Rachel

I've been running all my life. Away from the horrid memories of the sacrifices my mother made to protect me, and to protect my name from this evil world we live in...
But everything's changed...
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I've recently found out my mother was murdered by a psychopath; choosing the wrong pill in a game of chance that would give away her secret. That gave away my name.
That cost her her life...
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I heard a man named Sherlock Holmes had solved my mother's case along with others who had fallen of the same fate. I must find him so I can warn him: for he does not know what he has gotten himself into...

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2. Discoveries Can Shock

That night in my flat, I decide to do some research on my two neighbors. “John Watson” Is the first thing I type in the search box. The first thing that came up was a blog that he runs, so I decide to check it out. I laugh at the story titled “The Geek Interpreter”; a case where apparently the characters from someone’s comic books came to life. Then I read through a few other stories: “The Hounds of Baskerville”, “The Speckled Blonde”, “The Six Thatchers.”

I lose track of time, and eventually glance at the dinky alarm clock on the opposite side of the room. 10:03 PM, so I decide to read one more story, then go to sleep. I click on “A Study In Pink” and begin to read.

                This is what happened on the night I moved in with Sherlock Holmes.

When I first met Sherlock, he told me my life story. He could tell so much about me from my limp, my tan and my mobile phone. And that's the thing with him. It's no use trying to hide what you are because Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.

This morning, for example, he asked me who the Prime Minister was. Last week he seemed to genuinely not know the Earth goes round the Sun. Seriously. He didn't know. He didn't think the Sun went round the Earth or anything. He just didn't care. I still can't quite believe it. In so many ways, he's the cleverest person I've ever met but there are these blank spots that are almost terrifying. At least I've got used to him now. Well, I say that, I suspect I'll never really get used to him. It's just, on that first night, I literally had no idea of what was to come. I mean, how could I?

I was looking at the flat, surprised at the state it was already in, when DI Lestrade from Scotland Yard burst in. Sherlock, of course, already knew why he was there; there had been another death. Sherlock asked me to join him and I went along, intrigued. In the taxi, he explained how he'd deduced everything about me the previous day - how he'd picked up on every word I said, every action, tiny little things about my phone. It was extraordinary. I'd try to explain it here but I don't think I'd be able to do him justice. 

I was still surprised that, even being the genius he clearly is, the police would come to him for help. He said he was a 'consulting detective'. Naturally, being the arrogant so-and-so he is, he'd had to give himself his own unique job title.

Finally we arrived, and to my surprise, Sherlock introduced me as his colleague. The police seemed surprised by this as well I get the impression he'd not had 'colleagues' before. It was a body of a woman, dressed in pink, and she'd been poisoned. Again, Sherlock just looked at her and he knew everything about her: the way she was dressed, splatters of mud on her leg, what was there and, more importantly, what was missing. It was the missing pink suitcase which excited him.

 

I pause in my reading. I start to wonder who the lady is, so is create a new page and type “A Study In Pink” in the search bar.
Naturally, John’s blog post comes up first, but just below it there is a title that says “News for A Study In Pink” I choose to click on it, and a million news articles pop up; each with a different outside perspective of the case. I finally choose one with the title “SERIAL SUICIDES SAFELY SOLVED!” and it opens on the page to reveal a number of pictures.

I scroll through the photos to find a woman lying on her stomach on a wooden floor, dead as a door nail. There were no photographs of her face though. I look back at the alarm clock across the room: 10:47 PM. I turn off my phone and turn off my lamp, hoping to get a good night’s sleep. The picture of that woman in was still projecting in my mind as I slowly drifted off.

 

The next morning, I decided to ask John a few questions about “A Study In Pink” to see if he could tell me who the pink lady was.

“Good morning, Ruby.” John says as he smiles at me in the hallway.

“Where are you off to this morning, John?” I ask with a hint of curiosity in my voice.

“I’m going to the sandwich shop next door to get some grub.” He pauses, thinking for a moment, then he resumes. “Do you want to come along? I’ll pay for it.” I suddenly realize that all this research has made me forget about my appetite!

“Yeah, that sounds lovely.” We then head over to the small deli next door and start to eat.

“So, I found your blog last night.” I say before taking a bite out of my sandwich.

“Really?” He acts surprised, but deep inside I know he must get that a lot. “What did you think?”

“I think it’s really interesting. My favorite story has to be ‘The Geek Interpreter’! I also liked ‘The Hounds of Baskerville’.” John’s grin gets a little wider as I say I liked his stories. I then remember last night’s research. “I also had a few questions about ‘A Study In Pink’,” I tell him nervously.

“Go ahead. Ask me anything you like.”

“Well, what were the names of the people who were killed? I am little curious about who died.”

John thinks for a moment, then finally responds. “Ummm…let’s see…I can only remember the name of the lady in pink we found dead.”

“What was her name?” I ask, trying to hide my excitement of who she was.

“Yes…her name…was Jennifer Wilson.”

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