The Labyrinth of Fragile things

Chapter I - A sleepless night in Baker street

The moon was crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. That was the first element of London that I observed. Traffic was thick, so I arrived well into the night, asserting my appreciation for the quiet. As I stepped out of the cab, the fresh, autumn wind washed over me, more refreshing, if anything. Baker street was illuminated from street lights, giving the street a certain hazy ambience.

I walked to the front door, memories of when I had first inspected the apartment, flooding back. I found my keys and opened the green door to reveal 221B. As I stepped inside, I made sure that I was silent until I reached my flat. I didn't want to wake mrs Hudson at such an hour. I would most definitely drive her mad. Just my utter existence would disturb London.

I climbed the stairs and found myself staring at the golden 221B plaque. To my surprise, my heart seemed to be beating faster than it was a moment ago. I could feel the thrum of the muscular organ through my chest. I didn't know what to expect once I opened the door. It had been two years since I last resided here, anything and nothing could have happened to what I called home. I knew what I wanted to see once I opened the door. This wasn't something that I could keep my grip on. He was interchangeable. And he was gone.

In a matter of seconds the door was open, and I was standing in the midst of the storm that he left. Well, I actually left the mess. John left everything to its reserved place. I placed my luggage on the ground, and surveyed the room. When I say everything was as I left it, I'm not exaggerating. Everything was how I left it. Even one of my experiments was preserved in history as all the instruments laid were still on the dining room table. My eyes darted to Billy, who was still on his reserved place on the mantle. I felt a smile tug at my lips as I looked to John's armchair, mine opposite his. He used to sit there and blog about our many cases. He often drank tea (occasionally scolding his tongue in the process). I even recall one occasion where he fell asleep, curled up in the restraints of the chair, with a pile of books on the desk beside him. I forced myself to look away, and thought to make a few, quick deductions to change my mood. I inferred many things, most on mrs Hudson cleaning schedules, but nothing of importance. I sighed, my mind leaving me scattered. I often felt scattered, and hated the feeling. I either felt too many things at once or felt nothing at all. I felt torn between concepts, and never knew how to act upon either because I would be too busy fussing over one of them.

I made my way to my room, ignoring John's completely. I'd check it tomorrow. For now I needed sleep. That way I would be able to focus completely on John's case the next day. Though John's case was oft on my mind more than not.

As I laid in bed, I tightened my grip on the sheets. All thoughts lead to John. Where was he? Why would he leave? Did someone take him? If so, who, and, why? I groaned as all thoughts somehow wandered to John. I felt the unusual feeling of guilt in the pit of my stomach. If I didn't leave he would be safe and sound in Baker street with me. But if I didn't leave he'd me six feet underground. I felt my hands rub my eyes, trying to clear my mind. Why did I care so much? John's just another person, and this was just another case.

No matter how many times I told myself that, I knew it was a lie.

With all attempts of sleep wasted, I decided to get out of bed. It was no use just worrying myself over nothing.

I felt my feet wander to the living room, my hands fell over my violin. I felt secure with the instrument between my hands, almost at peace with myself. My sheet paper was laid before me, and my eyes scanned over a piece that I was working on before the Fall. I played the instrument with no hesitation, finishing what I begun.