The Tale of Two Siblings (Fabrication #1)

Chapter 3: A Fourth Suicide

        I was asleep on the couch.  I could hear voices saying things, but I didn't really understand what they were saying, even though it was English.  Sleep does weird stuff.  

        I could hear people coming up the stairs and I could hear my brother and Mrs. Hudson (our landlady) talking, and I could hear another voice that I didn't recognize.  It was familiar, but I couldn't quite place it, not in my drowsy head.

        The voice I didn't recognize said, "Well this could be nice."  I didn't know what he was talking about.    "If we clean it up a bit."  

        I stirred in my sleep.  It didn't need cleaning up, I didn't think.  It was messy and cluttered, but not dirty.  I thought the flat was homely.  

        "Well I can obviously straighten things up a bit," said Sherlock.  He rustled around some things, and I vaguely remember hoping that he wasn't touching any of my stuff.  

        I heard somebody walking across the room, and picking something off from the fireplace.   "That's a skull," the mysterious voice said.  

        'It's Enola's," said Sherlock.  "She kept it as a souvenir of one of our cases," he explained.  "She has a silly habit of keeping a souvenir from every case."

        "That's actually a good idea," said the voice.

        "What do you think then, Dr. Watson?" asked Mrs. Hudson.  Oh, so it was John.  No wonder the voice sounded familiar.  "There's one more bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing two bedrooms."  I wasn't sure if I snorted or not in my sleep, but I don't think I did.  

        Everybody thought Sherlock was gay.  I knew he wasn't.  But he hadn't found any other woman who he didn't think was a complete idiot, so everybody thought it was gay.

        "Of course we'll be needing two," said John with a hint of surprise in his voice. 

        "Oh don't worry, there's all sorts around here," said Mrs. Hudson.  She dropped her voice to a whisper and I couldn't hear what she was saying, but it sounded something like, "The burners and their pores have carried ones."  But I'm pretty sure that's not what she said.  

        Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock went into the kitchen and John sat down in one of the chairs.  I drifted off into a deeper sleep.  

        All of a sudden, I was woken by a very loud noise.  John had shouted, "Damn my leg!"  I was so surprised and out of it, I rolled off the couch with a crash.  I sat up and looked around.  My curly hair stuck up everywhere, and my eyes were out of focus.  My head throbbed because I banged it on the floor. 

        "Oh my god, are you alright?" he asked, jumping up and helping me back up.  "I'm so sorry," he said.

        "I'm fine, I'm fine," I said, shaking my head lightly.  I was still trying to wake up and the room wouldn't stay still.  I sat on the couch and looked around.

        "Where's Sherlock gone?" I asked when finally reoriented myself.  

        "Oh, Detective Inspector Lestrade came in here and told him there had been a fourth suicide or something," John said.  "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked again.  "You hit your head on the floor."

        "i've had way worse injuries," I said.  Which was true.

        "Wait, a fourth suicide?" I asked, suddenly realizing what this meant.  "Where did he go?" I asked urgently.

        "I haven't left yet," said Sherlock who stood in the doorway.  He looked at me.  "Get yourself up, Enola, and come with me."  He turned to John.  "You're a doctor, in fact, you're an army doctor."

        "Yes." John stood up.

        "Any good?" Sherlock asked.  

        "Very good," John said.

        "Seen a lot of injuries, then, violent deaths."

        "Mmm, yes" John seemed unsure about where this was going. 

        "Bit of trouble too, I bet."

        "Of course!" John exclaimed.  "Enough for a life time.  Far to much."

        "Would you like to see some more?" asked Sherlock, slightly smiling.

        "Oh God yes," John said and we both followed Sherlock out the door.