The cold air bit at my neck as I walked quickly through the crowd of police and forensic scientists, to make my way to the old, rotting building. Just 45 minutes ago a murder had occurred to one of my friends. My eyes were red, but I held back the tears, there was no time for crying.
The police tape guarded the door, but I ducked under it and made my way up the stair case to the bedroom where the murder happened. A few people were scattered about the fairly large room, but only one of them I was acquainted with. "Hello, Lestrade," I greeted him as happily as I could, but I choked up. He was oblivious, no one knew that I was friends with the girl that was laying lifeless on the floor on the left side of the bed.
"Grace, nice to see you." "Thanks for giving me the job. What do you think happened?"
"Most likely the killer broke in and used a knife that he had brought and took it with him when he left through the back door. There are multiple knife wounds on the neck, stomach, and arm areas."He explained.
"Wrong, all wrong!" A tall man strode swiftly past me into the crime scene. His black trench coat flowed behind him as he reached the body. His hands, covered in gloves like the rest, were searching the body.Another man, significantly shorter than the first, followed after him.
The smaller man smiled apologetically to Lestrade. "Who's this?" He asked. "This is Grace Minksop, she's helping with the case." "Nice to meet you. My name's John Watson." He shook my hand. "And that's Sherlock Holmes," he added.
"Enough with introductions. Lestrade, she'll be of no use to us." Sherlock interrupted. He finished examining the body and slipped his gloves off. "The murderer was someone she knew, the place was cleaned up, meaning he was a guest. They had wine, there's stains on the stairs and floor leading up to here. They were likely drunk. The knocked over items weren't from struggling."
He pointed to various places while talking, proving his assumptions were correct. Everyone was stunned, although Watson looked like he saw that everyday. "Like I said before, she'll be of no use to us."
I stepped in, "Excuse me, Mr. Holmes. I'm not here just because its my job, she was my friend." My eyes felt like they were turning red, but I promised myself I wouldn't cry in public. "Do you, by any chance, know who could have done this?" Watson asked as nicely as he could.
"God, did you not hear me?! We don't need her, don't waste your time," Sherlock exclaimed. "Like hell you don't," I almost yelled. He ran across the room and stopped in front of my face. I could feel my cheeks heating up.
"She was a good friend to you. You would do anything for her, which would get in the way of my work. You're untidy and have two cats, one just died. You're 25 and were unemployed until your good friend, Lestrade, got you this job which makes you an amateur. At best, you could tell us the age, name and a suspect. Its not, by the way, her ex-boyfriend."
"You're right thinking I would do anything for her, and that I think its her ex-boyfriend. I'm very tidy, not a hair out of place in my apartment. I had one dog which is now at my brother's. I'm 26 and Lestrade is my cousin."
Sherlock's face went from arrogant to almost sad. He backed up to where I could see everyone in the room. They were all completely silent.
~~~ "Love? Hello, love?" Sherlock asked, his voice showing worry, something it rarely did. He was standing close behind Grace, who was looking out of the window of apartment 221b. "Oh, sorry." She turned around quickly and was surprised to see Sherlock so close. He was in his usual outfit, a black coat and blue scarf. "Flashback?" He asked. "Damn, Sherlock. Yes, I had a flashback." "What of?" She smiled as she spoke, "The day we first met. And you got everything about me wrong." "Almost everything." He added.
Grace wrapped her arms around his neck that was covered by the blue scarf. "You know what today is?""Of course. Its the 22nd. A Tuesday I believe."A giggle escaped from her lips. "Smartass. Its our one year anniversary, in case you forgot."
"Look at you two, I think I'm about to be sick." John called from the kitchen. "Thanks for ruining the moment, John!" She yelled back over Sherlock's shoulder, still keeping her good attitude. "You're welcome." the now slightly annoyed man yelled back.
"John's going to kill us if we stay any longer." "I doubt that. I hid the bullets from his gun." His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her up and kissing her lightly on the lips. "We're going to be late." "For what?"