Anatomically Correct Heart

First Crime

There was a pounding in her heart.

The sense of fear hung over her as she ran away from the stranger.

The rain poured down on her, soaking her to the bone, making her speed decrease rapidly.

She trips over a rock and falls to the ground, picking herself up and running over to her building, unlocking the door and clambering inside.

She ran to her flat, unlocking the door and slamming it shut.

The door unlocks almost unnatural.

The woman struggles to stay away from the stranger, but falls on her back.

All she remembers are those cold, dark brown eyes.

~

Eleanor gasps and sits up in her bed, looking around her room.

She sighs and kicks her feet off the side of her ball and pushed herself off of her bed. She dresses in a pair of light jeans, a light tan sweater, and a blood red scarf. She grabs her dark grey greatcoat, black combat boots, and satchel then walks down  into the kitchen, where Sherlock sat, looking at his microscope.

"Ah, good, your up," he says.

"Yes, I am," she says. She places her stuff on a chair and moves to the counter. "Any tea?"

Sherlock grumbles something and hands her a cup.

"Oh. Thank you."

"Sleep well?" Sherlock asks as Eleanor sits in the seat before him.

She neglects to tell him she had nightmares about the war. "Yes."

He looks up at her. "I dislike when people lie to me."

"I dislike when people accuse me of lying."

Mrs.Hudson walks into the kitchen with a tray in her hands. "Oh! Didn't think you'd be up."

"Yes, well I am," Eleanor says, glaring at Sherlock then looking at the lady. She picks up a much more appetizing cup of tea from the tray. She holds the tea cup in her hands daintily. She takes a whiff of the tea and asks, "What kind of tea is this?"

"Jasmine cherry. It's a new kind. Very expensive. Cost me ten pounds!" Mrs.Hudson exclaims. "But it's worth it."

"Wanted to try something new and Mary- she's John's wife- suggested I tried something more herby." Mrs.Hudson says.

Eleanor nods and takes a sip of her tea. She cringes a bit while drinking it. It is a bitter tea, with a lot of Jasmine, and just a hint of cherry. Eleanor liked strong, earthy teas. Not something that belonged in a sweets shop.

Sherlock sees this and smiles to himself.

"Sherlock, would you like a sip?" Eleanor asks.

"No, I think I wouldn't be very found of it by the way your cringing at it," he says.

Eleanor grits her teeth together and sets down her cup. "Can't you try and be nice for just one second?"

Sherlock carefully looks up from his microscope. His landlady stands a few feet away with a sympathetic frown on her face, while Eleanor looks very angry.

"Nice isn't in my vocabulary," Sherlock says.

Eleanor huffs and grabs her cup again. "Thank you for the tea, Mrs.Hudson. We appreciate it very much."

"Don't worry about it, dearie," Mrs.Hudson says. "Anytime." Mrs.Hudson looks over at Sherlock, then back at Eleanor.

Eleanor smiles sadly in return and turns to face forward as the landlady descends down the stairs.

"You should be nicer to her," Eleanor says.

"Yes, and I should give a terrorist a bomb," Sherlock says sarcastically.

Eleanor sighs and sets down her mug, walking towards the living room. She sighs again, looking around the room.

"What is it?" Sherlock asks.

"What is what?" Eleanor asks.

"Your sighing and standing in the middle of my flat," he observes. "Something is wrong."

"Bored, that's all."

"Everyone gets bored."

"I suppose so," she says, sitting down in the black leather chair.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Sherlock's phone rings out.

"Could you get that for me?" He asks.

Eleanor gets up and stretches, walking towards the kitchen. She searches the table but sees no mobile. "Where is it?"

"Jacket," Sherlock mumbles.

Eleanor rubs her eyes and looks at Sherlock. "Get it yourself!"

"Busy."

She sighs and walks behind him, reaching into his side pocket. "This is absolutely ludicrous," she says in her head.

"Inside."

She takes a deep breath and removes all thoughts of homicide from her mind before sliding her hand inside his jacket, brushing beside his chest and into his pocket, taking out his mobile. She answers the call just as its on its last ring.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes' mobile. How may I help you?" She says into the phone.

"It's- um, Lestrade. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade," the voice says, "Is Sherlock there?"

"One moment," Eleanor takes the phone off of her ear and covers it with her hand. "It's Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Speaker phone," Sherlock says.

"Your going to be put on speaker," she says into the phone, pressing a button.

"Speak." Sherlock commands. 

"There's been a murder."

Sherlock springs to life, circling the table. "Who? What? When? Where?"

"Haven't identified yet. Presumably gunshot wound. Found her twenty minutes ago in her flat. 739 Millard Park Avenue," Lestrade says.

"Who's on forensics? Please don't say Anderson," Sherlock says.

"Anderson is on duty-" Sherlock groans. "-however he's promised he won't touch anything until you're done with the body."

Sherlock pumps his fists into the air. "I'll be there in ten minutes." He hangs up the phone and runs into the other room. He comes into view putting on his dark blue scarf.
"Coming?"

"Am I?" Eleanor asks.

"Are you?" Sherlock asks.

Eleanor quickly laces on her boots and tosses on her greatcoat, grabs her satchel, and heads after the detective.

He stands on the sidewalk, waiting for a cab.

"What am I going to be doing at a crime scene?" Eleanor asks.

"Looking at a dead body," Sherlock says.

"For what reason?" She asks.

"The game, Miss Moriarty, is on."

~