The Art Of Corruption ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book III}

Chapter 32- Missing Millie

Emily's POV

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"So, what have we got so far?"

Sherlock's annotated map of London has increased rapidly in scale and detail; what was simply a large rectangle of winding grey and rings of red, is now a veritable mural. Sherlock transferred it to the wall, pinning various images, text and possibilities to the glossy paper, and it's only now, after a week's worth of work, do we all stand back and examine the final piece.

We came back from the depot running high on information and leads. The description the dealer gave us detailed a familiar face. Although he couldn't provide us with a name, we were all certain he was recounting the appearance of Sebastian Moran.

The piece of illustrative information in front of us combines all the theories into one, intricate masterpiece. Sherlock's homeless network has been very active, recently. His phone is constantly buzzing with new photos- never of Millie, but often of Moran, walking to and from various disclosed locations, sunglasses on and expression set with grim determination. It's been reported that he makes frequent trips to various drug cartels. But, according to the woman who's currently sleeping in the doorway opposite his apartment block, he's not actually using the cargo himself. There's been no sighting of Millie on the premises at all.

My eyes flit across the concentric circle of images tacked around his location. He's been seen carrying vials, or sometimes packets, and Sherlock has scrawled around it in slanted lettering:

Ethanol and cocaine- purchased 28th June, 10:08 am

I think Sherlock's using this project as a distraction. Giving his mind something to focus on. Giving his thoughts somewhere to collect.

Anything to stop him thinking about what is, to me, the obvious.

I've almost forgotten what Millie's company felt like. 

I'm trying to cling on to the little memories, the mundane observations, the insignificant flashbacks: how Millie's straight, serious eyebrows would furrow as she thumbed through the files of a case, the way she'd constantly be tucking stray curls behind her ear, her tall, thin frame in clothes that were easily two sizes too big for her, silhouetted against the doorway. 

It scares me, how easily she's faded from life at Baker Street. 

When people go missing, it's safe to assume that their absence is noticeable.

Assumptions, however, are often misleading.

With the exception of her bedroom- the one that I've taken over as my own, for the time being- the apartment has sealed the wound left by her absenteeism. The dust continues to fall like flecked raindrops, the curtains remain half-drawn, the clock on the mantelpiece ticks away the hours with a slow, continuous determination. Mrs. Hudson doesn't bring up four cups of tea automatically, any more. Lestrade only ever requests the help of the "three at Baker Street". Even the newspapers have stopped writing articles about her unexplained disappearance.

It's like she was never here.

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Millie's POV

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Today, I started having doubts.

They catch me by surprise, every time. Usually, it's when I'm coming down from a high, and things start to lose their lustre. I begin to hear a voice tapping away through the fog in my head, telling me to force my way out of this cycle, to get in contact with Sherlock, John, or Emily before it's too late, and I sever the remaining ties between us permanently.