In The Light Only One Can See Me Rise

Chapter 2: Torture of the Bereaved

MOLLY
With John's death hanging over us all, the presence of Sherlock Holmes was nowhere to be found. Even in spite of the most tantalizing of cases arising, cases that neither St. Bartholomew's nor Scotland Yard could solve. But in all honesty, there was no point, really. A reluctance took over both institutions like a gray cloud glooming overhead. It was as if two people had died that day, the fall drove more than one person off that roof.

I would drop by his flat from time to time, but as usual, there was no seeing him. Not even Mrs. Hudson could manage to get him out, and she'd drive herself worried sick because he wasn't eating again. Piles of untouched assorted biscuits and scones laid by his door, cuppas of tea long passed there once steaming state, now cold. No sound could be heard except that of a violin being played.

Days would then become weeks, each composition more melancholic than the last. His lamentations went on long into the night to the extent where neighbors would complain. But as soon as things were explained, the people understood and turned right back around.

There was no rest for those on Baker Street.

LESTRADE
I ushered Mrs. Hudson off to her sisters, the poor woman hadn't slept for days. At first, she wouldn't admit her deprivation, constantly waving it off that she didn't mind being awake. And nobody would blame her for keeping face, but how could she deny it now?

The helicopters were retreating now prompted by a phone call in which Mrs. Hudson shrugged off as The Government. I surveyed the scene before me several yardies were being detained, multiple accounts of property damage, and the lingering skid marks of a high-speed chase. It was still so hard to comprehend that one frail little housekeeper was the cause of all this.

"How was I to know that my late husband's old drug cartel would have such a row if I took out his car for a midnight drive", she paused and continued , "it helps me relax".

"Not to mention the plenty accumulated outstanding warrants for seizure of that red Ashton Martin dragging our whole division alongside the already dangerous pursuit. For goodness sake's Mrs. Hudson, they were shooting right at you."

She proceeded to straighten herself out, wiping off dust and debris, as if the whole thing were nothing to fuss about. For a moment, it occured to me that maybe she did a little more for her husband than just typing, but I shook that thought away. Seeing as there was no arguing with her, I called someone over, giving them the address and instructing them to take her straightaway.

I turned and was about to do the same when she called out to me, "Greg! Wait, dear, there's something you should know."

I walked over and laid one arm up on top of the patrol car, "Mrs. Hudson, I know you. What is this really all about."

She sighed in defeat and whimpered, "It's Sherlock," the car started up, "He's missing."

I stared in utter disbelief as the car began to drive off, "What do you mean he's missing ?"

She pulled her head out fighting against the wind, "Please, we have to find Him."

MYCROFT
"What do you mean he's been missing for over two days!?"

I responded back to him in my usual blatant composure,"It is, as I stated before, Inspector Lestrade. My brother and I do not have a close relationship. It is not my responsibility to know his whereabouts at all times, especially if he decides he wants to go missing as you put it."

I could see all the angry sentiments rising in him, "Oh, that's all a big load of rubbish, and you know it."

Leaning forward with my hands cross, "The fact of the matter is this I am not my brother's keeper, Sherlock is old enough to act on his own without Big Brother watching over him, and finally there is no need for you to come in here uncivilized like."

That seemed to set off the good Inspector even more, "Uncivilized! You really have no idea what your brother has been going through and how he has resolved to cope with it all, do you!?"

"Yes. Yes. I am well aware that he locks himself up like some kind of prepubescent child and doesn't speak..."

He cut me off, "He's on the drugs again. Mrs. Hudson came clean to us, and she says a few days ago before his disappearance, she found Sherlock curled up in John's chair with the needle hanging from his arm. She hurried to his side and pulled the bloody needle out, but it was too late. The vial was empty, and when she turned him over, he was an absolute complete wreck. And when he looked at her, he broke down, and you want to know what he said-he said that he was sorry. So, so sorry. And asked her if she thought John would forgive him. Forgive him for being weak and that he hoped he wouldn't hate him."

He looked for some kind of change in expression from me, but there was none.

Exasperated, he gets up behind me and digs his fists into my chair,"So after all this inspite of all I told you even with MI6 at your disposal, you refuse to get involved."

I smiled back at him menacingly, finding it amusing that he thought he could strike a nerve with me.

"Well, Inspector, as always, it has been a pleasure, but I think it's time I give you leave," I directed my gaze towards the door.

"There is no getting through to you, Mrs. Hudson was right. You are a reptile."

He walked out the door, and I could hear him putting out an APB for Sherlock.

Shaking my head in disapproval, "Oh brother mine, what ungrateful goldfish you have and all this trouble you've caused."

A memory of my adolescent years came over me, one where someone's overdose almost took a toll on me, almost made me feel pain. Once it was over, I picked up the remote, and curtains opened, revealing all my eyes. Hundreds of them, "I admit this game of yours has grown quite tiresome, time to come out, brother mine."