A Viola's Song

The Truth Gets Out

Michael practically skipped home everyday with beautiful thoughts of how to further build on what he thought was an everlasting relationship with Viola. Good thing he lived rather close to the hospital.

One day, he took his usual route home, and was nearly there when he heard someone shout his name from across the street. He looked around and tried to spot who had said it.

"Michael! Michael Hooper!"

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, hi!" Michael yelled back as he walked across the street to meet Sherlock.

Sherlock and Irene had felt like going out for real dinner to calm down after their little argument, Sherlock complaining "How can we do anything when Merissa's still out there?" Irene told him he needed to take a break from reality. He told her he hadn't done that....ever.

On the way, he saw Michael happily walking home.

"Michael, why do you seem so happy?" Sherlock asked.

"Just because we're not, doesn't mean the whole world is feeling the same," Irene scolded under her breath.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, you don't know?" Michael asked, not hearing Irene.

"Know what?" Sherlock answered, his face doing that crinkle thing when he was confused.

Michael turned bright red. If Sherlock didn't know he was dating Viola, then he might as well not know. Parents, especially fathers, got extremely angry when they found out that their daughter was dating a guy they didn't exactly approve of. Now, to Michael's disadvantage, Sherlock was Sherlock. Who knew what he would do?

Sherlock looked at him and looked as if he was ready to make a deduction. Michael felt the colour drain from his face.

"Mr. Holmes, don't. Remember what you told me? You said you can't make proper deductions anymore. You're going to make a fool of yourself," Irene whispered.

"It'll be fine," Sherlock whispered back.

He stood up as straight as he could and started.

"For quite some time, you have taken a rather large interest in my daughter, Viola, which is no surprise as you Hoopers seem to take a liking to us Holmes, Molly liking me and you liking Viola. As you have clearly shown in the colour changes in your face and expecting me to know something I clearly don't, you have shown that you have a secret. A secret that you now know I don't know and would rather I wouldn't. You are Michael Hooper, though, you don't have secrets, you're extremely innocent and kind-hearted. But what's a secret you would want to keep from me? What secret would you want to keep from the father of your love interest? It's obviously not the fact that you like her, everyone in the entire country knows that. The only reasonable conclusion is that there is something more going on between you and my daughter, which is going to be heartbreaking for you when you find out Viola's dead and the girl you are currently dating is an audacious criminal mastermind," he paused and gasped, realising what he had just said.

Michael was so furious, he hadn't even paid attention to the last words. He hated those stupid deductions. He hated that he couldn't have any privacy.

"That was great," he started, trying to hold back his temper, "Really, really great. That was completely right, but you know what?," he couldn't take it anymore, "IT DOESN'T TAKE A MAN WITH BLOODY DEDUCTION SKILLS TO KNOW THAT!!!!! Wait, she's what?"

Sherlock was still standing very straight and looked even more intimidating as usual.

"Mr. Holmes, you didn't have to.... I told you so," Irene mumbled as she gave an apologetic look to Michael.

Sherlock exhaled sharply. He knew he had to explain the last part, that's really what he called Michael over for in the first place. "Michael, I'm sorry, but...erm....Viola isn't really Viola. I mean, well, you ought to come with us."

Michael went back to Irene's flat with the Sherlock and Irene. They showed him Viola's body, now lying in a large box for preservation. Michael gasped when he saw her.

"May I?" he asked.

The two adults nodded.

Taking a step closer to the box, Michael felt his eyes beginning to water. He looked over the body and pretended he was back at the morgue. "Obvious cause of death, bullet wound in the chest, leading to her heart, which caused immediate death," he was full-on sobbing now. He knelt down so he was closer to her. Sherlock and Irene didn't know, but as Michael knelt down he whispered something he wished he had the courage to say when she was alive. "I love you."

Sherlock sat on the bed and started to cry, too. Only Irene felt herself stay strong, knowing she was the least attached to Viola. She stood next to Sherlock, and he hid his face in her coat as she wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in.

For a few minutes, there was silence, only broken every know and then by the sobs.

Michael broke the silence. "Who did it?"

"The girl whom you currently call your girlfriend," Irene answered.

Michael nodded. "Can I take her back? To the morgue, I mean? She'll be better....," he cleared his throat, "preserved there."

Irene nodded.

Sherlock looked up. He nodded, too. "But only if we can see her whenever we want," he insisted.

"Of course," Michael answered, "Of course."