Sherlock checked his watch. 7:30 p.m. He looked around nervously at the chatting couples. He decided to do some deductions at the strangers around him. 40 year old female. Divorced a few times. This must be her fourth attempt. One child that lives with the third husband.
20 year old male. Expensive food. Father's wallet must be deep. Only interested in redheads, could be a fan of that one Disney movie. Nose ring must be a 16th birthday gift. Very clumsy but funny to his date. The more he looked, the more he felt a ping of loneliness in his chest. He was used to the feeling before but this was different. It felt different.
'More wine, sir?' He looked up at the waitress with her almost genuine smile and the bottle in her left handed. He nodded and watched as the white wine swished in the glass as it was being poured. He downed it one gulp and asked for more. 'Are you sure, Mr. Holmes? This is the fifth glass.'
He swiped the bottle from her hand and poured it in. 'What are you doing standing up? Sit down.' The waitress sat down across him and watched awkwardly as the man in his late 30s downed glass after glass of Grenache. He seemed sad and a bit disappointed as he drank the glass clean. 'Did you know the time it takes to age wine is what makes it so good?' She was confused as he kept spewing out random facts about wine. She tried to make some conversation to stray away from the current one. 'A-are you expecting anyone?'
Sherlock stopped pouring and looked at her. He put the bottle down and offered her the remaining wine in his glass. He got up and sighed. She didn't come. 'Have the wine. I'm leaving.'
🔱
As he walked back home, Sherlock deduced his situation. She didn't come maybe she didn't want to go. No, she would tell me. Maybe Mycroft summoned her or whatever the fuck he does. No, I would see her come downstairs. Maybe she fainted. Not possible. No. No. No. No. No.
'Fuck!' He cursed to himself as he punched a nearby lampost, surpirising an old couple and a group of drunk teenagers walking by. Sherlock had his chance at a genuine relationship. He was ready to commit to actual love and no manipulation this time. He screwed up and he knew it.
He sucked up the pain and kept heading to 221Baker Street. Again, something felt unsettling. When he arrived, the first thing he heard were police sirens and cameras clicking. Before he knew it, his legs got him running upstairs to her flat. John was there, helping Lestrade tackle down a man with a scar on his right cheek.
Sherlock looked around at the scene. The flat was a wreck with her couch bearing several tears, most probably from the bloodied sickle on the floor. He stepped closer but felt his weight cracked something underneath. Sherlock moved his foot to see pieces of a shattered beckoning cat. The blood on them matched the wounds on the man's left cheek.
Lestrade finished handcuffing the man and forced him on his feet. He stumbled about, blood dripped from his face and bruises decorated his skin. He had a buzz cut that a small piece of glass in it. Instinct took over the logical side of things and Sherlock grabbed the man's hoodie, shoving him into the wall. 'Where is she?!'
He was caught off guard and terrified when he saw the rage in Sherlock's eyes. He slammed the man back in the wall. 'Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing?!' He gritted his teeth at the frightnend man and pushed Lestrade aside. 'Where. Is. She?' He weakly and frightenly pointed at the bedroom across from them. Sherlock lets go of him and ran to into the equally messy room. The drawers were pulled from the closet and clothes were strewn everywhere. John ran to him and noticed his eyes darting everywhere. John jumped a bit as Sherlock pulled off the bedsheets to reveal the black book.
He swiped it from the mattress and flipped open the pages, looking for any hints she was alive. He stopped at a page with odd symbols messily written. He threw the book at John who caught it in his arms. 'Decipher that.' He glanced at the page.
'What is this?'
'There's a cipher wheel at the back. She's trying to tell us something.'
YOU ARE READING
Inconsistencies In Sentiments
Fanfiction'Why didn't you wear the hat today?' John questioned as he hung his coat. 'I wear the hat when I want t-' Sherlock stopping in mid sentnce wasn't unusual but it was his expression that shockes John. It was that of pure shock and anger. 'Do you hear...
