“I’ll have the job done by tomorrow. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, I’m not worrying. I’m waiting.” He hung up. I put the phone back in its cradle and went back into my bedroom to plan the murder of the greatest detective to ever live. Poison was out of the question, and I couldn’t just straight out stab him. What to do, what to do. Well, maybe I could shoot him from the empty apartment across from 221B Baker Street. Oh wait. I don’t have a gun and it would be very suspicious if I bought a gun and then not even twenty-four hours later, Sherlock Holmes was shot. So I needed some way to kill him where I couldn’t be identified. I once saw this show where the victim made it seem like murder but she really killed herself to frame the her deceased sisters ex-boyfriend. I could do that, except the other way around. I could meet him at the nearby bridge at midnight when no one would be there. Then I could bring drugged coffee so he would drink it, and it looked look like he killed himself. It was the perfect plan. I picked up the phone again and dialed Sherlock’s cell number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Sherlock. Sorry, is this a bad time?”
“No, not at all. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering if I could talk to you.”
“Of course. When do you want to talk?”
“I was thinking later tonight, around midnight. At the bridge.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
I sighed. It was all set. Twelve hours from then, my daughter and I would be safe from Moriarty forever.
Seven hours later
I walked down the sidewalk to the bridge where I would meet Sherlock for the last time ever.
“Elizabeth!” Sherlock waved at me.
“Hi, Sherlock. I brought coffee. It’s a little nippy out here.”
“Thank you.” He took the thermos and opened the lid, taking a long gulp.
“Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Its about Moriarty. When he let me go, he told me I had to do something in order to keep Catherine safe. Something horrible.”
Suddenly, his knees buckled and he fell to the hard cement.
He looked up at me; his eyes pleading for me help him.
“I had to kill you. Sherlock Holmes, I never stopped loving you.”
Then his eyes closed and I ran, not wanting to witness the death of my soul mate. The next morning, I felt empty, knowing he was dead. Then the doorbell rang. I put on a happy expression, because according to the world, I didn’t know my ex-fiancé was dead. I walked downstairs and pulled open the door.
“Ms. Cumberbatch, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Sherlock Holmes at midnight last night.” The cop pushed me against a wall and handcuffed my hands behind me. How did the police find out? Was I being spied on? The cop took me outside and pushed me into the back of a police cruiser. I was driven to the station and locked in a cell. As I sat on the plank of wood used for a bed, I remembered what the cop said when he arrested me that morning. Attempted murder? Wait, so that meant Sherlock wasn’t dead! And the traffic cameras caught me in the act. Or he told them. But he would never do that. He was still alive! At first, I was overjoyed. But then my happiness turned to terror. If he was alive, then Moriarty was going to take Kate away from me. I ran to the bars.
“You have to let me out! I have to protect my daughter!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
The guard walked over to me.
“No can do, sweetheart. You have a trial to go through, but I think you’re facing a life sentence here.”
