Born in Black and White

Chapter 8

After crying a bit more Kairi kicked Sherlock out of her home, quite literally. She had to drag him to her door and push him out as he begged for more information about her past. He was intrigued by the girl, a tremendously vivacious American, as they almost always are, with so much depth and mystery to her and so much emptiness in her eyes – even when she was smiling. She wore some facts on her sleeve, like almost everyone does, but he didn't know about her mum. He was disappointed he had that wrong and it made him wonder what else he was missing.

Sherlock stepped out into the cold night, the demented nursery rhyme playing over in his head. Something pulled at his mind, but he couldn't quite place it. Obviously, the nursery rhyme talked about a fall of a hard shelled crustacean and at least part of that made him shiver. He didn't want to believe that Moriarty had a way to communicate beyond the grave, it was utterly impossible, especially through the scribblings of a mad woman to a woman he just met. But something niggled at him. Something made him uneasy. He wasn't one to put much stock into gut feelings, he practically detested the idea of it. His entire framework was based upon evidence based observation and deduction, and this feeling on the back of his neck and in the pit of his stomach made him uncomfortable. That was not easy to accomplish.

He made his way back to 221B, not drastically far from Kairi's flat, and the weather was decent enough by an Englishman's standards. Kairi of course would have been bundled up completely, constantly complaining about being too cold under her overnumerous layers. However, days where people were in tank tops and shorts were still too cold by the San Diegan's standards.

That was only one more thing that bothered him about her. He knew she had traveled, he knew she was proficient at many dialects, however, he couldn't quite place her footsteps on the land. He was bothered by the fact that she did not collect knick knacks and trinkets from this country and that. Any other person that had traveled around as much as she had seemed to, would keep such things around their home. They would boast of their travels proudly. Perhaps even adorn themselves in bits of the place for a while, trying to prolong their vacation-persona until reality came crashing back onto them. It was mildly shocking to realize that Kairi probably never had a vacation. Reality was far too prevalent for her to escape from it. That's probably why she never celebrated her travels.

Wherever she went, her reality, her memories, were too powerful to be overcome by incense and a little shop full of trash. Sherlock actually felt sadness twist in his chest for a moment, but it was fleeting.

He continued his brisk pace, dodging locals and tourists alike as he buzzed through the streets, his mind only on Kairi and the letter. He kept reciting the words, over and over in his mind. He kept getting flickering pieces of phrase passing before his eyes, the long graceful strokes of the ink that scrawled across the page quite deliberately. The random spots of ink along the margin most likely from an old inked pen, judging by the uneven lines that formed when pressure was applied in different strengths and the usually unpredictable propulsion of ink. Words, connections, phrases, deliberate meanings all littered within the prose of a demented woman. It was maddening.

His thoughts drifted and grasped onto the ridiculous nursery rhyme until he felt a migraine coming on. He wanted a cigarette and turned to make his way back to Kairi's when he noticed he was already on Baker Street, just a block or two from his home. He realized he had been walking quite quickly, his breathing was rapid and his heart rate was elevated and he felt slightly damp along the temples. He only just noticed this because he had stopped and the cool wind blew into his dark curls and he felt his skin prickle at the sensation.

He shook his head one last time, focusing on the street before him and practicing his deductions on the oncoming foot traffic.

The first to be evaluated was a couple coming from around the corner. Not married, but committed, which made more sense to Sherlock – how could anyone honestly devote themselves to another detestable, faulty human being for the rest of their lives? - probably for at least five to seven years judging by the way they interacted with each other. They walked almost perfectly in unison, their bodies very easily adjusting to each others minute movements, which only seemed to happen after knowing someone and being in close proximity to them for an extended period of time.