Chapter 6 - Hands
Katrina woke up by the ring of her alarm, opening her eyes, laying on her right side. She felt some warm sun rays on her face, a welcomed joy after weeks of rain. She almost believed the weather would never change after the fall. And like every morning, she felt again this depression, that kept her from getting up. Again she wanted to just stay in bed, switch off the world for some days or even weeks, until she eventually wouldn't even remember anymore why she was laying in there. But she knew she had to stand up. Tara needed her and that was after all also the reason for her being here. She needed her care and her love, in order to develop into a kind human being.
She sighed, but soon Ciri came over to cheer her up. She brought her socks, was wagging her tail, when she watched her getting dressed.
"Wake up, Tara!", she whispered into her ear, after she went into her room, seeing the little girl still fast asleep, holding her teddy bear in her arms, which she got from Sherlock one day. When Katrina's hands stroked over the plush toy, she started smiling, thinking about how she and Sherlock went together to a huge toy shop for a case, where they had to find, how John called him, the plush murderer. It was there, where Sherlock bought a toy for Tara. At first he didn't make a big deal out of it, not evening mentioning it to Katrina. Only when they arrived back to Baker Street he took the bear out of his pocket and handed it over to the little girl. Katrina realised how Tara was snuggling even more with the bear ever since Sherlock died. She even sometimes took him to the dining table and to the bathroom, never leaving him out of sight.
"Hi Mom!", she yawned, touching Katrina softly on the cheek. Ever since she became blind, Tara touched her more often in order to signalise her that she is here.
"You want some pancakes?"
"Only if they don't make you sick!", she remembered the few days when Katrina couldn't eat anything because of morning sickness, but thankfully she could still count them on one hand.
"Oh, believe me, I want nothing more right now!", she smiled, stroking the girl over her head, kissing her on the forehead.
"Can I stay at Mia's place after school? I promise we will do homework. But she wanted to show me the new treehouse her dad made for her in the garden!", she asked, chewing on one of the pancakes.
"Sure! But please be home by 6, okay?"
"Okay!"
"Will they feed you there?"
"Of course! Mia's mom makes the best Yorkshire Pudding in all of England!", she exclaimed. Katrina laughed. She didn't really like this dish too much herself, so she appreciated if any other parents of her classmates where specialised in cooking British dishes. She realised quite soon her fondness for British cuisine. When they would make beans and sausages in the military camp in Afghanistan, Tara was the one with a great appetite, often asking for more. Katrina always made sure she got enough food, especially since she was quite skinny when she came to the paediatric wing.
"Be careful, okay!", they hugged, Tara kissed Katrina on the cheek.
"I will! Don't worry."
They waved goodbye and Tara closed the door behind her. It was almost time for Katrina to get going, she wanted to take the tube to the St. Barth's morgue. After she cleaned herself up in the bathroom and put on some loose clothes, she prepared Ciri's harness and grabbed the handle shortly afterwards. On her left hand she carried her white stick, put on her leather boots and her coat (her style was surprisingly similar to Sherlock's) and went out of the flat.
"Bye, Mrs. Hudson. I will meet Inspector Lestrade in the morgue.", she yelled while passing by the open door of Mrs. Hudson's flat. She was preparing to go out to do the grocery shopping and vocally scolded her hat for not fitting over her hairdo as she would've wished for.
Katrina already knew how many steps she had to take until she reached the stairs of the underground station of Baker Street. The Metropolitan Line was the first one to arrive, so she stepped in, grabbed a handle and waited to reach Barbican Station, which usually took exactly 16 minutes. She often hated the smell inside the tube, especially since her pregnancy. Through the years of being blind she developed her own strategie on how to suppress the overwhelming amount of smell and noises by just concentrating on her own thoughts or on Ciri.
When she left the tube on Barbican Station and took the escalator to the surface, she felt the sun and the chilly wind on her skin. It was a nice sensation, feeling both warm and cold and if she would've had a hand free, she would have tightened her coat around her neck. But so she just hurried up, her stick tracking the ground under her feet, holding the handle on Ciri's harness tight. She knew the way and was happy about the fact that Lestrade would, as he usually did, await her on the stairs of the hospital to guide her to the morgue. Already after 10 minutes she reached her destination and heard Lestrade hurrying down the stairs, softly placing his hand on her shoulder and greeting her.
"Hey, Katrina! How are you?", he asked, offering his arm to her, which she grabbed after drawing in her stick.
"Ah, you know…", she said, and he immediately seemed to know what was on her heart, so he stopped asking. The death of Sherlock was also for him quite a traumatic experience and for the last few weeks he seemed a bit lost, since he grew so familiar with having the consulting detective by his side.
Katrina told Ciri to wait at the reception (the lady working there loved the dog and usually offered to watch over her while Katrina was in the morgue) and joined Lestrade into the lift that took them to the morgue. It was an awkward silence. None of them really knew what to talk about, everything seemed inappropriate after the death of Sherlock. It was a relieve for both of them, when they finally entered the morgue and stood in front of the corpse, a young woman in her mid twenties, who was found dead in her apartment last evening.
As usual, Katrina tucked her sleeves up and placed her hands softly on the body in front of her. Her fingers lingered around, searching for any clue that might give her a hint on the cause of death. Her fingers stopped on the young woman's right upper arm. A bump. She drew small circles around it, touched it, closed her eyes as she concentrated on the thing under the woman's skin.
"She got an injection right there, on the back of her upper arm.", she said, keeping her fingers there so Lestrade could see where she was pointing at.
"It would be a miracle if she gave herself this injection, since there are no signs of bruises nor a big wound, especially when you consider that she is a right hander. Her muscles are much more developed in the right arm.", she added, looking now into the direction of Lestrade, who was standing right behind her.
"So you mean, that someone must have given it to her while she wasn't aware?"
"Precisely."
She heard Lestrade clicking on his recorder and speaking about what Katrina just encountered. He was still, after all this time, happy to have her. She could feel and notice things that others missed and was a perfect partner for Sherlock, who deducted a lot with his eyes. They were like an inseparable couple, who found hints after hints that lead to the murderer in any case. It was a miracle actually, that he got to know both of them separately.
So she was killed by her boyfriend, a drug addict. She wanted to break up with him, since she didn't want to deal anymore with his addiction. When she came home after a party, drunk, sleeping on the sofa, he gave her an overdose and wanted to let it seem as if she commited suicide. It was in the early evening, when Katrina made her way home. They arrested the boyfriend, who would face trial in the next few weeks.
She was exhausted, when she finally laid down in her bed and closed her eyes. It just wasn't the same anymore without Sherlock. It felt as if something was missing and it was painful. She cried, thinking about the times they spent together, on cases, in the morgue, in the flat, hand in hand. She cried and asked herself, why all of it had to happen.
