Deducing in Time

We all know the story of Sherlock Holmes. The mad man who seems to have all the answers. The man who is a mystery in himself. All are scared, except one. The one girl who might have the bravery to understand Sherlock like no one else. And to along the way, solve the mystery of time.

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13. Room mates

 

 

     I wish I had gone home when I could. Its late now and Sherlock won't let me leave. His apartment is somewhat cluttered and musty but it suits him well. The space seems like one that would grow on you, a memory collector and keeper. 

    Mrs. Hudson is the sweetest thing you'll ever meet. As soon as Sherlock and I came through the door she raised her eyebrows in surprise at Sherlock and smiled cheerily at me. Then she hobbled off to make tea.

 

     I've been standing around the room for sometime now, occasionally snooping through some of Sherlock's treasures. Somehow the body parts in the freezer not only didn't surprise me but they didn't disgust me either. 

    For the entirety of us being here Sherlock has been sitting in an armchair, his hands clasped together against his mouth, under his nose while staring directly in front of him. Not a word spoken except answering my question as to whether or not I could leave, which was a "no".

     As far as I know he's been aware of my exploring the apartment the whole time. His reluctance to respond has been fine with me. His apartment has to be an hour from mine, enough distance to put 221b in the next town over. No wonder we never met at his apartment, it was too far away.

     "Oh dear, Sherlock's in his mind palace again. What was your name love?" Mrs. Hudson chirps suddenly, carrying the tray of tea along with her. 

     "Jo, uh mind palace?" I reply, immediately curious about the term used. 

     "You'll have to have Sherlock explain it to you, I know just about as much as you do!" She says, walking out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

      "Is she-"Yes, she's always like that." Sherlock cuts off. And he knew exactly what I was going to say. 

      "Are you?" I ask. 

      "Am I what?" He replies, finally getting up from his chair. 

      "Always like this?" I finish. When saying this deep down I know he probably is, but something inside me wants to hear him confirm it. He looks at me seriously for a moment and then quickly resumes his pacing to the kitchen.

      "Yes." He says. 

    I like him, in a weird kind of high-functioning-sociopathic way. Whatever that means. 

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