Sentiment || Sherlock Holmes

The Sign of Three

Evelyn rose slowly on Sunday morning.

She'd stayed up late the night before, enthralled with a book. Sherlock was finishing up a case, so Eve didn't feel rude withdrawing to John's chair ― really their shared chair now ― with her novel.

Sherlock disassembled his case board while Evelyn got comfortable and sipped a cup of tea as she read.

She began sitting upright. Eventually, her legs made their way over the arm of the chair so she was sitting sideways. A short while after that, she pulled her long limbs in, curling up in the chair and continuing to read.

Sherlock contacted his client, arranging to meet in the next few days to review the solution of the case. He looked over at Eve, as was his habit. The corner of his mouth quirked up at the sight of her new position. His flatmate was blissfully unaware of the world around her, occupied by the characters she felt she knew. The tall detective wasn't much for fiction, but decided to give it a try since he had nothing better to do at the moment.

Sherlock walked over to the bookshelf and selected Evelyn's favourite: Persuasion. He made it about four pages in, and found he loathed it. Austen talked about connections and people and feelings and he easily understood how Eve could love it, but he was already bored.

Evelyn smiled and read her own book as fast as she could, inhaling the happy conclusion. Eve shut her book, reveling in the goosebumps on her arms and the satisfaction of having completed a wonderful story. Evelyn had a glow about her in that moment―an aura of contentment and lovliness no one could resist if they tried.  She looked up, suddenly aware of someone looking at her.

Sherlock stared at her. His blue eyes trapped her, as they always did. Sherlock turned the page of his book without shifting his gaze. Eve felt a shiver travel down her spine.

"Happily ever after?" Sherlock asked.

"The best kind." Evelyn said, sitting upright again. "Love and friendship for all those who deserve it."

"The wonders of fiction." Sherlock mused.

Eve yawned. "Indeed."

"You should go to bed." He suggested.

Evelyn yawned again, nodding in sleepy agreement. Sherlock smiled.

"Sweet dreams, Sherlock." Eve said with a smile before heading up to her bedroom.

"Good night, Evelyn." Sherlock replied.

Sherlock turned his attention reluctantly back to the story of Anne Elliot and Frederick Wentworth.

"They were gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly fell in love...Troubles soon arose...More than seven years were gone since this little history of sorrowful interest had reached its close...No one had ever come within the Kellynch circle, who could bear a comparison to Frederick Wentworth as he stood in her memory."

"Perhaps not always fiction..." Sherlock said to himself, reading on despite himself.

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Sunlight brushed against Eve's eyelids, encouraging her to stir and greet the day. She lazily rolled out of bed and trudged into the kitchen. Evelyn tried to tame her hair while the kettle boiled.

Sherlock's client had already come and gone. He sat in his chair, reading. Eve brought  her tea into the sitting room and sat cross legged in her chair. The sleeves of her sweater were pulled down over her hands. She took a sip of her tea.

"What are you reading?" Evelyn asked.

"Why didn't Anne tell Wentworth she still loved him?" Sherlock asked.