By the time we had caught a cab to 57th street and found the small house at the end of it, the sun had started setting. Its funny how when you're busy doing things that keep you on your toes time passes faster, seamlessly carrying you through the day.
All I could think about the whole cab drive over was how strange and out of place the events of today had seemed. What I had done back in the pub, what Sherlock had seen...it was a side of myself that even I hadn't ever noticed before. Someone feisty, in control of her surroundings. I liked her. Hopefully she will develop a habit of coming about.
Everything was happening so quickly and, just like I had felt when I first saw Sherlock, there was an unspoken, mutual feeling of "are-we-old-friends-it-feels-like-it" kind of dynamic. And yet, nothing had come to light that justified the feeling.
"Jo! Seriously, get your head out of the clouds. We're here." Sherlock barks from outside the cab, waiting for me to come out. As the sun was lower in the sky, his eyes were as well. Just for the slightest moment, you could see something in his face, a weakness, or more specifically a lonely distant, glaze over his eyes. He was looking into the distance at nothing but he had shown for the first time, that he wasn't as calloused as he let on.
"Sher-"Come along! We haven't the time for small talk!" He suddenly cut off, marching to toward the front door of the house. He hadn't even let me say his name before following through with his initial intentions.
I stood next to Sherlock as the front door swung open with a sudden burst. A man in his mid-thirties was hunched in the doorway, his demeanor changed as soon as he saw us. His eyes widened and he seemed to breathe rapidly.
Sherlock was studying the man and obviously not attentive to the mans hesitance of our arrival. After a minute of nothing out of Sherlock, I took matters into my own hands.
"Hello, Sir we're so sorry to bother you and its a long story as to why we are even here. Do you mind letting us in for just a few minutes to explain?" I ask, trying to understand what the man was so surprised to see people at his doorstep. For all he knew we were the paper delivery service.
"Uh, I, yea I guess come in." He mumbled. His head shook slightly as he said this. His clothes, or lack there of, were stingy and looked like they could be growing mold in even the cleanest of spots.
As I walked in with Sherlock behind me the room came clearer into view. And I wish it hadn't. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with photographs and papers, piles of old dishes moldy in the corner and stacks of more and more files strewn all over the floors.
On as much as I could see the papers all said without a doubt, "The Doctor" on them.