Life is but a Dream... (A Sherlock Fanfiction)

*The Blind Banker: Part Three*

Chapter Fourteen: Wishing

It made me paranoid, because I never know if I can trust a cabbie anymore, much less sit next to one. He didn't seem like a mastermind though. As usual, I was silent throughout the whole ride, just listening to the engine underneath us. When we got out, I followed John and Sherlock up several steps to an intercom. Sherlock pressed the button on it, but nothing happened.
"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?" John asked as Sherlock studied the flats. I as well did too, and something caught my eye on one of the balconies: a boy doing his homework.
"Are you kidding me." I mumbled, immediately
bringing my head down to the concrete steps.

"Hello?" I heard the intercom ask. Luckily it was a woman's voice.
"Hello! Um I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met." Sherlock said, his voice unusually kind, and I could've sworn I saw him smile.
"No well um... I've just moved in." She told him, making him turn to John with an 'I-told-you-face.'
"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat." Sherlock said in an apologetic voice, and bit his lip.
"Oh do you want me to buzz you in?" She asked.
"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?" Sherlock mentioned, quite straight to the point.
* * *
I walked with John when we were allowed in, when he started talking.
"So you know that boy?" He asked, obviously seeing me when I saw Wyatt on that balcony.
"Just from school." I said.
"Friend?" He added, his voice more expecting.
"Pssh. No." I scoffed.
"Enemy?" He asked.
"No, okay? Can we just stop talking?!" I insisted.

"Whatever. Sherlock?! You okay?" John shouted through the door. I leaned against the wall as he knocked, hoping to get his attention from the other side.
"Yeah, anytime you feel like letting us in."
Later, when he had let us in and the police had come, I find Sherlock squatting by a suitcase of tattered laundry.
"Been away... three days, judging by the laundry." He said, then looked up at us. "Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside."
"Yep and I'm out." I said, turning to the door. I was walking out when a man bumped into me on his way in. He was in such a rush I fell to the floor.

"Watch where your going child." He spat, walking past me. I spewed air out threw my nose as my eyes focused to a pair of brown boat shoes.
"Hey aren't you that girl from my school?" I heard a familiar voice ask, and looked up. Oh god.
"No..." I said, trailing off.
"Shut up I think you are!" Wyatt said, helping me up. "I have something for you that you left at school."
Every millisecond made me uncomfortable. I switched from one foot to the other as he pulled something out of his back pocket: a black phone with a silver case.
"What the-" I started, furious
"You dropped it on your rush out of class. I was looking for you earlier to give it back." He said. Anguished, I took my phone and studied him.
"Thanks... I guess." I said, then went back inside, gazing at the quote on the back from one of my favourite movies:
"To many years fighting back tears, why can't the past just die?"**
In black cursive. Stealing one last look at Wyatt, I marched back inside the flat.

I walked back in on Sherlock boasting to a D.I about something, and listened in on their conversation.
"It's unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself on the right side of the head. Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him." He finished.
"But the gun-" the man started.
"He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened." Sherlock interrupted. "Today in the bank. Sort of warning." Sherlock started walking as he put on his scarf.

"And the bullet?" The man asked.
"Went straight through the open window."
"Oh come on what are the chances of that?"
"Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it." Sherlock concluded.
"But if the door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" The man finally asked.
"Good! Finally asking the right questions." Sherlock stated, walking out.

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**A/N I don't own that quote it's from the Phantom Of The Opera