Sentiment || Sherlock Holmes

The Great Game

Sherlock was up late. He hadn't been able to find any good cases since the Black Lotus, and was growing impatient with trivial clients wanting to know if a spouse was cheating or wanting help finding their missing cat.

The clock was nearing two in the morning as he paced about the apartment. He checked his laptop for any murder-related headlines. He banged things together in the kitchen. He sat in his chair. He got up from his chair. He hurled insults at the skull on the mantle. He made tea. He plucked out a melody on his violin.
He was grappling with the urge to uncover his stash when he heard a sound from downstairs.

Someone was leaving Mrs. Hudson's flat and going outside.

Evelyn.

Sherlock swooped down the stairs to the foyer, navy dressing gown flowing behind him. He threw open the door, ready to careen down the street after his friend. She was merely sitting on the front stoop, looking up at the night sky and he nearly tripped over her in his haste.

"Good morning, Sherlock." She said, as though this were something they did every day. Her voice had a wobbly quality to it. He noticed the shiny trails over her cheeks where she had been crying.

"Hello." He returned, sitting down next to her. He didn't say anything else, he just sat with her in the cold night air. She would speak when she was ready to, and besides, he had no clue what to say to make her feel better.

A breeze blew past, ruffling Sherlock's curls. Eve shivered, pulling her long knit cardigan closer around her body. "Do you have earl grey in your apartment? I've been craving, but Mum's only got irish breakfast and peppermint." She finally spoke.

"We can look if you like." She nodded, swiping away the tears with the back of her hand before getting up and following him inside.

Once inside the warmth of 221B, Evelyn sat down in one of the kitchen chairs while Sherlock poured her a mug of earl grey. She wrapped her hands around the cup. "I've been having nightmares." She told him, looking at her tea. He hummed, only acknowledging that he had heard her, not that he was worried or that he pitied her. She took a sip of her tea, hands shaking ever so slightly as she lifted the cup above the table.
"Sometimes I'm me." She went on. "Sitting strapped to that chair, waiting to die." She touched the discolored skin around her wrist from the restraint. "Sometimes I'm stuck there, unable to stop Zhi Zhu from killing you." She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "Tonight I was Soo Lin. I was alone, and no one came to save me before he-" Eve looked away again and broke off speaking. She touched her finger tips to her lips, and looked at the wall behind Sherlock's right shoulder, lost in the memory of her dream.

After a minute, Sherlock spoke. "Your tea is getting cold." Evelyn looked at him again, her green eyes searching his own for moment. Then she smiled. Sherlock felt a strange rush of energy despite not drinking any tea himself. His heartbeat had noticeably quickened, as blood flowed faster through his body.

That's strange, he thought.

He stood suddenly and made his way into the sitting room, looking at the bookshelf by his chair. Eve stayed at the table, observing him.

He looked over at her in slight annoyance. "Well? Come here."

Evelyn gave him a disapproving stare. She did not get up, opting to take another slow sip of her tea instead.

"Oh for the love of-" He lamented. "Come here, please."

She put her tea down with a large innocent grin and came to join him.

"Your mother," he began. "Is always rearranging my bookshelf when I'm not here and I can never find anything. What could her organisation method possibly be?"