~Sarah's POV~
"Sarah you have to come to the funeral." Joanne repeated. I just sat there silently looking into the microscope. "If you don't come Miley will be pissed."
"All the more reason not to go." I replied smirking. She sighed, her and John walked out. It was silent for a moment before the door once again opened. "Joanne I'm not going."
"I'm not Joanne." I looked up to see Lestrade.
"What can I do for you?"
"We found these in Lee's apartment, they're addressed to you." He handed me an envelope and a small black box with a silver ribbon. I nodded. "You know he really did love you, may not have seemed like it, but he did." Again I nodded. Lestrade sighed and left. I glanced over at the envelope, I sighed turning away from the microscope and reaching for the last thing my brother left me.
Dear Sarah,
Words can't even begin to describe how sorry I am for what I've done to you. I was a selfish bastard. I blamed you for both our parents deaths when it wasn't your fault. Mom died of a weak heart, not because of you, and the bullet had barely missed dad's heart but did injure it. It wasn't your fault, it never was. I was young, foolish, and blinded by grief. I couldn't stand to live with myself, knowing what I had done to you. Moriarty asked me to do something, something that would have broken you. I couldn't watch you break again, because of me. Maybe someday you will be able to forgive me for the horrors I have done to you. Now, I must ask you to do something, something I was too much of a coward to do. Defeat Moriarty, beat him at his own game. You just aren't any girl, you're Sarah Harvey, my sister. I love you Sarah. I'm sorry.
Sincerely,
Lee Harvey
I cried, and cried. 'Till the point where no tears came and I just sat there on the floor, curled up in the corner, silently sobbing. Wails and screams came out of my mouth, almost as if I had lost control of my own body. I felt pain, as if someone had shot me. I knew the pain well, the bullet entering your body, tearing through your flesh, sending pain throughout your whole body as if you were on fire. You can't move, you can hardly breath. I finally got the strength to reach up, grabbing the small black box. Pulling the silver ribbon off slowly and then lifting the lid. Inside laid a silver locket in the shape of an oval. Inside was a picture of Lee and I, smiling. He looked around 8 and I maybe 6 or 5. On the other side it said 'My Warrior'. I knew what he meant, I survived living with a sister who hated me, I survived the death of our father on my own, I survived all the things Moriarty had done to me, I had survived him. I stood up looking in the mirror, my long blond hair looking messy, my face red and puffy, but my eyes, my eyes were different. Green and dark, showing no feeling. No compassion or love could be seen. You would never be able to tell this girl hard a heart.
~Joanne's POV~
I sat on the couch of mine and Sarah's apartment next to John while Sherlock continued to pace. We had gone to the funeral, no sign of Sarah, gone to lunch after it, no sign of Sarah, and had gotten home two hours ago where there was still no sign of Sarah. "I'm going to look for her" I said standing up
"No, I will."
"No, Sherlock, she doesn't need some lecture about how stupid it is to care. She needs her best friend, I know her better than you and my best guess is she's at a bar drunk." I stated sternly. I grabbed my coat and left.
I found a bar downtown that wasn't full of strippers or party people, just people who wanted to drink their sorrows away. Sarah sat in the dark corner on a bar stool where she could go unnoticed. I sat down beside her taking a sip of her beer.
"So what's the reason this time?" I asked, she sighed.
"What do you see in this world Joanne? 'Cause when I look around all I see are broken people trying to find a way to escape their pain, people who go crazy trying to be noticed by others." I shook my head.
"I see a broken world, one that can be fixed." she laughed.
"How? How can world that's let itself go so far, ever be fixed?" she asked.
"It takes a person who has great strength, not physically, but mentally, someone who knows pain well but also knows what it is to be happy. Someone who looks at the world and sees the good but also sees the bad" she chuckled.
"What are you, a poet?" I smiled.
"What are you, a drunk?" she laughed.
"So the drunk and the poet is what we are," I smiled and nodded, "the drunk and the poet".
YOU ARE READING
Mystery on Baker Street ~Sherlock love Story~
FanfictionA new mystery has come to Baker Street, one Sherlock just can't seem to solve. She's quick, she's smart, and always leaves Mr.Holmes speechless. She was called to London to help solve a case not fall in love. But what's a good mystery without a litt...
