It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

48 - Surviving

The week passed both quickly and slowly at the same time. The detective didn talk much, didn't eat, didn't sleep, played painfully long hours of violin - he just was. His grief for The Woman had caused him to emotionally and mentally retreat to his mind palace. Even after having almost resolved his and Elizabeth's issues, here he was growing ever more distant once again.

And Elizabeth grew ever disenchanted with Sherlock because of this.

On New Year's Eve, he had appeared in the living room extra early just to find himself lamenting through the use of his violin. This had woken Elizabeth up much earlier than she had intended and she found herself trudging downstairs to find sanctuary in Mrs Hudson's flat.

Hours later, he was still playing, still mindlessly staring out of the window. Perhaps not mindlessly. No. He searched for Irene in the street below, hoping his Pied Piper tune would lure Miss Adler's spirit back to him. But why did he care? Just because she was a series of question marks to him? An enigma? Because he couldn't deduce her? Or because she had brains as well as looks? Because admittedly there was something about her that caught his eye?

Was this cheating?

Was thinking about The Woman in this way, cheating on Elizabeth?

But The Woman was dead. Could you really cheat on someone with a dead person's memory?

His eyelids clasped shut as he began to play a different tune, one born out of pure sorrow, one fully dedicated to The Woman.

Behind him, the world of 221B continued.

John had made his way downstairs while Mrs Hudson and Elizabeth had also migrated back upstairs to cook breakfast in the hopes he would eat today. They had cooked everyday and everyday food was wasted by the detective. Perhaps today would be different. At least, that's what they said to themselves.

John, Elizabeth and Mrs Hudson ate breakfast.

Sherlock played the violin.

John, Elizabeth and Mrs Hudson finished breakfast.

Sherlock played the violin.

John went to get ready for the day, as did Elizabeth and Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock played the violin.

Sherlock's food remained on it's plate, now cold.

And still Sherlock played the violin.

When all three returned, their heads practically teeming with the pain of sound-induced headaches, Mrs Hudson went over to the table to clean the dishes (having given up on the hope of Sherlock eating) and John and Elizabeth fetched their coats. They intended to go food shopping as they so often did.

When he suddenly stopped playing just to make a notation on his music sheet, you could practically hear the sighs of relief.

"Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven't heard that one before." Mrs Hudson meekly said, not really expecting a reply but hoping it would stop him from playing again so soon.

"You composing?" John asked.

Sherlock finally spoke for the first time that day, "Helps me to think."

Sherlock lifted the violin to play again  and this time Elizabeth spoke up, in the hopes of providing a distraction:

"What are you thinking about?"

Sherlock spun around, placing his violin and bow on his chair and pointed at John's laptop, dismissing Elizabeth, "John, the counter on your blog is still stuck at one-thoudand-eight-hundred and ninety-five."