The heavy door opens and reveals a totally destroyed living area. From the place you stand you can get a glimpse of the kitchen. The once clean place has now turned into a battlefield. Beer cans are lying all over the floor. Dirty dishes and pizza boxes with rests of food in it, were along the sink and the working place. An awful stench reaches you and Sherlock. You both put your hands in front your faces, to keep the worst smell from getting into your nose. A heavy sigh escapes your lungs as you take a step into the house. The wooden floor under your feet creaks as you turn around to see Sherlock following you immediately.
"You really don't have to accompany me. I don't want you to see that...", the last part turns into a
whisper and you try to look anywhere else but his eyes. For once you succeed.
Sherlock smiles, winks and takes another step into the house, while the floor creaks under his fancy black shoes.
"I want to.", he says before adding, "and I've already seen worse."
Sherlock and you make your way through the waste and bottles of beer, to the staircase. Sherlock is already up the first stair as you silently inform:"Wrong stair. My stuffs in the cellar." He frowns at you and than whispers a curse, as if he couldn't accept that he has been wrong. You get down the stairs as silent as possible and Sherlock's following you. You finally get to your room.
A cold place with four walls and a few posters on the them, the shelves are nearly empty, only few books on them. The carpenter on the floor is stained and gray. You open a shelf next to a small bed and put your clothes into the suitcase Sherlock has taken out from under your bed. You grab everything you have, which isn't so much, and throw it mindlessly into the case. Than you kneel down next to the entering door, pull the carpet away and tear open the floor. There is a hole, just big enough to hide something in it. You tear out a pack of banknotes and push them atop the clothes and with Sherlock's help you close the black suitcase.
Sherlock grabs the suitcase and heads up the stairs, you quickly follow him. In the hurry your hand grazes the already broken lamp and it falls down on the floor with a loud thumb. The light bulb smashes into a million tiny little pieces. The noises of the shattering glass echoes through the silent house, which makes them seem even louder. You hastily look up to Sherlock. In your expression lies desperation, fear and self-disappointment. Out of some kind of habit you press your hand over the fresh cuts to make them bleed again. Sherlock notices but doesn't say anything, he just gives you his sad puppy eyes and than stares back up the stairs. The both of you listen carefully if you can hear something, or better someone, moving. But nothing. Relieve shows on your faces and a quick smile gets formed on his lips. Your eyes open widely in fear as you hear someone yelling:"Who the hell is in my house?"