Something to Remind You (BBC Sherlock Fan Fiction)

Chapter 1: It's Too Quiet

I sit in my grandmother's chair in my new apartment.

After my grandmother died, I couldn't live in that old house. It was too big. Much too big and much too quiet.

The old acoustic guitar sits in my lap. These are the only two things I have set in a place where I want them. The rose colored Victorian chair facing the window that's nearest to the fireplace and the guitar, in my lap.

It's too quiet.

It seems that's all I think nowadays. Probably because I can't hear my own heartbeat that usually pounds away in my ears, and I can't hear my own breathing. Everything became too quiet ever since...

No. Mustn't think of that. Mustn't think of him.

I take a deep breath and put the guitar its stand that's to my right. I grab the letter that's on the fireplace and open it. It was on the chair this morning when I came in and I know I hadn't put it there.

I furrow my brows.

It's a picture of my friend, Sherlock Holmes. I drew it and gave it to him before I left 7 years ago to go to Ireland to live with and take care of my grandmother that had dementia.

I fold it up and place it in the envelope. I set it in my lap and sigh.

I stare at the frost that covers the corner's of each square on the window. I reach out my hand and touch the glass. Cold. That's what I am. That's what I've become. Cold.

It's too quiet.

I get up from my chair and go to my room. I get out a black trench coat and put it over me and I put the envelope in the inside pocket of my coat. I walk out of the flat and down the apartment stairs and pass my landlady.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Goodall greets me with a grin on her face. I give her a small fake smile and head out the door. I walk down the empty street and wave out my hand to get a cab.

Less than a minute later, one stops for me and I get in. "Where to?" the man asks. "221B Baker Street," I say.

The ride there was quiet too.

A while later, the car stops and I get out after I pay the guy. "Could you wait here for a few moments?" I ask him. He nods.

I look at the building in front of me. As soon as my hands start to feel numb, I walk up to it and ring the doorbell. An older woman opens the door.

"Hello," she says. She seems sad, but she manages to keep a smile on her face.

I fake another smile. "Hello, I'm here to see a Doctor Watson. I have something to give him," I say. She nods and welcomes me in and leads me up a flight of stairs to a door. She opens it and I see the room's cluttered with papers and books. Obviously Sherlock's doing.

"John," she says. He looks up from his laptop and looks from her, to me. "Someone's here to see you."

"Um, hello," he greets. He doesn't smile. He looks sad, like the older woman but except there's something else tracing his face. Something I couldn't quite make out.

The older woman smiles at me then leaves.

"Hello," I say. I take a few steps into the room. I look around once more and then walk over to him. I get out the envelope and set it on his keyboard. "Here. Keep it. I figured you should have it since you were close to him," I say. I barely smile at him and walk out of the flat. I run down the stairs and out the door.

I open the door to the cab and I'm just about to get in when someone yells, "Hey!"

I turn around and I'm facing John. He's holding the envelope. It's obvious he's opened it.

"You didn't tell me your name. Who are you?" he says.

I exhale the breath I didn't know I was holding.

"My name's Alice Lockhart and as for who I am..." I look past him to the window and back to him. "I honestly don't know." I turn back around and get in the car.

"Where to?"

"St. Batholomew's Hospital."

I stand in the place where Sherlock had landed when he jumped. It's hard to believe that this only happened almost a year ago.

I look down to the pavement and see the sidewalk was a very light shade of pink. The bloodstain hadn't completely washed away yet. I look up to the clouded sky and then my eyes trace the edge of the hospital's top.

I look back down and behind me. A garbage truck stood there...

I gasp a little.

No...

I sigh.

No. It's impossible. Sherlock was really dead.

**

It's a little after 5 P.M when I arrive "home". It's not a home to me yet. Not until I've gotten used to it.

I trudge up the stairs to the apartment but only to find the door to be cracked a bit. I furrow my brows and push the door open. I step in hesitantly and then close the door.

I look around the room, nothing was out of place. Unpacked boxes were still stacked. The guitar was on its stand and the chair still faced the window.

I take off my coat and throw it on a pile of boxes and walk over to the chair. My combat boots are making a stomping sound.

I look in the chair and there sits a violin with no bow. Just a violin. I furrow my brows and pick it up. I sit in the chair and place it in my lap and look at it.

I shake my head and look out the window. The day was turning to night, very slowly. And the sun peeked out through the clouds and landed on the violin that sits in my lap. Beautiful, yes, it may seem, but you know what really sucks about this whole damn town?

It's just too quiet.

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So....like....I just randomly got this idea for this story...

Picture of Alice is in the external link. Um, vote, comment and follow me? :D

Love you all! O3O