Rain [Short Stories]

Something Good

Maise had just gotten back to London after vacationing to Berlin for a week. Working as a detective put a lot of stress on one person. You know, especially when you've been partnered up with Sherlock Holmes.

For anyone unfamiliar with the man, he was undeniably difficult to be around, that was for sure. He was rude, irritatingly smart, and could have your entire life story laid out before you in a matter of seconds.

But he was different around Maise. He softened around the edges, held his tongue around her. She found him easier to be around than what people whispered. Which perplexed other people when she said she didn't see it. She stepped out of the cab, butterflies swarming in her stomach as she hurried up the sidewalk towards the flat. She couldn't wait to see him. Sherlock that is.

As she rapped on the door of 221B Baker Street, she felt a rush of joy. There she was. Right on the doorstep. She supposed she could have walked in. She had a key after all. Instead, Mrs. Hudson answered the door,
"Oh! Maise! You're back from your trip. Oh, how was it, deary? You'll have to tell me all about it," the kindly old woman took her into the flat, ushering her up the stairs to Sherlock's flat.

||Something good, oh something good, oh something good||

But something felt wrong in that second. As she pushed the door open, her heart dropped into her feet. There Sherlock was...but not in his usual spot in his chair. Instead he was on the floor, unmoving. Maise cried out, rushing over to him. There was a syringe on the floor, that was the first thing she noticed. Then his blue lips and the breaths barely making it out of his lungs.

||Oh, something good tonight will make me forget about you for now||

"Mrs. Hudson! Call an ambulance!!" She screamed, kneeling next to the consulting detective, lifting his head onto her knees.
"Sherlock! Sherlock, oh god." She choked out, twirling her fingers into his curly dark locks of hair. Internally begging him to be okay. This couldn't be the end of the magnificent Sherlock Holmes. This couldn't be the end of her love. She wouldn't let it be.

Death would have to drag her love, scrabbling, kicking and screaming across the floor before she gave in.

"Sherlock," she said again, her voice shaking.

||Get high, hit the floor before you go||

She remembered the day before she left. She'd caught him having a cigarette outside. It was a funny thing to 'catch' Sherlock Holmes. He didn't do much except look at her, take a drag off the cancer stick, and flick it into the street. Then he walked up to her, smoke leaked from the corners of his mouth and finally, he blew it up into the air away from her. Taunting her with his habits. She remembered the smoke blended in with the grey sky and disappeared along with his frown. He'd smiled. She begged to see that smile again.

||Matador, estocada, you're my blood sport||

She gasped lightly as he made a noise; a small, unintelligible noise but a sound nonetheless.
"Sherlock?" She smoothed his hair away from his forehead, speaking softly.
"M....Mai...se," He choked out, gasping now for breath.

||But something good, oh something good, oh something good||

"It's okay. It's okay, Sherlock." She kept repeating it over and over, hoping the words would fix him. Hoping they'd somehow take away what he'd done to himself. She hoped he'd spring up and start picking her apart; where she'd been and what she'd done. But he didn't. He didn't and that's what she hated.