Elizabeth Watson (John Watson's daughter- Sherlock fan fiction)

Chapter 12- Lifeless, Dark and Silent

At least being deaf allowed you could shut out the world.

Elizabeth had come to her room and closed her eyes. Trying to read the situation all the time made her tired. She had left her father and Sherlock where they stood downstairs, but neither had followed her. John knew his daughter too well to do that.

She dumped her bag by the bed and collapsed against the door. Then she noticed the present wrapped gently in purple packaging, which had been placed lovingly on her bed. She picked it up and eyed the label: 'Dearest Beth, Have a very Happy Birthday and Many Happy Returns, Best Wishes, Mrs Hudson.'

Elizabeth smiled. Finally- something familiar. She gently opened the wrapping and chuckled into the silence as she produced the object.

It was a Newton's Cradle.

She slid out the mechanism and pulled up one of the five balls, before letting it drop. It swung and hit against the others, so that the ball on the far side flew upwards. It was muted but beautiful and she beamed with excitement. She would have to thank Mrs Hudson later.

Elizabeth scrambled to retrieve her physics book and skipped to chapter 14.

'Newton's Third Law states that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. This means that for every force there is a reaction force that is equal in size, but opposite in direction. That is to say that whenever an object pushes another object it gets pushed back in the opposite direction equally hard.' She looked up at the cradle to check it was still moving, 'If the mother picks up her child with a force of 31lb, then-" Elizabeth stopped reading and stared at the cradle, which had slowed to a gentle sway now.

The mother picks up her child.

Elizabeth closed the book and placed it beside her, before letting out a slow breath.

She went to open the door but stopped. She couldn't go out that way- Sherlock would hear her and Dad would follow. She just wanted to be alone. She would have to go without her coat or boots. She rummaged under the bed for a pair of old shoes and then scurried to the window, where a large tree branch waited helpfully for her. She clambered down the branches and then away along Baker Street.

It was colder than she thought and with the loss of hearing, her other senses became more acute, until she was shivering uncontrollably.

The darkness of the evening was quickly drawing in and the graveyard was little more than a mass of mossed, greying shadows. The church was glowing with a golden light and a window had been left open so that the choir's singing could escape for all the world to hear.

Almost all the world.

Row seven, stone 12.

There were fresh flowers. Her father must have been recently, though he had not asked her to join him.

Then again, it was she who had come alone this time.

Elizabeth knelt down on the cold, damp rock.

'Mary Elizabeth Watson.' she read, as she had done so many times before. Her eyes bore holes into the stone, wearing away at their edges so that the carvings gathered an old and tired presence, 'The Problems of your Past are your Business, The Problems of your Future are my Privilege.' She whispered aloud. She wished she could have heard those words interchanged that first time.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes before immediately opening them, feeling exposed in this cold place, both deaf and blind. Why must her mother be in such a cold place?

Then she noticed the paper folded, and hidden amongst the flowers. She plucked it gently and drew it closer to her eyes. Was this her father being sentimental?

'Happy Birthday.' it said on one side. Elizabeth frowned and turned over the page. A sheet of music notes were laid in long rows. There was no title and no name. She folded up the paper again and tucked it within her pocket. If only she could hear those notes...

Then she cried.

Elizabeth never cried.

But she did now. So could not even comprehend the reason. She could not except that this silent world had shut her off from all else. She hated such degradation and in this unfriendly place, everything seemed to change. She bent over and put her hands flat against the stone, resting her forehead on the cold floor. She was crouched so tightly, she felt hidden in the dark shadows and she let herself fall from her persistent and careful state, into that of uncontrollable anger and longing.

Her 15th birthday.

15 years since her mother's death.

She wanted to dig into the stone and embrace her mother so tightly that... that... that her dead and lifeless body would not fall back into the dark and silent hole of the earth.

But that was just reality.

Lifeless, dark and silent.