The Laws of Attraction - The Blind Banker

The Blind Banker

     She didn't know how long they stayed at the scene.  The flashing squad cars and cameras were enough to induce a seizure, or at least worsen Leanna's headache.  She watched as the yellow tape went up and many dozens of cops crawled about — not even Sherlock Holmes could pick up the trail of the Black Lotus, much to his dismay.  

     He'd dashed straight to Dimmock when they'd emerged onto the streets.  Sarah was in the back of an ambulance beneath an orange blanket, and John had never left her side.  A medic was seeing to his head, not that he'd let them do much more than a couple steri strips.

     Leanna was left to herself in the middle of all the stimulation.  She didn't know if it was the activity, or just the state of her head that was making her so dizzy.  Suddenly, she stumbled sideways, bracing herself against a wall before doubling over and tossing up her dinner.

     "Nausea and vomiting are symptoms of a concussion.  You should get that head checked."

     When she finished heaving, Leanna looked up to see Sherlock through foggy eyes.

     She sighed, "Fish 'n' chips doesn't taste as good the other way 'round."

     "You could have an intracranial hemorrhage."

     "Shouldn't you be... detectiving?"  With much effort, she straightened up and leaned against the wall.

     "Or a brain herniation."

     "I think I'd know if I had a... herniation in my brain."

     "Only a CT scan will know."

     "Leave the doctoring to John, he's got better bedside manner."

     "Irritability, also a symptom of being concussed."  

     "After the past few days, I'm allowed to be a little irritated."

     Leanna exhaled into her hands, fingers massaging her weak eyes.  She slumped against the wall.  She muttered around her fingers.

     "To think... I only went to the bank for an interview — never expected to be here, now, feeling completely miserable, still out of a job, mind you, and I'll probably be laid out for days..."

     "Weeks."

     Head still in her hands, she leaned forward 'til her elbows were on her knees; this helped a bit with the nausea, not so much with the throbbing in her head.

     "Why don't you go on ahead?" said Sherlock.  "It's not like you'll be of any help, here.  Nobody would miss you if you decided to pop off early."

     Leanna turned her head painfully toward his baritone voice; his face flashed shades of blue and red, his eyes scanned the scene.  She didn't know what to make of his assertion.

     "I haven't made my statement," she replied, ignoring his impertinence.  "In fact, Dimmock said we weren't supposed to talk to each other until I have —"

     "Let me handle Dimmock."  

     His hand met her shoulder, and he pushed her forward off the wall.

     "Go on, before you're sick on the crime scene again."

     She looked over her shoulder at the Consulting Detective, but he was already striding away.  She turned back toward the street, rolling her eyes — a gesture worth the discomfort.  But, despite how he irked her, deep down, she was grateful.  Grateful to leave the noise behind, to step onto the pavement and wave for a cab.