The Things We Left Behind

Chapter 13

"Just a moment!" a woman's voice called, and a short bout of bustling ensued before Sherlock heard footsteps approach the door. It swung open to reveal a slightly heavyset middle-aged woman with her chestnut hair tied up in a loose bun; she blocked the doorway, squinting at Sherlock and putting one hand on her waist. "I'm sorry, but we're not interested in buying anything—"

"Mrs. Bernard," Sherlock interjected. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm looking for Mary Morstan. She wouldn't happen to be around?"

Mrs. Bernard rubbed her free hand over her chin. "No. Are you a friend of hers?"

"We graduated in the same class. I was a good friend of her boyfriend, John Watson."

"Oh, that poor boy," Mrs. Bernard sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Tragic, what happened to his parents. Have you kept in contact with him? How is he?"

"We've been trading emails. He wanted to know how Mary is doing."

Mrs. Bernard clicked her tongue. "That's strange."

Sherlock let confusion color his features, giving a slight cock of his head and furrowing his brow. "How so?"

"Well, just last week she left for London. Said she was going to visit John."

Sherlock acted surprised. "He never said anything about that. Has she returned?"

Mrs. Bernard shook her head. "She called us, saying she and John were going to spend the summer together in London." Worry colored her features. "Has something happened to her, do you think?"

"I don't know," Sherlock lied, mirroring Mrs. Bernard's expression.

"Oh, God," Mrs. Bernard muttered, fumbling in her pockets for a moment before withdrawing an old flip phone. "Excuse me, I have to call my husband." Then, as an afterthought: "It was nice meeting you, Sherlock."

"And you," Sherlock said, giving her a polite nod. However, as soon as the door closed, sealing the house off again, Sherlock's face fell flat and he spun on his heel, putting the house to his back and approaching his car. He started the ignition and pulled away from the driveway, heading back into town.

The receptionist at Haddington's town hall fixed Sherlock with a suspicious look when he asked for Mary Morstan and her parents' records. "Those records are sealed to the public."

Sherlock fished his police badge out of his coat pocket and flashed it at the receptionist. "Are they?"

The receptionist heaved a labored sigh. "Be out in a moment, sir." He turned and disappeared through a foggy glass door behind the counter, muttering under his breath about where cops could stick it.

Sherlock tucked the badge back into his coat and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms and studying the hall. Aside from him, only two other people occupied the lobby—two men dressed in crisp black suits, speaking to each other in hushed tones. Sherlock ignored them, running the details of the case over and over in his mind until the receptionist returned, a thin manila folder grasped in his hand. He pushed it at Sherlock lethargically. "Just, bring it back when you're done please?"

Sherlock flipped the file open, scanning its contents briefly; then, he snapped it closed and slid it across the counter. "That will be all."

He turned, the receptionist's shocked expression spinning out of view, and exited the town hall. Behind him, he heard a deep, husky voice with an American accent—one of the men in suits, most likely—say, "Hello. I'm Agent Plant and this is my partner, Agent Page. Mind if we ask you a few questions about the death of Mindy Reyes?" Then, the door swung closed, cutting off the receptionist's response.