Sinnerman - Sherlock (BBC)

Act 1: Scene 3 - But Not Nearly As Loud

Months had passed, how many to be exact, Lizzie didn't know, nor did she care. Her time at the hospital had been a streak of grey. Not once had there been extreme whites or blacks. It felt like a dream, time wasted in some monochrome void. The people surrounding her might as well have been faceless ghosts, background characters. Already, she could feel herself forgetting the names of the nursing staff who'd looked after her every day. It seemed her life had been engulfed by grey waters, she had been swallowed up, and she was losing the will to try and reach the surface.

The walking stick she used let out a cheap metallic yell every time it connected with the tiled floor of the hotel lobby. It was uncomfortable to hold, made of a plastic that quickly became clammy. But without it, walking was unbearable, although it still hurt to walk for extended lengths of time. With each laboured step, the necklace - that she now refused to take off - collided gently with her chest. It was like a pendulum that moved with her, in time with her, almost as though it was just as much a part of her as her arms.

Despite the fact her body was still stitching itself back together, they were letting her out. In truth she neither wanted to stay nor leave. Wherever she went she felt out of place, detached, like an astronaut floating in space with no means of reaching her ship. It felt like her body was on autopilot, obeying every order that the people around her gave it. Now it was walking towards the exit, having signed dozens of forms and pulled itself from its bed.

It was a grey November day outside. Rain drizzled sporadically making its mark by stretching out on the large hospital windows. People hurried about her, some taking off damp raincoats as they walked, others preparing their umbrellas for battle. Aside from the large trench coat that had been hung over her shoulders by some maternal nurse, Lizzie did little to deter the rain as she stepped through the sleek glass doors which opened like curtains at her approach.

Although she had been outside many times during her stay, when she stepped outside the air seemed fresher than usual. The cold rain dripped onto her face sending small irrelevant chills ricocheting throughout her body. Deep inside her, a voice hoped that she would be awoken from her grey state by this taste of freedom. However, nothing changed. Her mind and soul was still encased in suffocating water. It prevented any emotion from escaping its prison and suspended her in a state of limbo. Leaving the hospital had no effect on her.

The sound of the rain hitting the concrete floor had more of an effect than anything else. For a second she listened to it. The sound of rushing water was so familiar, not even the hearing aid that now sat snugly in her left ear could get rid of the sound that seemed to come from within her. It haunted her constantly. The rain seemed to double it up, like a song being played by two outlets at the same time. She didn't hate the sound. It had become almost like a friend, a familiar face that said nothing but still provided more support than any of the nursing staff could.

Now it was just her, and that sound, alone in this foreign world.

Amidst the rushing cars and ambulances that danced about her, a single white taxi sat patiently in the bay. With a sigh she stumbled towards it slowly, letting the crowds of people weave around her. The blacked out windows meant she couldn't see the driver, yet she knew the taxi had been called for her and that it knew where it was going. Resting herself on her walking stick, she tugged the door open as pain throbbed in her leg. It opened with a deep click. Saying nothing, she threw her bag into the farthest seat, it was a small, scruffy duffel bag that had been given to her to hold her belongings. It was pitifully small and light. Next followed the coat, and then her walking stick, all had been carelessly chucked in.

Once she was sat down the driver greeted her but she didn't reply. It's funny how, when in deep thought, the mind seems to erase noise. The car smelt strongly of that sickly new car smell and was uncomfortably clean. Resting her elbow on the window, she watched raindrops chase each other down the glass for the whole journey.

The drive was only ten minutes long. Lizzie left as silently and coldly as she had arrived. She never spoke unless it was completely necessary, as everything was paid for, it wasn't. The hotel was large and grand from the outside. Some big old building that seemed to dominate the street like a loud child does in a classroom. It was almost funny how Mycroft made sure everything was lavish and paid well for aside from her walking stick, the item she needed the most.

Inside, the lobby was rich and warm with modern furnishings that seemed uncomfortable in the old building. Lizzie hadn't bothered to put her coat back on, it hung from her hand, a nuisance, she didn't care if it dragged on the floor. Her footsteps were like bass drum beats on the carpeted floor.

"Juliet Thorn." She said simply to the receptionist who smiled in order to hide her slight confusion and annoyance.

The woman started tapping into her computer after hesitating slightly. After a few minutes she spoke. "Ja, Frau Thorn, Ihr zimmer ist die nummer 303." She turned to pick out a key and took out a large book and pen. "Hier ist Ihr schlüssel. Bitte melden Sie dies." As she spoke she opened up the book and handed Lizzie the pen. "Wir nehmen Ihr gepäck für Sie."

"Nein danke," Lizzie said whilst signing the book. "Kann ich selber tun."

With that she simply picked up the key and walked to the elevator.

When she arrived at her room she found it to be much more lavish than expected. On the double bed with white, soft sheets, a pile of neatly folded clothes and an envelope were seated patiently. She didn't even need to open it up to know what was inside. Instead of disturbing them, she sat beside them, resting the coat on her lap.

For a second her mind was blank. She had no idea what to do with herself. It was as though she was just another object that had been dumped on the bed. With this collection of items she had to try and shape a life. At this point she didn't even have a personality, a history, or a mind to work with. She felt helpless.

However she was ripped out of that train of thought when she noticed the red buttonholes lining the lapels of her coat. Sadness and familiarity surged inside of her. It was so strong that tears welled up in her eyes. She didn't know if this was a cruel joke penned by Mycroft or a coincidence made by one of the nurses. But even the weight of the coat felt familiar. For some reason the sadness was a relief. Finally she felt something.

This reminder of her past felt like warm arms wrapping her in a hug. She felt like she had a foothold, something to work with.

She gathered the material up in her arms and folded herself around it. It seemed to radiate a kind of warmth. Slowly, she lowered her head into it, using it as a kind of cushion.

But with that the feeling was gone.

It smelt new, shop-bought, freshly washed. One of the nurses must have been sent out to buy new clothes for her. Suddenly the material felt stiff and scratchy. Not old and worn like his had been. His smelt like coffee, low-tar cigarettes, old books, and instruments. His coat smelt like him.

As slowly as before, she lifted her head. The numbness was beginning to set in once more. She let the coat slide to the floor. As it slid from her lap she felt herself become distant from him once again.

A wave of tranquility engulfed her as she let herself float. Many times she had deceived death. Her appointment with it was long overdue. That in mind, it seemed only fair that death could finally take her into its arms now. As the third, and final, second came to be, Lizzie felt only peace.

Amidst all the noise and sensations that surrounded her, she found herself homing in on one. Slowly, the sound of her breathing and beating heart grew louder than the rushing water. Soon the water had been eclipsed entirely and she became aware of her living, breathing body. She could hear her breaths racing through her nose and rattling through her lungs. It was a peaceful sound, a sound of life.

As she fell in that last second, she simply listened.

Like gentle waves clawing at the sand her breaths drew in and out.

And in

And out

Then there was a sound louder than anything she had heard before. But it was so quick that it was as though she had dreamt it.

Because then there was nothing. No breathing, no listening, no thinking, no memory, no Elizabeth-Louise Parker, nothing.