Time passed. Days, weeks, months; it didn't matter. The buzz around the murder had finally begun to die down. The police turned to other things. Things that may have been important at the time, but have very little importance in the outcome of this story. At that moment, everyone in London had forgotten that there was a dead woman at St. James Park. Well, nearly everyone. After all, deaths were common in such a large city. If you had not heard of their death then you most likely did not live there in the first place.
John had nearly forgotten about the whole ordeal in an instant. Well, if one was to ask Sherlock. John hadn't even written what had happened in his one could not blame him, since he was not really involved in any of the matters pertaining to it. He was also too busy spending time with a certain interesting woman he had seen months before. Molly hadn't mentioned the murder in nearly a month, as she had other bodies to attend to. In fact it seemed as if Sherlock Holmes himself had let that information slip away from his memory. Of course, if you were to ask he would strongly disagree with this conclusion. He had kept the recorder in his room on a nightstand, letting the murder steep in the back of his mind.
However time had indeed passed, and the sounds of the recording became nothing more than a distant hum that had once echoed on Baker street. This would come to change, for nothing truly remains the same for the inhabitants of flat 221B.
Today was not a rare occurrence. The beginnings of fall had once again begun to set in. The air had a new crisp edge to it and a light chill had settled on London. The promises of winter were not far off.
Whatever the weather outside, it was cozy in Baker street. Sherlock was busy cutting up a heart that he had "borrowed" from Molly's lab. He'd managed to take it without her adding any preservatives. He place a car battery on the side of the table. He grabbed the wires and began to connect them to the heart. He was ready to connect the other ends to the battery, but someone stopped him.
"What on Earth are you doing?" A voice inquired behind him.
"An experiment, John," Sherlock stated what he felt was the obvious.
John walked in the room and glanced down at the heart. His eyes then surveyed the kitchen. It was a disaster. Cups, plates, and body parts of all sorts were strewn about the room. Sherlock continued placing the wires.
"You forgot." John stated simply.
Sherlock stopped himself and looked at John. His eyes squinted and he was on the verge of a glare.
"Excuse me?"
John stared at his flat mate. There was the slightest look of his disappointment hidden in the depth of his eyes.
"You forgot. Now you have to clean up the entire flat within two hours."
"Forgot what John?" Sherlock asked, a little bit of annoyance could be heard in his voice.
"You are meeting Mary tonight." John stated, taking a whiff of the room," Strange I can't smell formaldehyde, methanol or ethanol."
"Of course not, this heart hasn't been tampered with in the slightest." Sherlock paused. "Don't tell me you're still planning on us meeting."
"Sherlock, you're going to meet her," John stated.
"Why would you want me to meet her? You know too well that I pick apart every one of your dates. It wouldn't make sense to bring her..." he stopped. His eyes widen in disbelief. "Oh."
"What?" John asked, suddenly uneasy. Sherlock had finally began to consider what John had become quite about.
"You can't be serious John," Sherlock stood up and left the kitchen.
John followed him, unsure where he was going. Sherlock seemed furious about something John had done.
"What do you mean?" John called after Sherlock as he made his way down the stairs.
Sherlock grabbed his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck.
"You can't be seriously be thinking about getting married," he snapped.
"Oh, and why not?"
"It is not logical. Only simple minded people would even dream about getting married. It is a waste of time and is purely emotional," he turned and stepped outside.
"Where do you think you're going!?" John opened the door and tried to catch up.
"Bart's." Sherlock was tempted to call a cab, but then decided against it. He took off down the sidewalk.
John entered back into the building. He was furious. Mrs. Hudson was walked out of her side of the flat, her eyes wide and a smile on her face.
"Not following Sherlock today?" Mrs. Hudson asked and then stared at the door. "It is rather strange."
"Not strange. He is just acting like the child he is." John stomped up to the flat.
He slammed the door shut causing it to echo through the house. just stood there for a moment. Then after an awkward stretch of silence she decided it was best to go back into her flat. After all there had to be something decent on the telly. Maybe a rerun of Doctor Who.
.