Continents Away

A New Home pt. 2

Sherlock sprinted down the busy sidewalk.  The pedestrians who did not move out of his way were pushed aside.  There were more important matters to attend than the pleasure of one D.C. citizen.  The detective turned down a corner, following a man dressed in black.  He had been investigating this case for months and was determined to capture the culprit. 

The man ran down an ally where Sherlock did not follow him.  The man slows, thinking he has gotten away.  He laughs to himself as he continues down the thin street.  Then, he stops.  The sound of footsteps echo down the alley walls on either side of him. He hears the loud barking of police dogs. He looks around him, up the walls of the tall buildings.  No fire escapes or windows.  He curses the detective who had chased him down there, trapping him. With no place to go, he stands there, waiting for the policemen to close in. 

***

            Three years had passed since Sherlock left London, and John. At the moment, he lived in Washington D.C. He had made himself his own little notch in the city, solving minor crimes.  The petty work was not nearly as stimulating running through the streets, solving cases with his old flatmate.  Sherlock used to think about John, he always worried about him. 

            Sherlock had done his best to make a new life, surrounding himself with the comforts of home, without being home.  He no longer carried the title “consulting detective”, he was just another detective, like any other.  Sherlock might as well have changed his name to Lestrade.  While applying for the job, people scoffed, not realizing just how extremely smart he was.  It did not take long for him to become the most respected, and hated man in the office.  He did not care what they thought of him, all he could think of were the cases.  He took over cases that were not even assigned to him, finishing them within days, while others would have taken weeks.  Every day produced a new challenge for Sherlock. 

Sherlock never missed John more, than when he was at home.  He lived in a small house on the outskirts of the city.  A one bedroom sliver between two grand mansions.  To his left, there was a very large, yet unkempt house.  The driveway had potholes, the shingles were falling off the roof, and the gray paint was chipping away.  The lawn looked as if it hadn’t been cut in five years, and there was always litter lying around.  In the front yard, there was something that may have resembled a garden once that over the years was reduced to a mess of weeds and gravel. In that house, there lived a grouchy old man named Cooper Reilly.  The old man had a nasty little dog.  Cute as anything, but mean as a viper. Often, the man would let the dog outside while Sherlock was getting his mail, on purpose so the little monster would attack him.  Sherlock suffered from many small nips at his ankles. Soon, he made it a routine to collect his mail after dark, when the old man and the demon were asleep.   On the other side a smooth driveway, framed with large oak trees lead up to a beautiful yellow house, with a blue roof and shutters.  A rose bush was flourishing in the front garden.  A cobblestone path lead from the rosebush around the house to a small pond, filled with white water lilies.  Colorful birds always sat in the trees, singing little songs that twirled in the wind. Sherlock’s neighbor, Jody Willard, lived.  She was a stay-at-home mom, with a little girl names Susie who loved soccer. A very busy bee, always shuffling around the kitchen or house, constantly tidying up after Susie. Her husband, Kendall, worked with Sherlock, they were partners, to be exact.  Often, they would go to a small café called Pret a Manger, which was within walking distance of their neighborhood.  Sherlock became a son to them, he had been only twenty-two when he moved in next to the Willard’s.  They helped him adjust to a new country and get a job. Sherlock first worked as a waiter in a fancy French restaurant, then (harshly and with great consequence) learned that ‘the customer is always right’.

Life went on, every day the same.  Another criminal, another case.  Enough to keep Sherlock busy for a small while. Sherlock opened up to the world, taking in the people around him and forming friendships.  This is how three more years passed.