“I’m bored John,” I wined, flopping onto the couch. It had been a very slow couple of weeks at 221B. Moriarty was laying low which made me unbelievably curious. All I could think of was what he could be up to, and I hated that I didn’t know.
“Well Sherlock, why don’t you play your violin, or watch something on the telly, or do anything except bother me.” John replied. He was sitting in his normal chair his laptop resting on his lap as he was typing away.
“What are you even doing?” I asked as I slowly craned my neck over to try to catch a glimpse at the screen.
“I’m…” He started but he didn’t even need to finish. By the ridiculous amount of typing he had been doing and from the green I saw on the screen, I easily deduced it.
“No, wait, you're writing in that blog again aren’t you.” I spat going back to my sulking when suddenly the doorbell rang. “Shut up!” I yelled into the air directing my yell at that stupid doorbell.
“God, Sherlock, the doorbell is not going to just stop because you yell at it.” John sighed I could hear the annoyance in his voice but he didn’t both to look up from his computer.
“Wait for it,” I said, holding up a finger knowing perfectly well that Mrs. Hudson would answer it so it would be pointless for me to move.
“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson yelled. Usually I would wait until she brought up the client but there was something different in her tone of voice, a panic of sorts.
“John!” I yelled as I bounded down the stairs. I was at the bottom in a matter of moments and that was when I saw her.
In the doorway, I saw a young girl, who looked about twenty-two; her brown hair curled. Her skin was pale, the only color, was bruises. I could see blood running down from her head plastering her hair to the right side of her forehead. Her left eye was swollen and she had a giant gash on her lip. Her t-shirt was ripped so much that it was almost falling off. It covered her chest and the right side of her stomach, but one sleeve was completely missing. Her wrists had signs that they were bound with handcuffs. Scenarios ran through my head, each more exciting than the one before, the case was going to be good. Suddenly all of my thoughts stopped as I looked into the girl’s eyes. They looked like John’s. Not the color, no, hers were brown compared to John’s blue green, but both the girl and John shared a softness in their eyes along with worry and a hidden darkness.
“Mr. Holmes,” she gasped as she walked towards me a slight limp on her left side. She had taken only but a few steps when I saw her eyes roll back into her head. I lunged forward grabbing the girl before she hit the ground.
“Sherlock?” John asked as he came down the stairs. His eyes went wide when he saw the girl in my arms as he froze, terror and shock filling his eyes. I could tell he knew the girl, well, but I was too preoccupied in the unconscious girl now in my arms to deduce him.
“John?” I asked as I stood up, the girl still in my arms. I looked around to see if Mrs. Hudson could be of any assistants with the girl, but she had quickly disappeared. It was silent for a while before John finally spoke.
“Oh dear God, Grace.” He gasped. His eyes looked their way up and down the girl’s body. I could see the doctor quick in as his eyes would stop on each wound determining their severity.
I carried the girl, or as John called her, Grace, to John’s room, as he instructed. It was not hard to determine that John had to be related to the girl in some way as I had quickly ruled out romantic entailment, due to the girl’s age. Quietly, I set her on the bed and then left, closing the door behind me. I looked around, but I could not find John, so I headed back downstairs, where I found him pacing. His face was filled with such worry, the girl meant a great deal to him but still I could not determine who she was to him.
“Well?” John asked when he saw me.
“She looks to be around twenty-one maybe twenty-two. From the bruises on her face, I could say abusive boyfriend. However, from the bruises on her wrists, I would say that her hands were handcuffed above her head, so I would say this is a bit more serious. This is fantastic!” I exclaimed, finally something to do, however as soon as I said it I saw John’s face and realized that was the complete wrong thing to say.
“Jesus, Sherlock, that’s my little sister!” John screamed and for a moment I thought he was going to hit me.
That’s Harriet?” I asked completely dumbstruck. My picture of Harriet, to which I created in my head looked nothing even remotely close to the girl upstairs, and I was hardly ever wrong.
“No,” he sighed sitting down in his chair. “That’s Grace, my other sister.”
John having any other siblings hadn’t even crossed my mind as John told me Harriet was the only family he had apart from his mother as he father left the family early in his life.
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” I asked, a little hurt though I hardly expected John to explain to me his whole life story, nor did I want him too, I never believed he would lie to me about something as insignificant as having another sister.
“Because Sherlock, she’s like you. She always loves danger and solving mysteries, no matter how much trouble she gets into. When she found out you were my flat mate, it just got worse. She is clever and all, but, she just doesn’t know when to stop. And now,” he said, placing his head in his hands, “Oh God, Sherlock.”
“John, she will be fine, and I promise you, I will find who did this,” I said, and he turned to look at me, a gratitude in his eyes. I meant it too, there were very few people in the world I generally cared for, though I would never dare admit it, and if someone hurt those people, or hurt someone those people cared about, hell would rain down upon them.A blood curdling scream suddenly rang out throughout the entire flat. John flung out of his chair racing up the stairs with me closely behind him.