SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

Open Abduction

“You’re leaving?” Sherlock asked, trying to sound casual as he sat in his favored chair.

Buttoning his cuffs, John replied stiffly, “Yes.”

“I don’t want you to make a mistake. I think it would be better if you stayed,” Sherlock suggested, avoiding eye contact with John.

John straightened his neck and chewed on his bottom lip more than enough. Smoothing his hair and the front of his shirt, he turned to his friend and said in a shudder. “I don’t know what you meant by the text, but don’t make me worry about you. The text was absolutely mental.” John’s hands flew up beside his head and his eyes shut. “I cannot believe you would say those words when you know I’m in love with her. Why you did it? That will always baffle me.”

“I did it for your own good,” Sherlock began, “if you knew why—,” a warning static buzzed, shutting Sherlock’s mouth. “Never mind, John.”

Nodding his head slowly, the doctor said curtly, “Fine. That’s what I thought. You’re a selfish, arrogant sod. You repulse me, Sherlock. You do. You really do.” John placed his hands on his hips and his face reddened with resentment. “You don’t care about how you affect people—you don’t think twice. You always want to impress people. Maybe, just maybe, your actions do affect people. And, that what you do, do hurt others. You’ve hurt me, Sherlock. To forgive you seems impossible.”

Sherlock’s emotions showed through one tear. Never had he cried in front of John—he always kept a stoic persona. But, it must’ve been the drug that had control over him.  For everything he had hid within himself was slowly showing when he least wanted them to.

John stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Knowing nothing but his work to turn to, Sherlock went over to the equations he had written on the wall and stared at the photographs of the triangles. Squinting and breathing rapidly, he strained his mind to remember what the clues meant. Pieces came together, but not in an ordered fashion. Kicking the nearest chair, Sherlock bounded over to his secret stash and pulled out his nicotine patches.

Peeling off every patch, he covered his entire forearms and flopped down onto the couch. Slowly, the drug took its affect and for a moment, he began remembering things. He remembered the message he had figured out with John several nights ago. He recalled…he recalled…he recalled that the poison in the collie’s blood was snake’s blood. Sitting up, Sherlock placed his hands against his lips and smiled.

“Blue Krait!” Sherlock thought to himself. His thoughts continued to whirl. “Blue Krait venom mixed with a type of…type of depression medication. They were mixed and given to the collie. The collie committed suicide—,” Sherlock stopped and his face relaxed in complete understanding. In an audible voice so that the stranger could hear him, Sherlock whispered, “Clever, clever. You tested the drug on the collie. And the collie committed suicide. Like I will.”

“Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly.”

 

At three o’clock, the cab pulled up into guest’s parking lot. John looked out of the window and spotted security guards all up and down the fence line. Guests in evening gowns and tuxedos made their way to the lit entrance. John stepped out of the cab and followed the congregation up the familiar marble steps. On his way inside, John glanced at the last spot he had kissed the duchess. He wondered if that moment would ever repeat itself.

“Identity, please, sir,” a security asked as she held out a waiting hand.

John whipped out his card and presented it to her.