August Holmes, Sherlock's Daughter

Chapter Eight: Jim Moriarty

John and I have been huddled over a computer in the Morgue for hours, trying to figure out any information that Sherlock could find useful.

"I need a break." I sighed, pushing my body off my chair and stretching. John nodded at me, but continued looking through the computer.

I walked outside to get a bit of fresh air. It was chilly outside, but I loved the weather. I sat down on the concrete steps and sighed. I had no idea where Sherlock had run off to, I hope he can save that old woman.

Suddenly, I see Jim from the corner of my eye. I looked at him. "Hi."

"Hey August, mind if I sit?" Jim asked, smiling down at me. I noted that his accent had changed. He was Irish? He had a British accent yesterday.

"Yeah sure. I'm sorry you and Molly didn't work out." Molly had told me that she broke it off with Jim, but she wasn't too upset about it.

"Oh it's alright." Jim sat down next to me. "You know you never know what to expect. You should always be on your toes. People aren't who they say they are."

Who was this man? Why was he saying these things to me? I studied him further and tried to deduce him. I couldn't.

"Well I must be off. Long day at work." He chucked. Jim sat up and walked away. When he left I had a unnerved feeling. I really didn't like him.

John opened the door. "C'mon August, we need to go interview someone." I nodded and followed John into a taxi. I couldn't get my mind of fwhat Jim had told me. People aren't who they say they are? Was he talking about himself?

John and I arrived at a man's house shortly after, and we sat down on his couch. A hairless cat jumped in my lap and I grinned. I loved cats.

"It's more common than people think. The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un..." John looked up to owner of the house, surprise surrounding his features.

"I don't know what I'm going to do now." Kenny said. I had no clue as to why I had to come and interview this man. Why couldn't John do it by himself?

"Right." John muttered.

"I mean, she's left me this place, which is lovely... But it's not the same without her."

I looked around the living room, this house was far from lovely.

I scratched the cat's chin and smiled. It was ugly, but lovable. 

"Th-that's why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse's mouth. You sure it's not too soon?" John fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable.

I pet the cat again, but then pulled away. I smelt my fingers and realize that the cat's claws were coated in disinfectant. Did the cat kill Connie? It couldn't have. 

"Excuse me." I sat up and went outside, I dialed Sherlock's number and waited for him to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, you need to get over here. I think...I think I'm onto something. You'll need to pick up some stuff first. Do you have a pen?" I asked, tapping my foot on the sidewalk.

"I'll remember." Sherlock had assured.

Once Sherlock arrived, we both went back inside the house.

"That'll be him." John mumbled, looking up at Sherlock and me.

Once Sherlock and John were done taking pictures, the three of us hurried outside.