ohstarryeyed: ([neu] entranced)
 There were lights, but no sirens. The luminous blue danced across the undergrowth and trees that encircled the scene. People moved slowly, as if the blue light was the ocean and all the world had sunk beneath it, their voices muted. The smell of smoke hung in the air, the summer night had grown cold quickly. Someone had wrapped him up in a blanket, but he remember saying repeatedly he wasn’t cold and didn’t need it.

He watched them carry her into a car, the blue light catching in her dark-blonde hair. She’d been crying, he remembered that, watched how her shoulders twitched and shook in the arms of the policeman. That was the last time he saw her.

A voice called to him, breaking his concentration, Sherlock Holmes scowled.

“What is it, Mrs. Hudson?”

His landlady looked at him curiously for a few minutes before handing him a small brown envelope, his name etched on it with a careful hand. “This came through the door, it’s for you, dear.”

Sherlock quickly snatched the envelope from her, standing to give it a once over. There was nothing particular about it; an ordinary envelope found in most stationary stores. The handwriting was deliberately neat, as if someone had tried to keep their hand steady and careful – but there was an unmistakeable tremble to the writer’s hand. Early stage Parkinson’s? No, too boring. Perhaps the tremble of a drug addict? A little more interesting, but still too dull. Prescription medication. There. It sounded a little more intriguing – although he wasn’t too enthused about it.

Whatever the envelope contained something light. He opened it carefully, tilted it and a small sprig of tiny blue flowers with yellow centres slipped onto his hand. Squinting, he held them to the light.

“Forget-Me-Nots.” Mrs Hudson said with a small gasp. “Lovely little flowers.”

Sherlock frowned, staring intently at them for a few moments. Was it a message? “Someone doesn’t want me to forget.” He said absently.

But who?

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Cassie Riddle

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