Part Four: An Unlocked Window
It's nearly eleven o'clock. I slowly inch my way in the window of 221B Baker Street. I've got less than thirty minuets to get in the flat and find a hiding spot. If my prediction on who is breaking in every night is correct, then he'll know the second he enters that someone else has been in the flat just by the change of temperature.
Quickly I find a spot behind a door to hide behind. Time goes by as I wait for the flat's nightly visitor to show up. Just as my phone's clock reaches 11:23 I hear the window open. Then I hear a pair of feet shuffle across the floor. The person sits at the microscope and begins working. I peak my head out from behind the door to see who it is.
"You might as well come out. I saw you when I came in," the man says. At that I immerge from my hiding spot and approach the man. "Did you really think I haven't noticed you? You were hanging out my grave today, why?"
So I was right, it is him. "I'm surprised a man of your intellect would need to ask. You seem to be a master at the science of deduction."
"So you're a fan?"
"A master myself," I smile as he looks up shocked.
"You? You're a child," he stands walking toward me. At his great hight he towers over me.
"Oh please Mr. Holmes, don't underestimate me. I know by the look of just your state of dress that I am not the only person who knows you're still living, your clothes are far too clean. Mrs. Hudson knows. She's taken it upon herself to keep this place as neat as possible in case some nosey 'fan' comes snooping around, and she's done the same with your laundry," I surprise him by my knowledge.
"And what have you been working on?" he asks going back to his work.
"My questions first," I insist. He nods his head in approval, "Why haven't you told John?" At John's name he stops his work, but doesn't bring his eyes up to meet mine.
"He doesn't care. I've seen him," he stands and walks over to the skull on the mantel.
"Yes he does."
"Is that your expert deduction? That he still cares?" he asks rolling his eyes.
"It doesn't take an expert for this Mr. Holmes. He was almost brought to tears at the mention of your name. He still believes in you," I explain as he walks over to his laptop.
"He doesn't blog about it," he points out opening the webpage.
"He ended that blog after your death. He doesn't know what to write. Look closely and you will see obvious sings of sorrow. He feels lost, the same way he did when he first came home from war," he slams his laptop shut and sulks over to his chair by the fire place. He pulls his feet under himself as he sits down.
"Why doesn't he just come here?" he pouts.
"The same reason he still pays for this flat. He doesn't want to believe you're gone," I say slowly.
"He's stupid to think I am gone. He always was an empty sort," he huffs.
"No, Sherlock. He's not an empty sort," I begin walking toward the window, "he never was. He's got a heart full of love and compassion. Sure, his mind isn't full of knowledge the way yours and mine is, but it's not empty. You're his best friend Sherlock. His heart is full of feelings for other people, something yours obviously lacks," I say climbing out the window. He follows me over and stands looking at me. "You tell him, or I will. I'll be back tomorrow to talk again. Goodbye Mr. Holmes."