"What's this?"
"Proof Richard Brook is a forged identity. His real name was Jim Moriarty."
That information was pretty easy to find. Jim craved credit for his brilliance, and so he didn't hide his real identity very well. All it took was blackmailing a few whimpering cowards he bribed.
"Well."
Lestrade is silent. Is he disappointed? Relieved? He seemed to believe in me yesterday, did something happen to change is mind? Why is he just sitting there? Did I do something wrong? He's just staring at the documents.
"Well?"
"I...I guess this isn't solid evidence Sherlock was framed. But it's a step in the right direction."
"The right direction?"
He's staring at me. Relief. Chagrin. And a little...sadness?
"Well, I mean... Have you interviewed his character witnesses?"
For the first time, I don't know exactly what's going on in Lestrade's simple mind. Sadness is obvious now. But why? He seems to be mourning. Maybe that would explain the mood swings. Maybe his partner left him or a relative died. Sentiment.
"I'm doing that next."
"Right. Well, let me know.. Now, if you'll excuse me."
"Of course."
He's blinking rapidly. Either tears or irritation. Now he's pretending to read a piece of paper, but the paper is upside down and his eyes aren't scanning it. What made him so upset?
"Lestrade?"
"Yes?"
"Just... Have a nice day."
"You too."
He's smiling now. Good.
She smells like coffee and formaldehyde, as usual. Nostalgia. It's a terrible combination of scents. She hasn't noticed me yet. Did she not hear me come in? Can she not smell me? I guess I should let her know I'm here.
"Molly Hooper?"
She whirled around quickly. Her pupils are dilated and her eyebrows are faintly furrowed: surprise and fear. I guess I should've been more subtle.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
"Oh no, you're fine. What can I do for you?"
She's relaxing, leaning against the counter. Her shoulders slump. She looks tired.
"I'm Detective Inspector Hamish Cheveux, and I'd like to ask you some questions about Sherlock Holmes."
The slight smile on her lips is so obvious. An amateur would think that means she's glad I'm dead, but I'm not an amateur. It means she knows I'm alive. She'd better learn to lie more convincingly. Maybe I trusted the wrong person with my plan.
"Nice to meet you, Detective Inspector Cheveux."
"Hamish."
"Ok, Hamish then. And yes, I can help you. I suppose I can say I knew him as well as one could. No, John Watson is a better person to ask. He really knew him. But, I'm happy to help. What would you like to know?"
John. I have to talk to him eventually. I just...don't want to see him. I wish I didn't have to lie to him. I wish he could've helped me in place of Molly. But, no. Molly was my secret weapon. She wasn't close to me; she wasn't targeted. Maybe she's a poor actress, but she's the only one I could trust. The one I had to trust. I made the right choice, the only one I could. I don't know why I keep feeling this way. Regret.
"Describe the last time you saw Sherlock Holmes."