Sherlock Holmes- Meet me on Waterloo (A Sherlock Holmes Fan Fiction)

Chapter Thirteen

A man in a coat moved in the corner of my eye, he had his hands behind his back and a metal device glinting briefly in his hand. I was in a small room, maybe only two and a half meters across and maybe three and a half down. I was strapped to a chair and couldn’t move my hands or legs. I turned my head and saw the man through the glass. He was nearly bald and had a close cropped beard; his nose -which was large, red and bulbous, appeared to quiver with delight as I began to breathe faster. I knew what was coming, sweat ran down my face, the operating table below me creaking as I tried to struggle against the bonds that held me to the cold surface the small pads on my the nape of my neck, temples and chest began singing their now familiar hum, I panicked and began shaking, all of my muscles clenched in anticipation of what was coming. The electrodes buzzed and I screamed.

I woke up and I was still screaming. I stopped myself quickly and breathed in deeply, I hadn’t had that particular dream for years and that I was having it now meant that I was stressed out. Ignoring that particular realisation I sat up in my bed and rested my head in my hands. I had a massive headache and rubbed at my temples trying to soothe it a little, instead I found the two slight depressions on either side of my forehead- even after all this time they still hurt; or maybe that was just my imagination. I followed my hairline around to the top of my spine and found a third depression. Sighing I stood and pulled on my shirt and a pair of well fitted trousers and my coat. I wanted- no needed to get outside and I wasn’t about to get back to sleep anytime soon so at exactly four forty-seven and twenty six seconds I left my room in the flat I shared with the Consulting Detective and a doctor and walked out into the cold street.

My head pounded but it wasn’t going to explode so reaching into a pocket inside the coat on the left side I pulled out a tab of paracetamol and took three- normal people took two, but I’d had so many drugs over the years that anything less than three did nothing. I knew the dream well- it was a memory, a memory from eleven years and three months ago now, something I definitely wished I didn’t remember.

The steps were cold underneath me, it would be a cold day, the weather had blown in from th Pennines and the forecast had promised rain later on today.

“I’d offer you a cigarette but John’s hidden my stash.” His voice croaked with that early morning quality that inhabited the early dialogue of daytime.

“It’s okay I don't smoke.” I replied as he sat next to me, I looked into the street, it was still dark as winter was arriving early and the days becoming shorter.

“Maybe not tobacco,” He muttered, I was meant to hear it I just let it wash over me.

“Never was one for marijuana either, now narcotics- they’re the fun ones.” I saw him raise his eyebrows.

“Joy isn't something that I can picture you exhibiting, perhaps melancholy, maybe even morbidity.”

“Do I really come across that way?” I was sure that he was right, it wasn’t as if I was the brightest sunflower in the vase, but morbidity was something that I found to be a common trait in people now a days.

“Sometimes,” He supposed quietly.

We sat in silence for a while after that, I could tell he was deep in thought and so was I, I was trying to piece together the seemingly random particulars of the case, by Sherlock’s frequent smirks I estimated that that was not all that was on his mind.

There was Millie Hartley- an Irish chef employed by Cheryl Berkeley, a high earning banker with a taste for the expensive. Cheryl had vanished and while all evidence seemed to point in the direction that she had been kidnapped something wasn’t right. Cheryl had dyed her hair shortly before her disappearance and the only explanation was that Cheryl had known that Millie would die, and also wanted it to look- at least for a while- that it was her body that had been found, instead of Millie’s.

Then there was the boyfriend.

“He has to have something to do with it.” Either my mind was working at the same pace as Sherlock’ or I had been given a head start- whichever way I looked at it it was clear that we had reached the same conclusion.

“The more I think about it the more it seems that Cheryl and her male companion are working together.” I voiced, sniffing from the sneeze that threatened imminently on the edge of my awareness.

Sherlock nodded his agreement and brought his gloved hands together and pursed his lips, from the past few days I’d learnt that this was his concentration face. I said nothing for a while merely silently remarking at his mind so visibly ticking away like a great clock, some thought or realisation looming- or at least some interaction.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked- I had been considering the same question myself but I knew how annoying it was to be interrupted and had waited patiently; not something I did overly well.

“Just thought I’d get some fresh air.” I lied flawlessly, even though I was aware of the film of sweat on my brow still left from when I had woken, and the swollen feeling eyes that were likely bloodshot and baggy.

“Bad dreams, memories probably from a disruptive childhood.” He concluded and smirked thoughtfully, the edges of his mouth curling up slowly as if he took pleasure in his own brilliance.

Which of course he did.

“Disruptive childhood yes- how could I not with my mother being who she was.” I conceded. I turned to look at him and he looked mildly ragged. “I told you something, now it’s my turn; why are you out this early?” I observed as his lips angled down into a grim line.       

“Too much nicotine.” He lied just as seamlessly as I had, but it was a lie all the same.

“You heard me wake up and as you’re heartless git- I mean that in a nice way of course,” he smiled openly, “It was curiosity that got the best of you because you noticed the indentations on my forehead yesterday when I pinned you to the couch; naturally you wanted to know where they came from and linked that to the screaming and claustrophobia.” I knew I was right when he smiled again.

“You know it’s refreshing to find someone of equal cranial capacity.”

“It’s not so much capacity, merely the extensive use of certain cerebral faculties that most people tend to misuse for trivial matters,” I reasoned.

“You still haven’t given me an actual answer.” He pointed out promptly, making me laugh; I was so used to dealing with slow people that this conversation was a breath of fresh air.

“When I was fifteen, my parents decided that there had to be some sort of ‘cure’-” I made little quotation gestures with my hands, “for my psychopathy, they searched for a few months and came across a Ukrainian doctor-” He grimaced, he knew where I was going, “and he talked them into allowing me to test out a new and effective type of therapy.” I paused and saw his brain working things through.

“Electroshock therapy?” He concluded and I nodded.

“The good Doctor Aleksey was experimenting with the idea that that particular strain of therapy would cure someone with… mental difficulties, he even went as far as to think that my comatose behaviour was a sign that it was working.”

“And your parents never noticed because your mother was either working or in a psychiatric ward and your father was an alcoholic.”

“The watch gave it away?”  My forehead was creased, was it a possibility that he had guessed?

“He gave you that watch did he not? It’s scratched around the clasp- a sober man’s watch never has those marks.”

“You're right of course.” I replied, perhaps it was time though to get a new watch.

“Is my brother still causing you grief?” He asked suddenly.

“I wasn’t expecting him not to; he’s very… petty isn't he?” I mused and he scoffed.

“Petty is a considerate term for my dear brother.”

“What really intrigues me about the two of you is that you act as if you can’t stand each other yet you’d be empty without one another.” I remarked and he looked sick, after trying to stop myself from laughing I gave in and chuckled heartily.