Inconsistencies In Sentiments

Chapter 4

The place smelled of alcohol as the jazz band on stage played Makin' Whoopie! by Bing Crosby. 'How does everyone here likes this type of music.?' Sherlock winced at the loud carefree tunes from brass intrusments.

'Yeah well, they don't have Tchaikovsky.' John went up to the reservations tables as Sherlock wandered off to the bar. He sat down in front of the bartender who was busy drying shot glasses. 'So, what major are you?

'What?' He looked up at the man who had so suddenly started a conversation.

'It's quite obvious by your posture that you've been hunched over a computer but you're in your 20s so you can't have a job. Part time, yes but not full and I'm guessing that this is your partime job. Also you have an Alpha Epsilon Pi ring that's brand new so you're a freshman at Kings College London.' The bartender sighed.

'Digital Culture.'

'Oh, you're one of those.' He put the glasses away and hung the rag at the back of the counter. 'Can I get you anything to drink?'

'Come on, Sherlock.'

🔱

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the crying singer as she sobbed into a tissue. 'I mean, Dahlia was such a good friend. She helped me with my breakup and I-' Her line was cut of by more sobbing. John handed her another tissue as her makeup was destroyed by tears.

'Yeah, we all know she's gone. Can you tell us what happened on the night she died?' John kicked him in the shin, shutting him up before he worsened the situation. He turned to back to the flapper and consoled her. 'Take your time, love.'

🔱

'Dahlia was the best singer we had. It's shame what happened to her.' The musician said lazily as he polished his trumpet. 'Can you tell us anything? Anything at all?'

'Yeah, she disappeared out the backstage door into the alley. Didn't even change out of her dress. She looked excited for some reason.'

They reentered the club from backstage and Sherlock grunted. '30 minutes and only one person gave us information.'

'Give them time. They're still grieving.'

'Is that what that was? It sounded more like useless crying.'

John rolled his eyes. His eyes switched his gaze to the bar and his arm stopped Sherlock from walking. 'What?'

'Isn't that the girl from the apartment?'

🔱

John felt a bit awkward being sandwiched between Sherlock and (Y/N). This was a bad idea. She was on her phone, texting someone called Mike. Sherlock just glared out the window, seemingly annoyed at a certain someone. The cab turned into traffic, making John grunt in frustration.

'So, how do you know Sherlock?' She glanced at John and switched off her phone.

'He thinks I killed Victor.'

'You did!'

'Wait, Victor? Like as in pushed-into-the-well Victor?' Sherlock's eyes stared bullets into her own. Fuck.

'Yes and she pushed him in.'

'You have no proof whatsoever!'

'So, you're confessing that you kill him?'

'Shut up!' John stepped into the arguement and ended it complete silence. 'Sherlock, try not to piss people off.' He huffed like a little child and continued glaring out of the window. She did the same. He nudged Sherlock's arm, urging him to say something. He rolled his eyes and spoke up.

'So, can you still draw?' Her facial features softened and looked at him in disbelief. Sherlock giving a fuck if I can still draw? This is new.

'Yes but haven't been doing it in a while.' She sighed and stared off, missing the carefree memories of yesteryears. She used to draw all day everyday until it happened.

'Mako!' She strained to get up from her injury as she heard someone call out her code name. They opened fire at the enemy, deafening her all ready ringing ears. Janson rushed to her side, slinging his arm over his shoulder. 'Come on, (Y/N). Work with me here.' She stumbled forward, eyes blurry and palms sweaty. It was the moment she felt a bullet pass by. Janson fell down with a bullet hole through his head. (Y/N) felt her legs give in and fell next to him. 'Janson?' He didn't respond.

'(Y/N)?' She shook it off and looked at the two who were confused. 'We're here.'