Charlie gripped the captain's wheel as the door shut behind the detestable man. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the sea. The horizon blurred as clouds masked the moon, making it easy to get lost without the GPS.
She propped her elbow on the console, resting her chin in her hand and gazed out the window. When had she last slept? Naps didn't count. Shiro's man was irritatingly right. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, struggling to stay focused.
What if she really did drive them into the side of a freighter?
The black sea and sky blended as the horizon vanished. Time dragged as she traced circles on the worn wood, the wheel cold and heavy in her hand. Her eyes burned as she tried to focus on the ink-stained horizon.
As her lids fluttered, she shook her head. Don't sleep. Not now.
"Dear God, please help me stay awake," she whispered.
She reached for her knapsack and pulled out a bundle of letters tied with a blue ribbon. She hesitated, glanced at the door, then untied the ribbon and opened one of the first letters her mother sent her two years ago. The paper felt soft from age and the touch of her fingers.
*******
My dear Charlie,
A visitor came again today. Sherlock Holmes. Such a peculiar man, brilliant, impatient and terribly kind beneath it all. I know he listens to me even when he pretends not to. He says my piano playing helps him think. Can you imagine that?
*******
A faint smile touched Charlie's lips. She traced the words with her thumb as the lamp swung above her head.
*******
I can't wait to see you. I must introduce you to him when you come to London. I imagine he's much like you. I told him he'd like you, but he laughed at me and said he doesn't like anyone. I don't believe him. There is goodness there. Beneath his hardness. Goodness.
*******
Charlie's throat constricted as the letter trembled in her grip. Sherlock Holmes. Was he truly the same man? It couldn't be. Her gaze flicked to the darkened window. Her own weary reflection stated back at her. The absurdity stung, almost making her laugh. The man below deck was blunt, arrogant, utterly infuriating. How could that impossible man ever be the one her mother spoke about with such warmth?
Yet something in the letter pulled at her.
"If he's the one you say he is, mother, why won't he give me your letter?"
The motor hummed beneath her feet. Her eyelids drooped again, heavy with exhaustion, but she forced them open. The sea stretched endlessly as the stars blurred, their cold reflection shimmering off the water. Why was it so agonizing to stay awake?
She slipped another letter from the bundle, her eyes skimming the words.
*******
He told me once that he had a mind palace. He said every experience, every segment of life is locked in its own room until he's ready to face it. Isn't that peculiar? How could anyone remember everything?
*******
Charlie's fingers tightened on the edges of the page as the sea whispered against the hull. For the first time since leaving Osaka, the quiet felt almost unbearable.
She tied the ribbon back around the letters and pressed them against her chest.
"How can I believe he's really Sherlock Holmes?" she whispered.
++++++++++++++
Hours later, Charlie yawned as she raised her head from nestling her cheek in the crook of her arm. Passing a hand through her hair, her eyes opened lazily, then widened with the sudden realization that something was wrong. Very wrong!
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Sherlock's Interpreter {Sunday Updates}
FanfictionCharlie Magnussen wasn't your ordinary, run-of-the-mill daughter of a notorious billionaire. She was special. Like her father, her memory was as acute and unfailing as the many languages she spoke. Unlike her father, however, Charlie was on the run...
