Like a Scene from a Play

Chapter 2: The Meeting

I sat in the library for hours, the odd time getting up to stretch or find a new book. I knew that no one would find me here, no one would even think for a second that I would be obsessed with books. I hear a throat clear, and I freeze. Did... Did they find me? I look up slowly, to see the last face in the world I expected. "Hello there, are you needing the rest of this table?" Sherlock Holmes peered down at me, and I glanced to the table in front of me. A small pile of books had accumulated, all of them about astrophysics and space. "Oh... No, not at all. I can move if you like." He smiled slightly. "No, I think you'll be okay. Unless you want to move?" I just smiled. "No, I'm going to stay. Easier than having to pick up all these books." He smiled again, and I looked back to my book as he went about his business. We stayed like that for a few hours, me reading and him spreading pages and newspaper articles out on the table. My pile of books increased quicker, as I read faster to distract myself from all the thoughts going through my head. Occasionally, when I had finished a book, I'd glance at what he was doing, but my eyes wouldn't focus and my mind went numb from intaking so much information in such a short time. Whenever I returned with a new book, I would lock eyes with Sherlock, and he'd give me the smallest of smiles. Somehow, it seemed genuine.

I finished my most recent book, and set it down on the table, rubbing my face with my hands. I glanced at my watch, reading 2253 on it. "Damn..." I mutter to myself. "Library closes in seven." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sherlock glance at me, and then the clock on the library wall. He collapsed in a hard, wooden chair, and sighed heavily. I looked over to the table, quickly scanning everything laid out. It was about a murder that had happened months ago, but something didn't quite make sense. THere was something missing for Sherlock to solve the case. I picked up one of the articles covered in messy, scrawling handwriting, quickly reading the notes. I picked up a few more, read them, and then grabbed the lined sheet of paper filled with more notes, and the pen beside it. Flipping it over to see nothing written on the back, I uncapped the pen and started writing on it. 'Mr. Alpud's boss was being manipulated by Moriarty. She was being played like a violin in Phantom of the Opera. Scotland Yard knew that, and decided to use Alpud, an ex officer, to their advantage. A few bank transfers here, a couple hundred spent there, and a deal with Alpud to finish his boss off. Alpud would get a pay raise, and then he would strike, killing his boss to slow down Moriarty. But Moriarty knew this, and instead picked off Alpud a day before the raise." I tossed the pen onto the table, and looked down at Sherlock. He looked surprised, and his mouth was open slightly. "Here," I said, handing him the piece of paper. "Talk to these people, they will tell you all you need to know." He blinked at the page, then looked up again, this time with suspicion. "Oh really? And how do you know that?" I smirked and grabbed my books off the table. "So long, Mr. Holmes." I turned a corner in the library, and shoved all the books on a cart, then ran deeper into the library, so Sherlock wouldn't see me. I exited through a back door, and ran straight out into pouring rain. I flipped the collar of my jacket up, and quickly walked out into the city, losing myself in the heart of it.

I ended up in a small little cafe, called Speedy's. I was sopping wet, sitting in the back, with a tea and small sandwich to fuel me. Where the hell am I going to go now? I can't go back to Moriarty, not with the lack of trust there. And I don't think I could talk to John, or Sherlock. That'd just be awkward. But, of course, who comes walking through the door? Fucking hell, I can't get a break today can I? I groaned, and slumped down further in my seat, hoping they wouldn't see me. They did, and Sherlock quickly made his way towards me, John trailing behind as if he was in a dream. "Look, I don't want any trouble, so just take that damn page and leave me alone." The second I said it, I regretted it, and I looked down at my tea, feeling horrible. Sherlock simply sat down, and John pulled a chair from an empty table over. The restaurant smelled like beans and toast, my own sandwich probably adding to the toast smell. The air was thick and sickening, and I coughed from the choking mustiness. Or, maybe it was from me getting sick, I don't know anymore. My cough was hoarse, and my throat felt like it was on fire. I grabbed the tea in front of me, taking a sip, and immediately coughing more. "Agh!" I tried to stop coughing, to try and say something, but I couldn't breathe. "Are you ok?" I look over at John, then curl my hand into a fist, pushing onto the table. Finally, I manage to get a breath of air, and I sigh in relief, the coughing slowly going away. "Jesus Christ! Damned lungs!" I groan, the energy drained out of me. "Fine, I won't fight you guys to leave me alone. Just tell me what you want." john and SHerlock looked at each other, and then Sherlock turned back to me. "What's your name?" "Cam." "Your full name?" "Cameron Hamish Moriarty. Well, it was, but I'm going to try to change my last name back to Watson." Sherlock nodded. "If you would like, you may come with us. We are closing the case up, the one you helped with? If you'd care to, you can come along with us. You did help us solve the case, so it's only fair." I gave a half laugh, and smiled slightly. "Sure, I've never seen a case being closed, only opened. Thanks guys." We all up and left, hailing a taxi and shoving into the back of it. I have no idea why this is happening, but it is! I don't mind though. This is nice, not being alone in a taxi for the first time. But... Why?