I woke up in the middle of the night, which didn't feel like night time to me, and of course, I couldn't go back to sleep. See? Isn't jet lag lovely? I tried everything, of course. Listening to the Doctor Who soundtrack on my MP3, drinking some tea, staring at the ceiling. Nothing worked. I could not go to sleep. So, of course, I started texting my best friend, Riley.
Hey, What time's it back home? I asked. I only had to wait a few seconds for a response.
Mid morning she said, but it should be late there for u. Why u no sleeping?
Can't I replied, Still used to American time. It's pitch black out there now. Should have waited to sleep when it was dark instead of as soon as I got here.
U sleep the whole day through? Riley asked, You'll be like a vampire if you keep that up.
No, only a few hours. I met some neighbors. I told her.
Ooh. What r they like? She asked. I was constantly annoyed by the fact that she used letters in place of words.
One is short and blonde, the other is tall and dark. Both are guys. The short blonde one is very nice, and I think he has a crush on me. The taller one tends to ignore me when he isn't figuring out my life story by my fingernail polish.
Riley sent me a lot of question marks.
He can look at the little things that no one else notices and then determine what you've been doing and a whole lot of other stuff like that. It sort of makes him sound stalkery, but he isn't. He's just really smart. I tried to explain.
Sounds like some one's got a crush! Riley teased. Even half the world away, she could make me blush, So what's his name?
Sherlock Holmes. I told her, and that's all I'm going to say.
Is he cute?
Shut up.
Send me a picture.
NO
Why not? I could hear her whine in my head.
Because that would be weird.
No it wouldn't.
I sighed in reality. This is just going to be a long string of texts with me going 'yes it would' and you going 'no it wouldn't'. Could you save me that space on my phone?
Fine. But if you happen to get a picture, send it!
I will. I glanced at the clock. It was four in the morning. Riley, I need to get some sleep, else I'll be sleeping through the day again. I'm going to try and sleep now. Bye.
Talk to ya later!
I plopped down on my bed again. I probably laid there for a few hours before I finally dozed off.
I woke up sometime around ten in the morning. I was drowsy, of course, but I knew I needed to wake up. I checked my phone for texts. There was one by an unfamiliar number.
John says that you haven't got groceries yet, and he thinks that you need to come over for breakfast. Come over whenever. Either me or John will probably be in. If we aren't, Ms. Hudson will give you a box of cereal that John insists we save for you. -SH
Definitely from Sherlock. I thought about turning down the offer, I wouldn't feel right eating other people's food, but I decided that I'd just slip a few pounds on the table as I left. Then I'd feel alright doing it. I got dressed, and headed over to 221B Baker street.
The lady who kept calling me 'dear' – Ms. Hudson – answered the door again.
“Hello, ma'am.” I said, “Is either Sherlock or John home? I need to see one of them.”
“I'm afraid John's out, dear, but Sherlock's upstairs. I'm afraid he's got his violin out again, though. It might take him a few moments to realize you're in there.”
“Oh, that's fine.” I said, “He's in his flat upstairs?”
Ms. Hudson nodded, and I hurried up the staircase. When I got a few steps from the door of the flat, I could hear screeching. Like Sherlock was trying to pull a cat's tail off. I resisted the urge to cover my ears, and entered the room. I knew there was no point in trying to knock. He wouldn't hear me.
“Hey.” I said. Sherlock stopped torturing his poor violin, and turned around in his chair to face me.
“Oh, hello. You got my text?”
“Yeah. Um, how did you get my number?”
“I guessed it as soon as you spoke.”
“Of course.” I nodded my head. “But it wasn't guessing, was it?”
“No. It was figuring out.”
I gestured towards the violin. “What do you play?”
“Oh! That . . . That wasn't playing earlier. That was just thinking. But I could play you something, if you'd like.”
“That was thinking? I'd hate to be inside you're head.” I teased. I'm almost positive Sherlock blushed, there. But from what I heard from John, Sherlock didn't have feelings. He didn't care about what other people thought. So, could Sherlock Holmes be blushing? I decided that I just imagined it.
“Do you want to hear me play a piece?” Sherlock asked once more, “I wrote it myself.”
“Sure.” I grinned, and plopped down on the couch as Sherlock lifted his bow.
He played the most beautiful music I've ever heard. And some of the most sad music, too. It made me want to cry. But I held back the tears.
It was a short piece, but like I said, it was beautiful. Sherlock finished, and lowered his bow.
“What'd you think?” he asked.
“Wow.” I said, “You . . . You wrote that?”
“Yes.” he said, and seemed pleased that I enjoyed it.
John walked through the door, and seemed happy to see me. “Bridget!” he said, “I've got a box of cereal for you. Here.” He pulled a box of cereal off the top of the fridge. “I don't really care for cereal, and Sherlock doesn't eat on a case. It'll be ruined by the time we're done with this one. So, here.” I took the box of Cheerios that he handed to me.
“Thanks.” I said, and then turned to Sherlock, “You don't eat on a case?”
“It slows me down.” he replied, and then turned to John, “What have we got, Doctor Watson?”
“It wasn't the gardener.” John told him, “The fingerprints don't match at all, and the dirt didn't match the dirt on his trousers.”
“The fingerprints could have been faked, and the dirt could have been added on later. That doesn't prove anything!”
“But they are too different.” John argued with Sherlock, “There's no way that the dirt could have been faked that much.”
“I want to see it for myself.” Sherlock said, putting down his violin and bow, and grabbing for his jacket.
“Then why'd you send me out?” John seemed annoyed. Sherlock didn't respond, but instead just rushed out the door.
“I . . . I've got to go, Bridget. Sorry.” John apologized. “Sorry. See you later.”
Then he dashed out the door. I followed, but instead of tailing their taxi, I decided to just go back to my flat. I was hungry.
