deal or no deal | Sherlock Holmes

11

𝐸𝓋𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒

I feel guilty. I could've saved Enola. I could've told her to crawl out that window just like she did Tewkesbury. Now I've given her back to the one person that couldn't care less about her.

Normally when you solve a case you feel accomplished. It's a great feeling when all of your hard work has payed off. But I just feel shame and guilt. Sherlock will be happy I'm sure. Why is that not enough for me?

I arrive back at my flat. I check the third pot for my key. Nothing there. My heart softens. He came. But then my gut twists. He came.

I don't know if I can face him. He's just a child. A six foot child but still. He's lost so much. He doesn't deserve this too. Then again I don't truly know him and he chose to leave her. That's not my fault. None of this is.

This has been the craziest week of my life. Then again, every week feels like this now. Constant worry, questions going unanswered, people just being people.

I feel as though I could cry. I don't want to, but I might just do it. I hate crying. The puffy eyes, runny nose, the feeling of breath catching in your throat. It's awful. But I might just do it.

I push my emotions down. It feels like I'm trying to cram too many things in a suitcase. But my heart closes up, though it feels like it could burst at any moment. I swallow a sob and head inside.

I open my creaky door and shut it once I'm in. I hear footsteps enter my kitchen, unfamiliar ones so I'm positive it's the boy.

"Where is she?" He asks, the worry in his voice is faint but it's there.

I stare at my door, the paint is chipping away, piece by piece. "I'm sure Mycroft has her by now." I speak quietly, hoping that he'll take it easier.

"What is he going to do to her?" He asks again, easing closer to me.

"Nothing harmful." I finally look to him. His clothes disheveled, hair a mess, eyes filled with worry. "Maybe mentally harmful. But she'll be..." I hesitate. "-fine."

He purses his lips. "Who are you?" He seems angry now.

My lips form a straight line, I crack my knuckles before holding a hand out. "Evangeline Flemington. I'm a detective."

His eyes widen ever so slightly. But he gives my hand a firm grasp and shakes it. "Flemington?" I swear if he makes a phlegm joke. "You're Lord Elliot's daughter? Angel?"

"Don't call me that!" I snap.

He holds his hands up in defense. "I apologize. He just talks about you all the time and-"

"Good for him." I reply curtly. "Now if you'll excuse me for one moment I need to get out of this." I point to my now stained red dress. I brush past him and head for my bed room. I stop at my doorframe when I see someone move on my sofa. I look over my shoulder. He pays no attention to me, just reads his silly newspaper. He looks up over the newspaper and raises his brows at me. I huff and slam my bedroom door shut.

I grip the side of my dresser. I'm half tempted to punch my mirror in front of me, or maybe I just want to punch myself. I strip myself and grab one of my blue lounging gowns. Once I'm changed I take a breath and head out into my living room. The boy is gone and it's just Sherlock now.

"Where's Tewkesbury?" My stomach drops.

"I sent him upstairs to retrieve something of mine. Seems like it might take him a while." He snickers, referring to his dirty flat. That boy will probably get lost in there.