Her Blog

The First Case

(Our conversation before me writing this)

'The title has to be more exciting.' <-- Sherlock

'The title is fine, it'll catch a lot of eyes.' <-- Me

'Yea, then they'll look away because it's boring.' <-- Sherlock

'Oh, hush. I know what I'm doing.' <-- Me

"Fine, just don't put this conversation on there.' <-- Sherlock 

Oopsy

It was a normal day, my close friend Molly asked me to hang out with her. I tried to refuse but she looked really sad and oddly worried. So I agreed to hang out at her work place. Maybe I could learn something. My friend Molly does Postmortems. She basically preps dead bodied and does autopsy's on them for cases. She is always talked about a man named Sherlock  Holmes. She wants me to meet him, she said that his mind works like mine, but I strongly disagree.

You see I have dyslexia. I have a hard time reading and writing. My mind works differently and also sometimes slowly. From what I have heard about Sherlock is that he is arrogant and stubborn, hates others who don't think like him and barely has any friends. So, I'm 100% sure he won't like me.

On this abnormally warm day there was a strange case. I was walking with Molly down the hallway to a testing room. She was explaining the case to me. A husband was found in his car dead, thought to be suicide but it obviously wasn't. The knife was in his hand and he had a slashed throat. Molly wanted me to see the pictures so I could form an opinion on it. She thought it was suicide. I was going to be her answer.

"Why do you want me to look at it," I asked before we walked in the room.

"I know it's strange, but you like mystery and I'm trying to settle a bet with someone."

"A bet? You don't make bets."

"I only made this one."

"Don't bet things you can't prove."

"Please," she did that face. That face that got me here in the first place.

"Fine."

We walked into the testing room, there was a body on the metal table. I screamed like a child.

"Molly! You could have warned me!"

"Sorry, I forgot you are a bit queasy to these things."

"First dead body I have ever seen Molly."

"Oh, right sorry."

"Give me a second," I took a few deep breaths.

"Panic attack," a deep, melodic voice asked behind me.

"No," I started to turn around to see who I was talking to, "I'm trying to turn off the scared part of my brain so I can examine the body without freaking out," Sherlock Holmes, that man I was talking to was Sherlock Holmes. I know his face from the papers and pictures Molly has shown me. His eyes looked at me, No. Not at me. Through me. He was doing that thing he does to people, he deduces them. 

"You can do that," Molly asked.

"She worked at a summer camp, I think she knows what she is doing." Sherlock said as I was saying 'I worked at a summer camp, I think I know what I am doing.'

"How did you know that?" 

"Shall I say what I know about so far," he said with a smirk.

"From what Molly told you or?"