Contact High → Sherlock Holmes (BBC) [on hold]

{ seven }

Carmen walked into her apartment and sighed. It was nice and quiet. That is, until Sylvia thundered down the stairs. "Where have you been?" she practically yelled. Carmen flinched as she let the cat out of it's carrier. One of her crutches slipped and fell out of her reach.

"Do you mind, Sylvie?" Carmen asked, gesturing towards her fallen crutch. Her friend frowned, "Not until you tell me where you've been!" Carmen frowned, "I  was at Sherlock's."

Sylvia threw her hands into the air, "So, a tall, handsome bloke comes into your life and suddenly you forget I exist!" Carmen leaned desperately on her one crutch, "It's not like that Sylvia! He was helping me find you did this to me!" 

Her blonde friend looked confused, "I don't understand. It was an accident!" 

"There was a man, following me. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. He followed me and I stepped out into the street to get away. I was so scared Sylvia," Carmen explained. 

"Why was someone following you?" Sylvia asked suspiciously, leaning down to grab Carmen's crutch. Carmen sighed and took it from her, moving over to the couch and sitting down. "I saw that break in."

 Sylvia frowned, "You didn't see anything but a silloutte, right?"

Carmen bit her lip, "I saw him, just for a moment. He had a jacket on with a yellow dragon. Turns out that's the symbol for the cover of a Chinese gang. They wanted to make sure I never put two and two together."

"You mean they ruined your career because of a jacket?" Sylvia said in shock. 

Carmen nodded sheepishly, "Life's strange like that." Spots the cat rubbed against her hand and Carmen rubbed her chin. The cat purred loudly. Sylvia sat down next to her friend, "I'm sorry." She reached over and hugged Carmen for a moment. When she pulled away, Carmen had tears in her eyes. 

"We don't know my career is over," Carmen whispered, "I can still try to dance." 

Sylvia gave her a smile even though they both knew it was a lie. There was no way to recover from what had happened. But they lied anyway, and smiled. Because that's what people do. 

<>

Weeks passed. Sherlock went through cases left and right, none of them interesting enough to hold attention for too long. Most of the murders were common enough to solve in a couple of days. He was bored stiff. 

Sherlock sat in his chair with his head resting against the back. The gun he had given Carmen weeks before was nestled in his palm. He reached up without looking and fired two shots. Sighing, he stared at the ceiling. His mind was on the box under his dresser. The temptation was strong. He remembered the look on Carmen's face when he had snapped at her. 

It wasn't a good way to part after such a harrowing case. In fact, it had been the last good case he had had. Bored, boring, bored. The variations of the word rolled through his head until it had lost its meaning. He glanced over at the smiley face he had spray painted on the wall with the leftover yellow paint. He sighed as he heard John's footsteps on the stairs. 

He shot again, dotting the smiley's eyes before giving it a nice nose. John ran up the stairs, his fingers plugging his ears from the brash sound. "What the hell are you doing?" he yelled. 

"Bored," Sherlock muttered. 

"What?" John asked angrily. 

"Bored!" Sherlock yelled. Sherlock stood abruptly and fired two more shots from the gun. He twisted and shot one from behind his back. All three rounds found their target perfectly. John reached over and snatched the gun from Sherlock's hands, taking the clip out and cocking it to get the bullet out of the chamber.