in the main hall."
Holmes abandoned me in my room, leaving me to inhale the scent of lilacs one more time before I wearily got off the bed and trudged towards the door, a million thoughts running through my head.
This was my last case, I decided in exhaustion. Too many bad things had happened to us in the two years that I had known Holmes. I was getting sick and tired of rushing off to save a friend only to find them barely alive. I wanted a normal life. I wanted to go to the movies and giggle at chick flicks. I wanted to go out on normal dates. I wanted to spend my money on CDs, not detective crap. On my way out the door I grabbed the magnifying glass Christine had given me and stuck it in my pocket. It had become a habit to carry my magnifying glass with me. That just wasn't normal. I mean, most girls put on earrings or something on their way out the door. Me? I grab a magnifying glass.
I slipped down the stairs without incident. I was quite pleased with that, actually. Cherry had taken to poking her head out the door every five seconds just to make sure I wasn't going anywhere. She got on my nerves sometimes, but I really couldn't say anything. I'm sure that I annoyed her just as much.
I didn't have to wait long for Holmes to appear. He had, I noted with a grin, opted to wear the American clothes I had bought him the past summer. If anybody hadn't known it was winter, they would now. Holmes was wearing shorts, and it revealed his pale little chicken legs.
"Love the look, Holmes," I said quietly. Holmes glanced down and winced as he saw his legs.
"I wasn't trying to look stylish, Watson," he sniffed, looking hurt. I rolled my eyes and muttered something about guys being vain drama queens and walked out the door.
St. Ives wasn't all that different in weather with London, except that it felt cleaner. It was a nice little countryside town that smelled like fish. They lived on the seaside and had this thing for fishing, it would appear. It wasn't necessarily warm out, but it was a pleasant 40 degrees or so. The sun had managed to break through the clouds and was warming our path.
"So, do we check out all the gas stations first?" I asked, knowing the answer. Holmes merely nodded and started down the road. His eyes looked faintly troubled. He shoved his hands into his pockets, pursing his lips as he thought. I wished for a moment that I could get into his head, but quickly changed my mind. I could barely stand my own swirling thoughts, and didn't think I could stand another's. So instead, I focused on the rocks underneath my feet.
Holmes placed a hand on my shoulder, shaking me out of my rock observation. I glanced up into his eyes, which stared at my sympathetically. They looked... tired. Worn out. I bit my lip.
"Don't slip away and start thinking despairing thoughts, Watson," he reminded me. I rolled my eyes.
"Actually, I was thinking about the rocks. Not despairing thoughts, as you so eloquently put it," I shot back. Holmes merely raised an eyebrow and returned his attention to his own personal thoughts. I smacked him. "The same goes for you, Holmes."
"You don't need to worry about me, Watson."
"I know I don't need to. But I like to."
"That makes you sound like an old biddy."
"Thank you sooo much. I appreciate that opinion. I disagree, but-"
"Gas station."
Holmes started to jog ahead, leaving me in mid-insult. I cursed under my breath, muttering something about boys and cowards before I ran after him. By the time I reached him, he was beginning his conversation with the owner, or at least one of the workers. An older gentleman.
"A new kid? Yeah, I guess you could say that. She doesn't actually work here, but we've seen her hanging around more than usual. Name is Spades, or Ace, or some card like that. Black hair, sunglasses, really tall?"
Holmes frowned for a moment, but nodded anyway. I was a bit surprised. I'd never heard of a person like that in all my life. Did Holmes know her...?
"This girl laughs a lot, right?" Holmes inquired. The old man shook his head, scowling.
"Actually, no. She seems to hate people. Whenever I try to approach her, she runs off as though I got the measles or something. I've never heard her talk- no, wait, that isn't right. I heard her say 'leave me alone' to one of my workers once. She had a really weird accent. Bulgarian, or something."
"Maybe that isn't my friend. But she does like to trick people's minds. Anything else of interest about the girl?" Holmes persisted. The man looked suspiciously at Holmes but answered his question anyway.
"She always has a deck of cards with her, and I think she has a gun strapped around her waist. I've never really tried to look at it. She doesn't look like a very nice person, your friend. I'm a bit surprised she even has friends," the man admitted. Holmes merely nodded distractedly. I was busy trying to see if this weird girl was around anywhere. She wasn't.
"Well, thank you for your time, sir. I don't think that's my friend. She has brown hair and wouldn't be caught dead with a pair of sunglasses. Have a nice day," Holmes called back, already leaving the vicinity. I hastily followed after giving the man a brief smile.
He was walking faster than normal and looked a bit upset. I frowned.
"Holmes, what's wrong? Did you recognize the description of that girl?" I asked. Holmes nodded slowly.
"Have you ever heard of someone named Ace the Assassin?" he questioned. I began to shake my head in the negative, but paused.
"Didn't Raze tell you, like, one month ago about an advertisement in the criminal underworld that had her name in it?" I asked. Holmes nodded slowly.
"The description matches perfectly, but for the hair. Ace the Assassin had white hair... but everything else is perfect."
"You think we have an assassin on our hands?" Holmes nodded uncertainly. "Great. Just great. As if life couldn't get any worse."
Holmes attempted to smile reassuringly at me, but it came across strained. "Don't worry, Watson. Things can always get worse."
"Thanks, Holmes. You might want to look up 'reassurance' in the dictionary, by the way."
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It was ten at night by the time we got back. We had been to every gas station in town, not to mention hotel and convenience store asking about Christine. Not one word. There were about twenty strangers in town, but the people we spoke to only remembered a "black haired girl, really tall and really creepy looking". Of course, that was the assassin (or so we thought) Holmes had mentioned. He was seriously worried. I, on the other hand, was seriously tired and had demanded that we go back and get some sleep. Holmes had consented. I walked him to his dorm room and then headed off for my own.
Slipping the key into the lock, I quickly entered my room and locked it behind me. A cool breeze hit me in the face, and I welcomed it. Spring would be coming soon, I decided happily. Not that spring was much better than winter, but it was something. I patted the wall in a desperate search for the light switch. My hand touched the cool switch and I flipped it up. Light flooded my dorm room. I walked over to my bed and sat down, glancing out the window.
The window... was open, I realized in shock. I left my windows closed at all times because I liked to keep the heat in. But here it was, window wide open as though I had done it myself. I jumped off my bed and looked around for something sharp. Someone was in my room. My eyes caught sight of the plastic knife I had used to spread cream cheese on my bagel the other day. I grabbed it instantly, holding it tightly in my hand. I began by looking under the bed. Nobody. The closet? No one. Behind my door had a few dirty socks (gross), but that was it. Where was the person?
I gave up after ten minutes of futile search, instead going over to the window to try and use Holmes's methods to figure out things about my mysterious visitor. Unfortunately, my visitor had been unusually careful about mud traces or whatever. I think I stared at the window for five minutes before realizing that a black envelope was sitting on my bed.
While I mentally yelled at myself, I scooped it up and used the plastic knife to open it, figuring Holmes would want to study it for clues. I left the envelope, which had been addressed in silver ink to "Miss Jennifer Anne Watson" on my nightstand while I opened the letter.
It too was written in silver ink. Had it been from somebody that I knew, I would find the color remarkably cool. The fact that it had come from an unknown someone made the ink incredibly creepy.
Dear Miss Jennifer Anne,
I must say, it was a pleasure to know that you are hunting me. Two renowned detectives tracking the ever elusive black widow? An amusing tidbit of information. I thought you might care to know, though, that I have seen your little friend, Amanda Evie. I believe you refer to her as Kline? I thought you might like to know that Marie hasn't hurt her too badly- yet. I suggest you think quickly unless you want this spider to kill her.
Ace the Assassin
PS- Remember, spiders must be respected, or they will strike unrepentantly.
PPS- Your window lock was remarkably easy to pick, Miss Jennifer Anne.
An ace of spades fluttered out of the letter fold as I studied the letter in unrelenting horror. I nearly bent down to pick up the card, but decided against it. It might have fingerprints on it or something. Holmes might find that useful. I paused. What was I thinking? We knew who the culprit was. I bent over and picked it up.
It was a normal playing card. A single black spade in the middle. I flipped it onto the back to see the design and had to smirk a bit. It was a spider web. Ace the Assassin had a theme going, if nothing else. Aces and spiders. Intriguing bit of info. I didn't really care.
Instead, I rushed out of my room, running down the hallway to Holmes's room. Cherry poked her head out of her door to watch me, but I scowled at her and she disappeared back into her room. Reaching his door, I pounded on it desperately.
A tired looking Holmes answered the door, his hair already mussed from sleep, his clothes wrinkled. Apparently he had gone to bed in his clothes. He squinted at me and then raised an eyebrow.
"Watson, what is the matter? Thirty minutes ago you were pleading exhaustion, and now I find you pounding at my door. Is something wrong?" he asked. I gaped at him.
"And they call you a great detective? Of course something is wrong! Ace the Assassin was in my room! She left me a note and her calling card of sorts," I whispered urgently. His eyes widened and he griped my shoulders, burning holes into my eyeballs.
"Are you absolutely certain?"
"The letter, ace of spades card, and the fact that my window was open even though I had locked it are pretty much hard evidence," I snapped irritably.
"Yes... let's go. We don't want valuable evidence being lost."
I followed Holmes as he dashed down the hall and into my room. I stood in the doorway glancing nervously around as Holmes roved around my room, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He picked up the letter and read it, frowning a bit and biting his lips. He then looked at the envelope and picked up the ace of spades. His thin fingers danced on everything, taking in everything. Finally, after ten minutes of anxious silence, he turned back to me.
"She's good," he commented lightly. I raised an eyebrow.
"That's all?"
"Her point of entry was obvious, but she didn't leave anything on it. I would be surprised if she was careful not to touch anything. She wore gloves, I'm sure. I'll check just in case, but I think she would have worn gloves. The silver ink is not very expensive, but it is unique to London. The manufacturer sells it very rarely, and only to people who have a 'certain spirit' about them, I think he said."
"You and your connections."
"Yes..."
Holmes appeared troubled as he read the letter again, and I walked over to place a hand on his arm.
"Holmes, what is it? You look upset," I said. Holmes looked down at me and sighed.
"You didn't read the letter very closely, did you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Read it again."
I did as he requested, reading the letter intensely. I handed it back to him, shivering a bit.
"It's creepy, Holmes. I don't think I like this Ace much. She has a smug tone about her, and an evil one. I can just imagine her voice. Soft, whispery, but full of malice. Can't you just see her, bent over this piece of paper, writing slowly and reading it aloud to herself, lips curled in an arrogant smirk? Oh God, I can just see it!" I said softly, my imagination getting the better of me. I did see it all. A tall girl, gun on her side, holding a pen that gave off silver ink. A scary, soft laugh that frightened Kline, made her cry, as Ace the Assassin pulled out her gun and aimed...
"Watson! Watson, snap out of it! You are letting your imagination get the better of you," Holmes said in my ear. I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at Holmes tearfully. It wouldn't be the first time I cried, but I had always been careful not to cry much in front of him.
"Oh Holmes... Kline is probably so scared," I whispered, tears beginning to slip out of my eyes. Holmes looked at me sympathetically and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"I wish I could reassure you, Watson. But here is the bad news: Marie has Kline, not Ace."
I stared at him in shock and then snatched the letter out of his hand, rereading it.
'Marie hasn't hurt her too badly- yet'
'Yet'
'Marie'
'Hurt her'
I sank down on my bed, tears flowing rapidly now. My breathing became shallow and the room began to buzz. Holmes was by my side in an instant, flapping the envelope rapidly as to get some cool air in my face. I realized that I must look as though I was going to pass out, so I held his arm still.
"It's all right, Holmes, I'm not going to pass out. I'm just... just... oh God! This isn't fair! This wasn't supposed to happen to us! I want to be normal, Holmes! I don't want to be involved in mysteries anymore! I want to be a normal teenager, with a normal boyfriend, and a normal life! It isn't fair that one friend is in the hands of a sadistic murderer that happens to be your mother! It isn't fair that one friend just can't take it and runs away! It isn't fair that we're left to pick up the pieces, go in and save the day! Damn it, Holmes! Why the hell did you drag me into this?" I shouted, bursting into tears. I collapsed sideways into Holmes's lap after my tirade, shaking with tears. Holmes ran skillful hands over my hair, teasing the tangles away. He didn't answer me, just let me cry. His hands were shaking, I noticed in the midst of my sobs, but I didn't do anything. I just cried.
When I was done, I looked up at Holmes. His own eyes were blank, devoid of any emotion that resembled sadness, anger, or even happiness. Just emptiness. I shook him, and he looked at me sadly.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice hoarse. I nodded silently, and then looked around my room.
"I don't think I can stay here tonight, Holmes," I whispered. He looked at me sharply, then nodded, taking my hand in his.
"Come along. My room has a couch that I can sleep on."
I barely protested as he led me down the hall, into his own room. Guiding me gently, he sat me down on his bed and then forced me to lay down. Holmes pulled the covers up to my shoulders, leaned over, and kissed me on the cheek.
"Good night, Watson. I'll wake you up in the morning," he said gently. I was already half way asleep, though, and merely let out a breath in response. I heard Holmes take himself to the couch, lay down on it, turn over, and then let out a sigh. I closed my eyes and began to drift off.
I wasn't awake when Holmes began to cry.
Ok, and that is it for this chapter. Yes, it's somewhat depressing, I guess. I'm in a depressed mood. I tried to throw a little bit of humor in, but I don't think it worked very well. Oh well. You can't blame me for trying. Thanks for all the reviews, they really made me feel special. I love you all for reviewing! Keep doing it, it makes these things come out faster. I know, not very fast at all, but if you didn't review, can you imagine what would happen? Remember those six months when I didn't update...?
Bit of sad news- this is my last story in the series. I've pretty much run out of ideas and am tired of writing these. The characters have changed so much. Christine and Kline, however, I'm going to continue to use. I've grown quite fond of them. When this is done, you won't be seeing the last of them... that's right, sigh! All of you! Bwahahahahahahahahaha!