"Rosie, come back here!" I hear my husband (even though I am NOT gay) say to our daughter.
"What are you going now, Sherlock?" I ask.
'I'm trying to teach Rose how to dissect a human hand," he says. I shake my head as I hear squishing sounds coming from the general direction of our kitchen.
"Does she need to know how to dissect a hand?" I say.
"If we only taught her things that she needed to know she would end up like a normal person," he replies.
"And what's wrong with her being normal?" I ask. He gives me the we-both-know-why face.
"Well, I better head off for that meeting at the school so that I can enroll Rosie," I say, grabbing my coat.
"Why can't I just homeschool her?" Sherlock asks.
"For the last time, you are not home schooling her!" I say, exasperated.
I leave the flat, promising Sherlock that he can help Rosie with any homework that she gets, as long as it's not about the solar system.
When I get back, something doesn't feel right. There are scuff marks around the bolt and scratches on the wall. I run up the stairs. "Sherlock? Rose?" I call out. When I get upstairs, the flat is empty. A piece of paper lies in the middle. It reads:
If you ever want to see your daughter again,
You will have to find her first!
-JM
I venture further into the flat. "Sherlock? Sherlock, are you here?" I shout, panicking. I enter our bedroom (still not gay) to find Sherlock sitting on the bed, pressing a bloody towel to his shoulder.
"I tried to fight them off. Even when they shot me I kept on fighting. Then they held a gun to her head, so I had to let them take her. I'm sorry," he finishes.
I notice that he's shaking. Not from pain, but from anger. The great Sherlock Holmes was crying because he was angry. Angry with the people who had kidnapped Rosie, and angry with himself with because he hadn't been able to protect her.
"We will find her, and make Moriarty pay for this. But first, let's have a look at this," I say, motioning to his wounded shoulder.
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Well, at least they were married!
-Sam P.
