Part Two: Behind an Unlocked Door
I hear a soft click and push the door open. The place is kept nicely. It's cleaned well, though it doesn't look like anyone has been walking through these halls regularly. Everything at eye level is shiny and shows very little signs of age. While everything six feet or higher is covered in dust. It's as if the person who regularly cleans the house can only reach up to five and a half feet. They had, at one point, someone who would help them clean the tops of doorways and the top halves of windows. Now it looks as if that person has disappeared. The entire entry way is nearly identical to my own. Slowly, I step up the old stairs to get to the apartment above. With each step the floor lets out a low creek. I'm cautious as I go up the old staircase. Someone could hear me, and question why I'm in an apartment that is not my own.
When I enter the flat I quickly deduce that it has not been vacant all the months since Sherlock's death. The light switch is still slightly warm, showing that someone's hand brushed it to turn it off not long ago. I cautiously tip toe into the kitchen where I see multiple microscopes and test tubes. Someone has clearly been doing different experiments in here recently, as they're all left partially done.
With my curiosity getting the best of me, I begin to dig through the papers on the desk. The author of these documents has obviously had a lot of time on his or her hands. He writes quickly, and sloppily, showing it's a person who writes up files daily, or did write up files daily. The papers belong to an old doctor or possible someone in police work that is used to taking notes. In the sink is a pile of unwashed dishes. The food isn't rotten, proving someone was here recently.
"What are you doing?" a voice exclaims behind me. I turn around to see an older woman standing on the floor landing. She's only around five feet tall, proving that she is the one who can no longer reach the higher areas of the entryway.
"I'm sorry, I was just checking out the flat. I thought, maybe because of Sherlock's death this place might be available," I tell the woman. Her face softens a little at Sherlock's name.
"Well it's not. John still has the place. He just hasn't spent the night much since the-" she stops mid-sentence not knowing what to call the event that took place months before. She was close to him, to Sherlock. You can tell by the way she speaks of him. He must've been the one that assisted her in all the cleaning. It's amazing to me that she hasn't noticed that the pile of food grows larger by the day, or that the papers and experiments get moved around regularly.
"Oh," I say walking toward her, "yes I understand, I'm sorry for intruding," she nods her head a little still at a loss for words, "you're Mrs. Hudson right? The land lady?"
She looks at me surprised, "How?"
"Well, I read John's blog. I even read Sherlock's website. I really am sorry for intruding. I live across the street and I've always been curious about this place. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to find me," I say as we walk back down the stairs. She seems like she could use a friend. If John truly doesn't come visit her often, she must be very lonesome. I can tell by the smile she gives me as we reach the bottom of the steps that she is a kind lady. We stop at the door and I say good-bye.
Before she shuts the door she calls out after me, "What's your name dear?"
"Kathryn."