Don't Be...Dead

14-A Note

People gave us incredulous looks as we passed, wondering about Sherlock. Oh, how the press would have a field day with this. Sherlock Holmes: The Man Who Escaped Death.

“Err… Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Never mind,” I said, shaking the thought out of my head. His brow creased as he looked down at me, wondering what I was thinking.

“John…?” He prompted me. I paused for a moment, forming what I was going to say in my head.

“It’s just… you’re back.”

“Observant as ever John…”

“And the press will notice,” I continued. He frowned, as if this thought had never occurred to him before now. I continued. “And they will be bombarding us enough because you are back. I was just thinking… Maybe we shouldn’t tell them.”

“Tell them? Tell them what?”

I paused for a moment before saying, “… about us.”

“Oh.” I felt him remove his hand from mine. I looked down at my hand which was holding nothing but air. My eyes searched his face, but he turned away. For the first time ever, he seemed… hurt.

“Sherlock?”

He looked down. “Are you… ashamed of me John?”

I took a step back, his words catching me off guard. “What?”

His eyes flicked back and forth across my face. “You are, aren’t you? I can see it in your face…”

“Wha- No I—”

Sherlock’s voice grew louder and more impatient. “Then why won’t you just—” He was cut off as my hand cupped against the back of his head and pulled him down toward me, my mouth urgently pressed against his. I could see his eyes go wide with shock, not expecting this. Around us I could see people staring, but I didn’t care. Gently, I pulled my mouth back, hand lingering on his face. Finally, I let it drop. He took my hand and continued down the road in silence, though now he had the slightest hint of a smile on his face. Finally, he spoke.

“John, thank you.”

“For what?”

“Proving me wrong.”

“Sherlock…” I started, then paused. “I love you,” I finished simply, my voice little more than a whisper. He squeezed my hand tight and continued to stare ahead, not saying anything but silently telling me that he heard what I had said. Suddenly he stopped, a frown appearing on his face. His brow creased as he took a couple steps to the right, then turned and took a few steps to the left, then turned again and studied the houses across the street.

“Uhh…Sherlock?”

“Where is it?” He said frustrated, more to himself than to me.

“Sherlock! What are you looking for?” He ran back over to stand in front of me and tore a piece of paper out of his coat.

“This!” he handed the scrap of paper to me and I looked at it. The front was an old ripped receipt for a café. The back held a note written in loopy and barely distinguishable hand writing. Meet me Monday at 1500 Cyprus St.

I looked at the note, then back at Sherlock. “For a genius you sure are stupid…” I mumbled to myself. Sherlock heard me and wheeled around.

“What?”

“Do you want me to repeat it?”

“Oh, and I suppose you could find it?”

“Well, judging from the fact that there is no 1500 Cyprus St, we can assume it’s not an address. What then? The fact that it is an even hundred along with the fact that there is no time listed indicates 24 hour time. 3PM Monday.” I stopped and Sherlock stared at me. “Oh God, I’m starting to sound like you…”

Sherlock grabbed my head between his hands and pecked me quickly on the lips. “That was brilliant John! Amazing. Your tiny mind is finally starting to pick up some of the deduction skills which I employ. Go on, continue.”

I looked over the note in my hands. “Well…” he nodded encouragingly. “The handwriting appears to be a woman’s. Perhaps the one with the camouflage plans? Must be someone Julie -you did find this in her pocket, yes? – knew, why else would she be meeting her? Also, the café on the back. Perhaps we could look around there, though I doubt they would remember, it was almost a week ago. I’m sure it we were to search the street we might find signs of the meeting.” I looked up at Sherlock. He nodded and motioned with his hand, encouraging me to continue. I shook my head. That was all I had picked up. His face fell a bit.

“Not…terrible. Still, you missed almost everything of importance.” I sighed and handed the paper back to him. He flipped it over several times before he continued. “You are right in thinking that it is a woman’s writing, however not the one that killed her. She’s a waitress-same writing on the back as the notes from the order on the front-why would a high standing individual be working as a waitress? She wrote the note on the back as she gave them the receipt. ‘Them?’ Yes, obviously, there are two separate drink orders. A date judging from the slight stain. The two women-yes, women, both smaller hands, the other married but apparently having an affair-were holding hands across the table which caused a slightly sweaty stain of the two hands together on top of the receipt.”

“How did you know the other was married?”

“White mark of where the wedding band was, stain goes around it, didn’t bother to remove it either so Julie must know. You’re right in saying that it must be someone she knows as well as they wouldn’t remember her. They wouldn’t, that is, remember just another customer, but a waitress they would. Might even be working there now. Which means we should go.”

I stared at him amazed, trying to not let my jaw hit the ground. I had known Sherlock for a while, but seeing him back in action still wowed me. He grabbed my hand and started to pull me down the street. “Wait, aren’t you going to look for clues?”

“Any signs would be obscured by now, besides why look when you can ask the waitress?” I nodded understanding and let Sherlock drag me down the street towards the café.