The Clue
I had a moment alone. Sherlock was in the drawing room eating an apple, pondering a new case; one where a woman had lost her cat. A dull case one must admit but Sherlock was agitated by now, he had not had a case in weeks...Oh a moment alone, such joy. I had time to write on my blog...though I had never liked writing it. I preferred something more suiting to this occupation...if you could call it that. I was observing, deducing, understanding him. As a doctor I was naturally interested in the human mind. Sherlock's twisted mind was the most fascinating one I had ever encountered to date. I couldn't just dismiss him as a sociopath...I couldn't because he wasn't one.
There was a clatter in the kitchen and I was brought back to reality. I felt the urge to get up but decided not to, I wanted to deduce a little more. I heard Mrs Hudson's voice dissuading Sherlock to go out as it was past nine. A reluctant sigh of agreement seemed to be Sherlock's only reaction to this and I sat back, thinking. Suddenly I had a thought, an epiphany: He was not an atheist; he clearly follows Mrs Hudson's orders which implies that he followed his mother's orders. Now his mother was obviously dead, he and Mycroft always referred to her in the second past tense, meaning she has been dead for quite some time. The way Sherlock always behaves like a child suggests she died when he was quite young and the fact that he still respected the orders of someone who resembles his dead mother could only mean that he is a god fearing man. I stood back. I realised my actions and marvelled at my thoughts, some of Sherlock's touch must have rubbed off on me. I needed to confront him with it. I couldn't wait to see his face.
I hurried down the stairs minding the little rug that had been placed at the bottom of it and burst into the room.
Sherlock was in his favourite seat; a brown leather chair, still working on his apple. When he caught sight of me he sighed.
"What?" I asked irritatedly.
"It doesn't seem to work."
"What doesn't seem to work?" I asked curiously now.
"This," he held the apple into the sunlight that was streaming in from the window. I shook my head, not understanding,
"Apparently an apple a day does NOT keep the doctor away." he said and I chuckled.
"Really, Sherlock?"
"Yes, John." he grinned like a little child...I reckon you could describe him as that; a child, a small, lost, clever child that had a habit of making crime it's highest priority.
I took a seat and looked at him. He picked up The Guardian and started to read. I sat awhile, not knowing if I should disturb him or not but eventually he spoke for me.
"Now, do you want to tell me what you've found out?" Sherlock looked at me with his blue eyes that, if I didn't know better, I would think could see through walls. I cleared my throat.
"What?"
"About me, John. Your hands, you have ink on them, you clearly haven't written on your blog," he sneered in disgust "or about our case." I was about to interrupt him but he held his finger in the air stopping me.
"Let me finish," he looked at me expectantly. I nodded.
"You came down in a hurried manner, however you did not immediately make conversation. If you had been looking at our case, you wouldn't have hesitated. So it's something about me." He put down his newspaper and grinned.
"Tell me." He leaned forward.
"Well, I believe you're a god fearing man." I declared triumphantly.
"Is that so?" He laughed "Explain..."
"You obey Mrs Hudson's orders which implies that you followed your own mother's orders. You see her as a representative of your mother. However, I deduce that your mother is already dead...you and Mycroft always referred to her in the second past tense so she must have died a while back. Often you behave in a childish manner which suggests that she died when you were quite young, you didn't know any better. And finally the fact that you respect the wishes of someone who resembles your passed mother could only mean that you are a god fearing man." I paused to let it sink in.
"...Well done, John. Very well done...I am an atheist though-"
"Damn!" I cried out.
"I respect women because I pity them, they have been suppressed for the last 500 years and all the time before that. They deserve a little respect." he continued, ignoring my outburst.
"Was I right about anything?" I asked disappointedly.
"My mother has passed-"
"I'm so sorry."
"She died when I was 18. Her name was Violet...Violet Holmes, a vibrant woman, a lovely lady..." he shook his head trying to clear his mind.
"Sherlock, I am very sorry to hear that."
"No, no its fine. Don't worry, you didn't...know." he looked up frantically and I knew in a second that he had an epiphany about the case. He ran out of the building leaving me sitting in the drawing room. A moment later he was back, grabbing his coat.
"Come on, John, do you need an invitation?" he asked before disappearing again. Reluctantly I followed him out. Mycroft was right, I did miss the excitement...
