Seeing double

Chapter six

Suddenly, I am standing on water, unable to keep afloat, swaying and sinking, breathing in gallons of warm, thick liquid.

I stumble backwards to the bed behind me, collapsing onto it, clutching the side for support as my heart beats painfully against my chest in a heavy and frantic rhythm.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

Eeriness settles over the photos, tainting the innocence of three children in horror. A snapshot of my brother, sister and I playing in the garden on a hot, summery day is now the most disturbing thing in the world.

'John' I call, but his name dies in my throat. I push my shaking body up and tremble out of the room and shout his name again, it tense and croaky.

'What's wrong?' he appears at the bottom of the staircase, and his calm face immediately erupts into panic, his eyes flashing terror when he realizes something is wrong.

'What's the matter?' Sherlock calls as John is speeding up the stairs towards me, as I shakily point in the direction of the bedroom. They both run in and I am expecting screams and shock, fainting or crying, something, just something to show they are as equally unsettled. Petrified.

Nothing.

They say nothing.

'Avery?' John says, 'what are we supposed to be looking at?'

I am dumbfounded that the horrifying shrine on my window isn't obviously the cause of my panic and I step into the room and then I see.

It's gone.

There's nothing there.

"I-there was, what the fuck, John there were photos, and-and a note and fuck, it was there a second ago.'

I can't breathe. Can't see. Can't hear. I'm standing at the bottom of a well and everybody is shouting but the sound just ricochets off the stone walls in the darkness.

Sherlock grabs my shoulders and stares at me so intensely with his multi-colored eyes that it slightly grounds me. My breathing begins to sync with his and I stare at his irises, they're hazel today, hints of blue and flecks of green, a work of art and color.

'What did you see, Avery?'

'Photos. Photos of-of us, John and Harry and me, on the window, stuck from the outside. Childhood photos, how the fuck did somebody get them?!'

Sherlock nods 'what else?'

'A-a note. There was a note. It said that he was next. I think it's John, I think somebody wants to hurt John.'

His hands turn to steel and his grip immediately tightens around me, sending pain signals but I don't move. His gaze finds my brother 'nobody is going to hurt you, I promise.'

'Don't make promises you can't keep, Sherlock' he replies. Sherlock turns into a statue, frozen. We all just stand there in a stunned silence for a moment, traumatized.

Sherlock heads to the window to inspect. He traces his finger across the glass and nods, 'white-tack stains, they've smudged across the glass so they definitely were here, the four marks in the middle in the shape of a small square is where the note would have been, yes? A post-it? How did somebody get twenty, no, twenty-two photos onto the glass and then remove them within a minute? it's still a bit dark so no witnesses, easy to move but we're on the second floor. Was there a ladder? How did they know you were sleeping in this room? Unless they didn't and it was for John? Which means the 'he' in question is me. No, if the photos were of all of the Watson children then somebody knows you're here, Avery and is targeting both you and your brother. But why? Who? How? Argh! So many unanswered questions!'