2. The Art of Deduction
He told me his name. Sherlock Holmes. I knew he looked familiar. I recognized him from the news. Headlines on the paper saying,"The Art Of Deduction." He worked beside Dr. John Watson. I remembered his eyes glaring at the reporters that photographed him wearing a deer-stalk hat, or now, a Sherlock Holmes hat. Just remembering the fact that I was the photographer that made him hate the world made me cringe. I remember studying my photos, wanting to caress his cheeks and run my fingers through his thick black hair.
He came and sat down by my side, his hands intelligently placed under his chin. Was he studying me? I was aware of his works, he just had to glance at someone to know everything about them."Despair," he mumbled under his breath. I looked at him questioningly. He told me that my body language suggested that I was unconfident and scarred. He said that I had gone through a terrible loss. How could he tell? He looked at me with eagle-like eyes. I guess now I had to tell him if he was right.
Four years ago, I was in love with a gorgeous young man. We were childhood sweethearts. We had always known each other's strengths and weaknesses. We knew everything about each other. On my 27 birthday, he proposed to me. I didn't say yes, but I didn't say no. Instead of answering him, I ran. I ran further than I ever have. I ducked under branches and jumped over fences. I tore the dress that I wore to my birthday dinner. I remember looking back and seeing a face. His face. I don't exactly remember the expression. Maybe a mixture of disappointment and relief. I started crying as Sherlock brought me back to reality.
He led me to the kitchen, asking me if I wanted any tea. I rejected the beverage. He started his way to his chair. I followed. I sat down in the chair across from his. He gently sipped from his hot cuppa. I watched him, I studied him. His eyes nervously darted across the room and his hands were shaking. Was he anxious? Had he known something that I did not?