The Case-Book of Kakashi Hatake

The Hound of the Uchiha {Part 1}

The air in 221B Yaku Street was heavy, stifling. It had been that way for awhile.

It was late February, spring was in the air, and it had been nearly three months since the previous December when we'd last had a big case. It had ended in the death of Rin Nohara, the young woman who had come to us for help and was a subject that the two of us, both Hatake and myself, were unwilling to breach under any circumstances. It hung over the flat like a choking smog.

I could tell that Hatake was getting restless; he needed something to occupy himself other than just reading his dirty books and solving people's mindless, simple problems. In fact, with that very thought in mind, I'd passed over my journal to him and suggested (fine, ordered) that he record the events of his very first case. This was equal parts selfless and selfish; if that's at all possible. I have found that writing about events that have happened is extremely cathartic so I had hoped that by making Hatake write about his first case, he would have something to occupy his time and find some closure for at least one of the many events that haunts him constantly. I was also unbelievably curious. I cannot begin to describe how badly I'd wanted to know the events of his first case, what had gotten him into detective work. Besides, getting Hatake to talk about himself and his past is a rare occurrence and forcing the subject is as difficult and pointless as paddling a canoe up a waterfall.

To say that I had gotten more than I'd bargained for would be a gross understatement.

Getting him to write the first few paragraphs had been like pulling teeth, but once he got started, Hatake spent hours upon hours writing in my journal. I'd actually gotten unbelievably bored myself since he was in possession of my usual pastime.

I had felt like a snoop in the worst way possible when I finally read it.

The pain contained in those pages stole my breath.

I had, naively, always assumed that Hatake had become a consulting detective simply because it was something that he was very good at. Never in a million years could I have foreseen that he had been driven to that decision by the murder of someone dear. I had seen many letters from Kurenai Sarutobi in the mail over the months that we lived together, but now I knew their significance. Now I knew why they were the only letters he replied to in a timely manner.

Then there was Obito's death.

Behavioral quirks were starting to make far too much sense. The true weight of Rin Nohara's death was sinking in, boring deeply with the immeasurable weight of a promise made in a final goodbye.

I was looking over these pages again, reading once more about the sword fight in the bamboo grove when Hatake walked our living room, peeling off his rain-drenched coat to hang it by the door. His silver hair was so wet that it had lost its usual messy volume and plastered itself to his forehead, cheeks, neck, and my gaze swept over his scar, thinking about the attack that had caused it. Uncannily observant eyes flicked over the open page in my lap, seeing that the handwriting was his own.

"You know, Doctor," his rich voice the first loud noise I'd heard in hours, "soon you're going to know what's written there even better than I do."

"Well, I-- uh..." Automatically, a retort was already slipping past my lips, but I didn't have the slightest idea what to say, which is a fairly critical step to speaking, so it fell dead at my feet, flopping out unfinished and awkward.

A rueful grin unfurled across Hatake's lips, "What's bothering you, Jin? Usually you're a bit more quick witted than this."

"Ka-Hatake," I stopped dead in my speaking tracks, again. Proof that I had spent too much time reading his retelling of his first case: everyone written there referred to him as Kakashi, and I nearly had as well.