New York Detectives (Book 3)

Chapter 37

I sat on the front steps, staring at the afternoon sun, taking a deep breath then letting it out in a sigh.

Sherlock had put his bags in the car, then as he went to grab mine I reminded him that they were my bags, he didn't need to take them.

Sherlock sat beside me, three feet of space between us.

"Why did we love each other?" he asked and I blinked a couple of times, then shrugged.

"Maybe we thought it was meant to be, Sherlock. Maybe there was a hole inside of us and, momentarily, we filled it up." I said and he was silent, looking ahead like I was.

"You know, love reminds me of a weapon. It can hurt you at any given moment. It could kill you as well." I said and he nodded, crossing his arms and placing them on his knees.

"People don't realize that sometimes, the one holding the weapon is the woman." he said and I nodded, looking at him.

"Amen to that, Sherlock. Amen to that." I smiled and looked back at the horizon.

"C'mon, time to go." Sherlock said after another minute of silence and he stood, walking to the car. I stayed sitting for a few seconds longer then standing, placing my hand over my bullet wound.

I walked to the car as Sherlock shut his door and turned the car on. I opened the door and placed my hand on the seat and grabbing the roof of the car I lifted myself up and into the seat. I closed the door and buckled, turning myself towards the window.

As Sherlock began driving, I rolled the window down and took in the smells of the country, then the city.

"I've never been good at sentiment. It's found on the losing side, yet I still felt it." Sherlock began and I turned my head towards him, tilting my head in confusion.

"What do you mean, Sherlock?" I asked and he sighed.

"One thing I will not regret is loving you, Destiny. I was always told that love can teach you nothing. But it did, it taught me a lot of things. Good and bad." he explained and I raised a brow, still not seeing his point.

"I'm trying to thank you, Destiny." he said and I scoffed.

"For hurting you? Oh, that's something to be real thankful for."

"No, thank you for showing me what true love really was." he said softly and I was silent. I looked down at the car floor and nodded.

"You're welcome." I said and the silence wasn't awkward anymore. But there wasn't a light mood. My singing wasn't filling the car, neither was my flirtatious words to Sherlock. My lame jokes and puns weren't being told nor were my stories.

Sherlock wasn't explaining possible solutions or possible experiments. He wasn't making his deductions that would either make me blush or laugh (even if the deductions were about other people).

I could sense he was thinking the same, I don't know how I could sense it, but I could.

"We're strangers again." I thought to myself, wiping away my fallen tears.

Sherlock Holmes and I were strangers again. And the feeling was too painful.

End