Chapter Eighteen: Within the Hour
Sherlock stood on the side of the road, eyes wide. I realized what I had said. Dad.
"I am so sorry Sherlock I didn't mean it at all I swear." I quickly say, hoping he will understand.
"Clara it is completely fine, I am technically your father anyway." He said, then turning to gaze out the window, a smile growing on his lips.
"I don't have much homework, it's almost child's play." I say. Sherlock turns his attention to me, facing his body towards me.
"Remember what I said, no case if your homework isn't done."
"I know, I bet I can have it done in an hour"
"I'm sure you can, considering how smart you are for your age. What homework do you have?" He asks. For once Sherlock actually seems interested in what I have to do.
"I have Chemistry, History, Maths and History; not a lot for each."
"You should be right, have you eaten today?" He asked, concerned.
"Why…?" I ask.
"I just don't want you making the same mistakes I did when I was at school and that I still do now." He said.
"Well…in that case yes, I have eaten my lunch today. Molly made it for me. Apparently she will make lunch before she leaves for work and put it in the fridge and when I stay at your flat, Mrs. Hudson will make it in exchange for me helping her do some cleaning." I say.
"Sounds fair, Mrs. Hudson will probably get you to make sure that our flat 'clean'." He said, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, as clean as it will bloody get, the flat is full of dust Sherlock." I say.
"Yeah, now you sound just like Mrs. Hudson." He says.
"Well it is unhygienic, I am surprised that you haven't gotten sick or anything." I say.
"I'm used to it." He said.
The remainder of the cab journey was in silence, expect for the occasional siren and honking of car horns. We arrived at Baker Street less than 15 minutes after leaving school. I hurried inside and sat down on my side of the desk. Sherlock must have tided it up because it was clear of any papers. I opened my Chemistry textbook and began the hellish hour of work. Sherlock wondered in afterwards, gingerly picking up his violin and began composing his
"DONE!" I scream, slamming my Math textbook shut, in less than an hour too. I quickly pack all my stuff in my bag and dash downstairs to find Mrs. Hudson taking out a slice.
"Oh hello dear, you are just in time for your afternoon tea. Now, I don't know what you like, but I made you a zucchini slice." She added, placing the tin on the stove to cool.
My mind went black, memories flashed before my eyes of an older woman, only seeing the time worn skin and the many rings embezzling her fingers. I couldn't see her face, like most of memories. The taste of this woman slice dancing on my tongue. "Hang on one second Mrs. Hudson." I say, I bolt out of her flat, upstairs and scanned the room for my notebook. "Where is it?" I question myself. I scramble through Sherlock's papers on his side of the desk, my room and the kitchen. Nothing.
"Looking for this?" I turn to see Sherlock holding my notebook, open to the page of things I remember. "It's interesting how you can only remember things that seem sentimental to you." He says, flicking through the back pages of the book.
"Give it back. I need it." I ask, the coldness in my tone sending a chill down my own spine. Sherlock stares down at me, reading me again. "Did you get anything?" He snaps the book shut and tosses it to me. I catch it, earning a paper cut on my index finger. I quickly jot down what I remember, the smells, the taste, who I saw… That woman.
"Clara, go and have some dinner, I have a feeling we will have a case tonight." Sherlock yells from his bedroom.
"But it is like 4 o'clock Sherlock!"
"You never know with Scotland Yard, they just pounce on you whenever you aren't ready."
"Fine. You come down too. You need to eat. I can tell you haven't eaten all day." I hear him groaning, and after some more persuasion, he appeared form his dark cave of a room.
"It's 5:30 Sherlock, I don't know why you are so fussed about not having a case." I said, slapping the leather couch with my arms.
"You just wait Clara, he will call." He placed his fingertips on his lips again. I glance down at my notebook, the anagram laughing at me. I had a few more words down, but the possibilities are endless. I look around the living room. Seeing the dust dancing in the cool air. My eyes caught a glimpse of a pile of newspapers. I pull myself out of the couch and wander over. I pick the first one. The front page was of Piccadilly Circus, the electronic billboard where covered with a man's face, with the words "MISS ME?" printed directly next to the man's face.
"Sherlock… who is this man?" I ask, showing him the front page. As if it was pure chance, Sherlock's phone rang through the silent flat.
"I will tell you if it ever becomes relevant. Get changed and quickly, we have a case." Sherlock said, accepting the call. I ran to my room, taking my shirt of as I did and changed into a pair of jeans and a top. I stuffed my feet into my converses, not caring if it made them scream in pain. I put on my jumper and grabbed my small bag, placing my drink bottle, scarf, beanie, gloves and notebook inside. By the time I was done, Sherlock was done and he had put his shoes on and coat on. I reached to the top of the hook, trying to get my coat. Sherlock leans over me grabs it, smirking as he handed it to me.
"Thank you, will we be running a lot this evening?"
"Depends, are you in for catching a serial killer?"
"What do you mean serial killer?"
"Don't play dumb Clara, you know exactly what I mean."
"Hang on, so there is another anagram?" I say, my mind puzzled from the fact that this is possible. I haven't even solved the first one. "Is this person the same as the last?" I ask, biting the side of my cheek.
"Fortunately yes, but he is getting better at correcting his mistakes." Lestrade says. He runs his fingers through his silver hair, the poor man. His wife has cheated on him countless times and the man is struggling.
"Are you okay Greg?" I ask, pulling him aside.
"Yeah yeah Clara, I'm okay, just a little stressed about the case." He didn't even make eye contact with me.
"Pardon my French but bullshit, I know what's going on. I was going to ask if there is anything that I can do to help. Maybe come by in the mornings and get your kids ready of a morning and take them to school. I know they go to my school. Seriously Greg, I wan to help." I say. Tears welled up in Lestrade's eyes, he pulled me into a hug, the man was devastated.
"She's gone, and she left me with my two sons, they don't understand what is going on, I can't tell them. All those "business trips" she was taking, she was fucking other men." He cried, my shoulder soaked with his salty tears. We were earning looks for the other officers in the building. Lestrade pulled me into his office.
"Lestrade, do you want my help?" I ask.
"Clara, you have your own problems, with you not knowing who you really are, but your help would be help me out a lot. I'll give you my address and contact number. He quickly writes it down on a post-it note and hands it to me.
"Clara! Let's go, you need to get home." Sherlock bellows from outside.
"I'll talk to him about it now." Lestrade said. Sherlock wandered into the office and I walked out, waiting on the lobby of the station. About ten minutes later Lestrade and Sherlock exited the lift, Sherlock with a stern face plastered on his face. Shit.
"See you tomorrow Clara, I will introduce you to the twins." Lestrade says.
"Yeah yeah, sure." I tremble. Sherlock had already waltzed out of Scotland Yard. "Is he okay?" I ask.
"I think this case has gotten to him a little. I will have Sherlock tell you the new anagram. You better get going, it's getting late." Lestrade added. He patted me on the back and headed back towards the lift. I followed Sherlock outside. But he had gone.
Fuck.