Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Lying Detective- Three

Chapter Three

Third POV

A pair of hands holds the piece of paper which had been folded in half, as shown by the sharp crease in it, but is now open. "Three years ago..."

It's shown to be night time at our beloved Baker Street. Despite lamps being on all around the room, it looks dark and gloomy in there. Faith, wearing an ankle length long sleeved dark red dress, is standing facing the right hand window.

Sherlock is slumped in his chair with a dark blue dressing gown over his clothes and he is holding and looking at the sheet of paper. The room is an even worse mess than usual, with papers and files scattered everywhere. There is a pile of books on the table beside John's chair. Bones was staying with Mrs Hudson for the time being.

"My father told me he wanted to kill someone. One word, Mr Holmes..." Sherlock folds the paper over and looks at the back of it, then straightens his fingers and notices that they are trembling slightly. He looked like hell. He hasn't shaved for a couple of days and his hair is unwashed and flatter to his head than usual. The two bottled necklaces are wrapped around his neck. It seems as though, he hasn't removed them since he was gifted them.

"And it changed my world forever." Sherlock looks up at her as she clenches her hands over the top of her cane in front of her, still facing the window. "Just one word."

"What word?" Lowering the paper, he picks up his mobile phone. "A name." She answers, pivoting on her cane to face him. "What name?" Faith walks across the room to where the client's chair is facing the fireplace. The fire is lit. "I can't remember." Sherlock looks up at her. "I can't remember who my father wanted to kill..." She looks down at her hands on top of her cane. "And I don't know if he ever did it."

Sherlock looks back to the phone and sighs. "Well, you've changed. You no longer top up your tan and your roots are showing." He holds up the phone to look more closely at a photograph of Faith and her father smiling into the camera. He lowers the phone and looks at her. "Letting yourself go?"

"Do you ever look in the mirror and want to see someone else?"

"No. Do you own an American car?"

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock closes his eyes and begins waving his hang vaguely. "No, not American; Left hand drive, that's what I mean."

"No. Why-why do you ask?" Faith stutters. Sherlock blinks and looks across to her. "Not sure, actually." He shrugs. "Probably just noticed something."

"Intuitions are not to be ignored, darling." Michelle's voice echoes.

Above and to the left of her head from his perspective, imaginary chalk writing appears in large letters reading 'SOMETHING' and a chalk line draws down to form an arrow pointing to the bottom right of her skirt, again from Sherlock's perspective. He blinks a couple of times and focuses in to where there's a straight dark line of dirt on the skirt, then he grimaces and gestures angrily in front of him. The imaginary chalk disperses and disappears.

Sherlock looks down at his hand held out in front of him and sees that it's trembling. He clenches it into a fist with a sharp snap, then stretches the fingers out again. They continue to tremble.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, of course you don't own a car. You don't need one, do you, living in isolation, no human contact, no visitors." Sherlock still holds his shaking hands. Unfolding the paper, he looks to it again. "Okay, how do you know that?" Faith begins to fiddle with her fingers. "It's all here, isn't it? Look." He gestures to the paper.

Standing up, he wanders across the room towards her. "Cost-cutting's clearly a priority for you. Look at the size of your kitchen: teeny-tiny." He walks past her towards the right-hand window then turns back to her. "Must be a bit annoying when you're such a keen cook."