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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TW: some mentions of sexual assault and descriptions of violence (case related)
I'm not quite sure how I ended up standing outside of 221B Baker Street but here I am. After my chat with John, which only lasted five minutes before the information became too much, I took the rest of the day off. The school would probably think a relative had died and I wouldn't correct them if it meant I'd be allowed to have time to myself.
The first place I went is home, locking the door behind me and heading straight into my makeshift office. Really it's just a spare room with a desk, chair, laptop and many files in boxes piled around haphazardly. It had been about a year and a half since I had even stepped inside of a police station, let alone sat and started look through files like a detective.
Things seemed to pass like a blur once I opened one of the case files, until I was stood here. Now I stand looking at the brass knocker sitting ajar with a box of files under my arm, ready to knock but not at all ready to go in. Once all of this is dredged up again there's no way to shut it out; if I am going to put myself through this then we better get some bloody answers.
"You made it." I'm startled by the sudden voice behind me and jump slightly before turning and settling my narrowed eyes on John. He raises his hands in surrender, "Sorry, didn't mean to creep up on you." He apologises and I nod, offering him a smile.
He shimmies past me with keys in one hand a jug of milk in the other, sliding the key into the lock and pushing open the daunting black door. I allow him to go in first, adjusting my hold on the box under my arm and eyeing the threshold carefully as though stepping through it would hurt me.
John clears his throat, gesturing inside when I just stand stationary and spurring me to come in. The foyer like area is cosy, a door to the right of the stairs declares itself as 221A which means we'd be heading upstairs. I find myself taking in my surroundings, the old fashioned wallpaper and splashes of green breaking up the pattern. Certainly different from my own dwelling.
Nevertheless, I walk up the stairs behind my friend, calming myself down with each and every one until I'm finally at ease. There's a certain guard that goes up around new people, especially when having to discuss such uncomfortable topics with them. I wouldn't be letting Sherlock Holmes get the better of me; I'm here for my own peace of mind. Justice needs to be done.
Just before opening the door to the actual flat John turns to me with a look akin to what some parents have when she has to speak with them about their child. "Don't take anything to heart. He isn't very good with..."
"New people?" I guess with raised brows.
"No, people in general." John shakes his head with a frown, bracing himself and finally opening the only thing standing between me and the oh so clever consulting detective.
I step in after John, eyes doing a quick scan of the home, taking everything in. It's rather messy for an ex military man but I can see there's been some attempt to clean which I assume to be John's doing. From what I can see it's mainly files scattered around, some information pinned to the wall with string stretching across it to connect points.
