A/N: Sorry for leaving you all on a cliffhanger for about a year, but I've finally updated. I'm not sure that I've chosen the right style for telling a story, but we'll have to see. As usual, I don't quite know where I'm going after this, but I enjoy leaving the endings open – gives me creative license Please R&R.
I'm going back on my word and I'm publishing here AND at my blog (http://shfanfiction. I figured that it was the right thing to do, considering that I haven't been around for a while… The next update will be blog ONLY, so please bookmark me! I promise that it'll be worth your while, especially if you comment there… In any case, please enjoy the latest installment.
Without further delay, Holmes began his tale: "There's a private little island in the American Midwest – settled by Scandinavians, the island is obsessed by the sea. I had a little blue cottage, hidden in a personal forest, with a dock for my fishing boat. Sometimes, when I had witnessed a gruesome aftermath, I would take my boat out and fish. It didn't matter if I caught anything, but there was something about the soft 'whoosh' of the waves that calmed the tangled mess in my mind."
Holmes let a small smile play across his lips as he reminisced, disguising the tearful glimmer that began developing in the corners of his eyes. "And my wife, Jennifer, loved this cottage. She was a Midwestern girl and often longed for fresh air after the smog of London. Eventually, we moved to America, where I had my first job." When Sabina gave him a questioning glance, he added, "She was my high school sweetheart. She used to worry so much for my safety – and this was back in the days when I was a cop. She told me that one day, I'd get shot, especially if I didn't watch my smart mouth.
"And she was right – I was a smart ass. I was a brilliant young officer – scratch that, a foolish young officer. I thought that I could shoot my mouth off, just because I could see things that the others couldn't and solved crimes before the detectives themselves. Well one day, I caught a guy, said something dumb to him– I don't remember what exactly – and thought nothing of it. He was a pervert and a murderer anyway and I knew that he'd be locked up for a long time." As an explanation, he added sarcastically, "Selling homemade child pornography and murdering hookers is generally frowned upon these days."
"As the media would have it, my face made the front page of the news and I was actually proud of that. Proud!" Holmes clenched his jaw and smashed a bandaged fist against the door frame. A couple drops of blood splashed against Sabina's stoop as one of Holmes' hand wounds reopened. Sabina resisted the urge to re-bandage his hand and stayed silent while Holmes continued his story. "Jennifer clipped the article out and stuck it proudly in her scrapbook. 'It's for our children one day', she used to tell me with a playful smile."
Holmes swallowed hard. "I had seen some things that I had wanted to forget that day, so we scheduled a trip to the cottage. I was on the water for about a half an hour when I heard a loud crashing noise. I don't know if you've come across this, but for some reason, cops have this 'gut feeling' when it comes to danger – I had a sinking, sick sort of feeling at the pit of my stomach and I raced the boat to shore. I barely docked it, before I hit the deck running."
Holmes' speech came haltingly, as though he was forcing himself to relive a past that he had tried to forget. He clenched his fists; more droplets of blood splashed while Holmes remained oblivious to his corporeal pain. His eyes began filling and he averted his gaze, looking blankly into an unforgiving past. "Apparently, we weren't as secure as I had hoped. The pervert whom I arrested had a couple of unforgiving friends who decided that I was really bad for business. They fled the scene before I could get to my wife. She had been crocheting in the living room…some tiny shoe looking things I had never seen her make before and of all the colors to choose from, pink…they lay in a tiny heap next to her, soaking in her blood…I could never figure out what she was making, to tell you the truth…"
Sabina knew what she had been making, but suppressed a gasp. He didn't need to know that now; he wasn't ready for that information. Holmes took a deep, shuddering breath; his face resumed a stony composure and he looked Sabina square in the eye, in order to drive home the point of his story. "My own wife, Sabina. I allowed my own wife to die, all for some smart-assed bullshit." Sabina saw a hardened resolved in his clenched jaw and wild eyes, as Holmes lowered his voice: "I will not allow another innocent pay for my mistakes. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," Sabina managed to whisper.
