"Its a mess." The man mumbled as we walked over the piles around us. Sherlock remained quiet beside me, every once in a while squinting at the papers to make out what they say. The house was unfurnished, barren except for the obsessive collages on the walls. As we followed the man into a large room there was a single arm chair and photographs connected by string all over the ceiling my instincts told me to get out of here.
The man was so rugged looking and his expressions were nervous, slightly ashamed. It scared me. I don't know what Sherlock was thinking, but he didn't appear surprised, just observant as always.
As we stood there the man hung his head, not daring to look at us. His hair was greasy and unwashed and his feet were not surprisingly in the same condition. The silence was unnerving.
"We are here to talk about a blue police box." I blurt out. The man immediately shot up to look at us with wide eyes. Frantic, he ran around the room shuffling through things, papers flying through the air until he found something and hobbled over to us waving it.
"This? Did it look like this?!" He asked, shaking it in our faces. Sherlock scowled and yanked it out of his hand to look at it. His expression changed quickly as he obviously recognized it.
"Is that it? Sherlock, is that it?" I ask, trying to understand what this was all about. He knew something I didn't and leaving me in the dark wasn't helping at this point.
"Tell me what you know." Sherlock says looking at the man and then back to the ceiling of photos.
"I could ask the same of you." The man replied. But he led Sherlock to the hallway we had come down instead. I looked around the room once more before following them.
They stood there bending over a open file as the man shot out mumblings frantically. Sherlock was gradually growing agitated.
"Ok, ok." Sherlock gestured annoyed. Just for the man to continue, his pace of rambling increasing. Now it was hard for even me to think.
"Shut up!" Sherlock shouted, shaking his hands. The man jumped to Sherlocks sudden outburst and as I leaned against the door frame you could see Sherlock trying to put pieces together, to think. I wonder how you could watch someones brain work on the outside like you could with him.
The man and I were silent while Sherlock paced about in front of us, his hands clasped together, concentrating.
Finally he stopped in his tracks, unclasped his hands and marched for the door, opening it and walking out side down to the road.
"Sher-!" I manage, as he continues without me. Part of me is relieved we are leaving and the other part of me is pissed that he's leaving me again without notice, and with this crazy man.
As I start to walk out I stop and ask for the mans name. He replies Easton and stumbles forward with the file he and Sherlock were studying just moments ago. So I take it and run after Sherlock back down to the road.
"Really? You couldn't have just told me we we're planning to ditch the man?" I ask slightly out of breath with the twinge of irritance in my voice.
"No, the man wouldn't have let us go as quickly as we came." He replied shortly.
"You know you're a real arse right?" I say, watching him un-phased.
"You've got no idea." He replies, starting off back down the road again with those stilts for legs. The night was fresh and I had a feeling I wasn't going to be at home curled up in bed until far into the late night hours.
As I walked closely behind Sherlock in the dark, I wondered that if I continued to associate with him, it would always be like this. And instead of feeling the way I should, I felt a longing for this dynamic to continue. For us to keep running around town and me left to ask the questions, for him to keep me by his side.