Sentiment || Sherlock Holmes

A Scandal in Belgravia

Evelyn lay sprawled across her bed on her back; she stretched her arms straight up, holding her book aloft. Upbeat music played softly from the speakers of her laptop on the floor. She wiggled her toes and bounced her foot to the rhythm as she turned page after page.

Eve slowed as the book's close arrived, savoring the ending as much as possible before shutting the novel and holding it to her chest with a contented sigh. She gazed at the shadows on the ceiling above her, smiling at the conclusion of the book.

Eventually she rose, stepping back into her own life after spending so many hours immersed in the experience of someone else. Evelyn adjusted the sweater that had gotten twisted through all of her position shifts and pulled her tousled hair back with a clip.

Eve glided towards the kitchenette, sliding in her fluffy socks on the wood floor like an amateur ice skater. She made herself a cup of tea and leaned back against the edge of the counter, cradling the steaming mug.

Leisurely, she went to sit on the little sofa a few feet away, and picked up an abandoned case report.

She dropped it again, determined not to ruin her good mood with her job frustrations. Evelyn ambled back into her bedroom and then into the adjoining bathroom. She leaned closer to the mirror, turning her face from side to side. Eve touched the thinning red lines on her forehead and above her right eyebrow. It had been nearly two weeks since the explosion, and soon the red lines would fade into white scars, only noticeable if you looked very closely.

Evelyn had those scars because of Jim Moriarty.

Eve pulled up the left leg of her lounge pants, examining the two-inch white line across her knee. She looked at the parallel vertical scars on her right shoulder.

Evelyn had those scars because of her father. In addition to her self-defense classes in high school, he made her "practice" with some of the men in his organization.

He let them bring knives to a practice fight with his teenage daughter.

Eve never told her mother about those practice sessions. She let Mrs. Hudson believe that the scars were from a fall on a hike, an accident in the lab, and any other excuse Evelyn could think of.

Eve shook her head, stepping away from the mirror and going back into the small sitting room. She picked up the file again, skimming the case again.

Simple. Easy. Boring.

Evelyn flopped backwards, using the folder to cover her face in defeat. She spent her days writing up evidence analysis for robberies, assaults, and open and shut homicides. While she drowned under paperwork covering small-time criminals, people like Moriarty and her father were out there working behind the scenes, pulling strings.

Her love for the science aside, the only time Eve felt like she was truly making a difference was when she helped Sherlock with the big stuff. She longed for cases the detectives couldn't solve on their own, because she could actually use her abilities.

The solution to her problem was obvious.

She called Lestrade and arranged a meeting first thing the next morning.

The next day, her desk lay empty.

----------------

"Welcome to MI6, Agent Hudson." Mycroft said dramatically, smiling teasingly at Evelyn.

"Is that my official title?" She asked nervously.

"Well, no." He admitted. "You do; however, get an official badge."

She accepted the plastic ID in a smooth black leather holder. Written next to a picture of her was 'Evelyn Hudson. MI6 Investigator.'

"You have level two security clearance and you'll be answering directly to me." Mycroft explained, gesturing for Eve to have a seat in front of his desk. She complied.