The mystery of our past

1

I was told the familiar scents would help me remember. Being in a familiar place will make me more comfortable. That if I'll just give it some time, I'll remember.

It most definitely did not feel that way when I stepped into the modest apartment on Beeker street. the apartment, located on the second floor of a luxurious apartment complex in the center of London, felt quite suffocating as I walked through the green door.

The place looked like what I imagined it to be. Filled with books, maps, and for some odd reason an all lot of tobacco pipes, the modest apartment felt more like an inn rather than home. And it smelled like it too.

The large balcony windows allowed the golden light of the afternoon sun to shed light on the room, and the need of lanterns was minimal.
The room was large, but felt warm.

A cooling breeze woke me up from the daydream I was drowned into, just as a nice lady rushed towards us.
"Oh, mister Holmes!" She said excitedly. Her high-pitched voice suggested she was surprised to see us. "Mrs. Holmes! You're home early! We didn't not expect you two until tomorrow morning!"

"The Doctor said Emilia was perfectly healthy, dispite all. We had no reason to wait until tomorrow morning to come home." Mr Holmes said.

My memory was far from coming, but as I was told in the hospital, the man standing next to me was my husband. After waking up from what is called a coma, I appeared to have forgotten my past.

Mr Holmes, Sherlock, had told me all about the life I had before waking up in the hospital. And now, after physically healing, I was ready to go back home.

"I hope we didn't shocked you too much." He said.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous! Mrs. Holmes. Such a pleasure to have you back! We've all been worried about you! How are you feeling?" Her voice penetrated through my chest as I realized she was talking to me.

I passed my attention to her and turned to look at her. She was short, I now noticed. And older than I thought. Her voice was quite pitched for an old lady.
I had no idea what was the appropriate answer, and as I was late to respond She turned to the man who held my arm, with a concern expression.

"Em," Sherlock tightly said. "Em has been struggling to remember."

"To remember?" The lady sounded confused.

"The trauma to the head had caused her to lose her memory." He said with a croaky voice. "She can't remember her past."

"Oh," the old lady said thinly.

"You'll have to excuse me, ma'am." I said. "I'm afraid I'm not quite well yet."

"Emilia," I looked up to him, as he looked into my eyes. "This is Mrs Troy. She's our household manager."

"It's nice to meet you." I politely reached out to shake her hand. She shook mine without saying a thing.

"I hope our early return won't be a disturbance," Sherlock said. "The hospital can be not as much... pleasant as home. I believe home is what Emilia needs to get better."

"Oh, don't you worry dear," said Mrs. Troy. "I'm going to have to get some more things at the market now to make dinner tonight, but no trouble, no trouble at all!"