He always knew love was a weakness, he just didn't think it would be his.
Imogen Hargreaves is a former detective that finds herself walking right back into the life she'd left behind. Not only does drama ensue but she manages to catch the eye of t...
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A soft tapping fills the room, rainfall coming from above, all the way to the small window that sits open a crack. Only five minutes ago had the sky been clear and it was looking to be quite a nice day; members of the public had braved it outside in shorts and neglected to wear their jackets. Oh the storm they must be cursing up right now.
British weather. Love it or hate it.
Personally, I can't seem choose. See only here can you be desperate for rain on an otherwise sweltering day and actually get it. Likewise if it were raining you could also find a rainbow come to tell you the sun is about to come out. Now if you ask me about seasons then I could easily tell you I have a preference for the summer. But, unfortunately, it isn't summer and so right now the grey clouds hang over London like a fly to shit and the rain doesn't show any signs of stopping.
Still, at least it's happening now and not when I have to go outside and make my way back home.
"Sorry to interrupt, Miss Hargreaves," The flustered receptionist, Janice, apologises sincerely, doing her best to avoid all of the eyes on her and focus only on who she came to speak to, "there's a gentleman here for you. Apparently it's something to do with your brother - Hamish." Janice finishes and I slowly begin to nod, already knowing exactly who's waiting for me. One thing I don't know? Why.
The class looks at me expectantly as if I'm supposed to tell them what's happening in my personal life, "Just read until I get back. I won't be long." I lie, knowing this could take a minute or an hour. They all nod obediently and put their heads down. A charade, of course, because once I'm out of ear shots they'll begin acting like a pack of wild animals.
Bloody teenagers.
Janice ducks out of the room with me in tow, leading the way through the corridors and towards one of the conference rooms near reception. Her constant looks back and the gnawing on her lip is enough to tell me she's dying to ask me questions about who it could be. Perhaps she thinks a relative has died. Whether I comment or not, this visit will become public knowledge in the next half an hour and the hot gossip of the staff room.
Bloody adults.
No words are exchanged apart from a thank you when she holds the door open. It's not that I want to be rude but my head is currently in a spin thinking about what the sudden visit is about, and at work nonetheless. If it had been at home or a phone call I wouldn't think too much into it.
"Just in there. Hope everything's okay." Janice informs me, doing her best not to be peering inside too obviously.
"Thank you." I repeat with a smile, pushing open the door to the conference room and stepping inside. The change in the air gets my visitor's attention and he stands straight, to attention almost. Given his background it's slightly comical. It's impossible to hold back a smile when he finally turns to face me, his somewhat short stature being the same, his army regulated sandy hair...although I don't see a cane.
He looks at me with a warm smile, radiating the kind energy he always seems to possess, "Imogen." The man greets me.
"John Watson. What can I do for you today?" I wrap my arms around the slightly shorter man, finding that I've missed him more than I thought. Work isn't a viable excuse, because I have reasonably short hours; no, the issue is that I'm a bit of a loner.
John gives his best attempt of an innocent look but I can't say I buy it, "I can't visit a friend?" Hm, now I definitely don't believe him. My dear friend has a tell when he lies to me and that tell is the furrowing of his brows and strange pouting of his lips. Personally I find it amusing given that it's clear he's doing his best to seem truthful.
"At work? I don't think I could have popped in to say hi at your base." I fold my arms expectantly. We'd known each other for quite some time now and had strangely met through mutual friends, despite me being a few years younger.
The former soldier shifts on the spot, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times before deciding on what he'd like to say. "Imogen, I need your help with something."
"There's more." I easily assume.
"I moved in with someone, a man, called Sherlock Holmes." John begins.
My lips part in surprise at his statement, "I didn't realise you were gay." I admit, frowning at the look of resignation suddenly appearing on his face.
"I am not gay!" John exclaims, loud enough to stun me and almost certainly loud enough to gain the attention of anyone loitering in the reception area. He very quickly regrets the outburst if the pinching of the bridge of his nose is anything to go by, "Sorry, it's been a long day. He's my friend." He corrects himself with a sheepish look on his face.
I mull over his words for a second and the name begins to ring a bell. I don't believe I've ever met a Sherlock Holmes before and I'd remember a name like that surely. It only takes a few moments for me to realise why he sounds so damn familiar. Some of my students had been muttering about a consulting detective they'd read about on a blog, said he was a genius and solved crimes for the police. At the time I didn't pay it much mind, only scolding them for getting off topic.
John is friends with a consulting detective so evidently he just can't keep away from trouble. If he's here for help in the middle of the school day and one thing he has to mention is his flatmate then the two have to be connected. It isn't a hard conclusion to jump to but it is probably going to involve some sort of crime.
I'd walked away from that life and John knows that, so why on earth has he come to talk to me about Mr Holmes?
"I'm not a detective anymore, John, you know that." I shoot him down before he's even begun.
"I know that but you'll want to hear this, alright?" John stretches an arm out to stop me turning on the spot this instant and walking away from the situation. "Lestrade came to us with a case and I thought it all seemed familiar..."
I shift on the spot anxiously, waiting for him to just get on with it.
"I think he's back, Imogen, and he's killing again." John speaks softly but it does nothing to the hard blow of his words sending me stumbling back.
