John Watson sat on a wooden bench on Russell Square. Nearly two years ago, he sat here on the same bench with Mike Stamford, his old friend and colleage from St Bartholomew hospital. They drank coffee and John complained about London´s high price living. Not an hour later John met his new flatemate Sherlock Holmes, arranged by Stamford. A man, who impressed him by his unbelievable quick and correct deduction by tiny traces and be involved in dangerous adventures, he never dreamt off. But Sherlock, his friend he becames, died three month ago by jump of the roof - St Barts´roof - and he, Dr John H Watson got Sherlock´s last "note" by the phone before. He also had to witness this terrible happening, his fall. Before John arrived to Sherlock´s body, a cyclist hit him so hard, that he felt over. A little bit dazed John saw his friend´s smashed body lying on the pavement, saw all the blood and felt no pulse as he reached his wrist. People pulled him away from the dead body of his friend who was carried away. John felt ill like someone had punched him hard in his stomach. A week later was the funeral. John wished nothing more than Sterlock would comeback.
It was a cold day, this day - sunny but very cold. John Watson sat stiff on that bench, remembering. He didn´t feel the minus degrees. He just felt the cold in his heart. He lost not only a friend, he lost an exciting life with him. Some people thought they were a couple, but they were just pals. They were friends, yes - very different friends. Oh, God yes! The invalid Army doctor and the eccentric genius. John loved that exciting life what Sherlock Holmes as consalting detective had to offer. John never felt bored - not, if you have Sherlock Holmes as your flatemate! But now...
"Is that hot coffee?" he was asked suddenly. John looked up to a dirty looking young woman with a military rucksack on her shoulder and a brown shoulder bag where a notebook would fit it in. Despite the fact that her out washed Jeans and her old Anorak were very dirty, her face was cleaned and her long, brown hair was brushed. "You buy me a coffee, don´t you?" she asked him again (sounds more as an order) and looked at him with expectation. John laughed dry. She didn´t give up: "There is a restaurant! (She nodded in that direction) You can buy me some food, too!" John looked puzzled at her and asked: "Why should I?" "Well. Before you freeze to death, here, do good things like buy me some food and a hot drink! Um. You have... we both have to go to warming up, havn´t we?" John was speechless. He looked in her blue eyes than he gave a closer look to her military rucksack. A Purple Cross was pinned up. You get it only, if you are wounded by military service. John got this decoration after he was wounded in Afghanistan. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" John tried what Sherlock once asked him first in Barts´ lab. The young woman looked surprised and answered: "Afghanistan." She looked stern at her rucksack and meant: "You know what it is, cos you got it in. I´m right?" "Yeah, I was there, too. Captain John Watson Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." he introduced himself. The Army doctor stood up a little bit stiff from the bench. He had sat too long on that hard bench on a very cold day. They went to a restaurant close to Russell Square. She promised him, to tell him, who she is,there.
In a warm and cosy restaurant John asked who she is and how she became homeless.The young woman looked at him a while, nipped her coffee (The sandwich was already eaten) before she began: "I´m Sybille Smith also called The Dog. I also called Sissi, like the Austrian Emperor, you know? Don´t ask why. All peoble call me in that ridicoulus way." John could imagine, why she was called Sissi, but not why she was called "The Dog". She sat in front of him, now wearing a grey knitted jumper similar to that one he had given away, last week. It was too big for her slim figure. She was a beauty. No lipstick, powder or eyeliner was needed. That is why he spent her some more coffee, two sandwiches and much time to ask her out.
An hour later, John Watson knew much about her. First: She was a Major; she got invalid by a land mine (She jumped out of the truck very short before it exploded); she got a new hip and a new shoulder; her family died out after a terrible road accident; she lost her flat by an explosion (It wasn´t gas - it was a bomb! She investigated that destroyed house. The debits smelt TNT, no gas, she explained); she lost her memory by the exploding land mine (trauma or not); she didn´t know where her parents once lived; she had no credit card, however. So she got homeless. End of the lane!
John was shocked by so many bad luck she had. Or was she just pulling his leg? Sherlock would find that out, he was sure. But his friend was dead - died as a fraud. Was she a fraud? But she smelt strong with her unwashed clothes. She asked him for a bath in the same way as she asked (or ordered) him for a coffee and food an hour before. He couldn´t resist. There was something at her what made him feel good, never mind her strange behave. He invented her to live in that flat, where he wasn´t since Sherlock´s furneral - 221B Baker Street. John lived all the time in Mike´s flat, slept on his sofa. Watson phoned to Mrs Hudson, to ask, if the flat was still vacant. She was so pleased to hear, that John intent to come back. And yes, the flat (a living room, a kitchen, a bath and two bedrooms) was still vacant. Sybille explained to John how to get to Baker Street by Tube or by two bus lines what the travel would made more expencive and need more time. John was impressed. They decided to use the Tube. Russell Square Station was around the corner. Sissi got an Oyster card - John had to pay cash.
Right in front of the black wooden door in the Baker Street with a long brass knocker, three brass figures and a single letter B Sissi looked pussled. She looked at John and meant:"It looks familiar. Did I lived here once?" "I don´t know. Let´s ask Mrs Hudson, the landlady. Perhaps she knows." In that moment, Mrs Hudson, an old well-dressed lady opened the door. She greeted John in an overwhelming joy, hugged him and said him how much she had missed him. John Watson introduced each other. Then they went in. Actually, Mrs Hudson never met her before. John showed her around that house. Then she took a bath.
After bathing, Sissi went to the chaotic looking living room with different wallpaper on different walls - one of them with a huge smiley. John tried to tidy up, with less succeed. He held an old newspaper in his hand, where Sherlock´s suicide is announced. It titled: Suicide of a Fraud. "He wasn´t a fraud - Moriarty made it in anyway. I know it." John murmured, looked up to his new flatmate and gasp. Sissi stood at the doorframe; slim, barefoot with a dark blue morning gown - Sherlock´s morning gown! With her dark, wet, long hair and that fitting cloth she looked breathtaking. She smiled at him, went to the armchairs near the cold fireplace, sniffed and sat down in an armchair. John frowened and yelled angry: "That´s Sherlock´s place!" "Is he here now?" she asked in a provocate way. "Sorry - I didn´t mean it. Of cause, you can sitdown where ever you want." he apologized. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. She looked so peaceful. John couldn´t belive that they met just three hours ago. It seemes him, she had ever lived here. John laid the newspaper on another pile of old, yellowed newspaper, sat in his armchair and watched her sleep.That was the first time after his friend´s dreadful death John felt no pain.
It was a cold day, this day - sunny but very cold. John Watson sat stiff on that bench, remembering. He didn´t feel the minus degrees. He just felt the cold in his heart. He lost not only a friend, he lost an exciting life with him. Some people thought they were a couple, but they were just pals. They were friends, yes - very different friends. Oh, God yes! The invalid Army doctor and the eccentric genius. John loved that exciting life what Sherlock Holmes as consalting detective had to offer. John never felt bored - not, if you have Sherlock Holmes as your flatemate! But now...
"Is that hot coffee?" he was asked suddenly. John looked up to a dirty looking young woman with a military rucksack on her shoulder and a brown shoulder bag where a notebook would fit it in. Despite the fact that her out washed Jeans and her old Anorak were very dirty, her face was cleaned and her long, brown hair was brushed. "You buy me a coffee, don´t you?" she asked him again (sounds more as an order) and looked at him with expectation. John laughed dry. She didn´t give up: "There is a restaurant! (She nodded in that direction) You can buy me some food, too!" John looked puzzled at her and asked: "Why should I?" "Well. Before you freeze to death, here, do good things like buy me some food and a hot drink! Um. You have... we both have to go to warming up, havn´t we?" John was speechless. He looked in her blue eyes than he gave a closer look to her military rucksack. A Purple Cross was pinned up. You get it only, if you are wounded by military service. John got this decoration after he was wounded in Afghanistan. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" John tried what Sherlock once asked him first in Barts´ lab. The young woman looked surprised and answered: "Afghanistan." She looked stern at her rucksack and meant: "You know what it is, cos you got it in. I´m right?" "Yeah, I was there, too. Captain John Watson Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." he introduced himself. The Army doctor stood up a little bit stiff from the bench. He had sat too long on that hard bench on a very cold day. They went to a restaurant close to Russell Square. She promised him, to tell him, who she is,there.
In a warm and cosy restaurant John asked who she is and how she became homeless.The young woman looked at him a while, nipped her coffee (The sandwich was already eaten) before she began: "I´m Sybille Smith also called The Dog. I also called Sissi, like the Austrian Emperor, you know? Don´t ask why. All peoble call me in that ridicoulus way." John could imagine, why she was called Sissi, but not why she was called "The Dog". She sat in front of him, now wearing a grey knitted jumper similar to that one he had given away, last week. It was too big for her slim figure. She was a beauty. No lipstick, powder or eyeliner was needed. That is why he spent her some more coffee, two sandwiches and much time to ask her out.
An hour later, John Watson knew much about her. First: She was a Major; she got invalid by a land mine (She jumped out of the truck very short before it exploded); she got a new hip and a new shoulder; her family died out after a terrible road accident; she lost her flat by an explosion (It wasn´t gas - it was a bomb! She investigated that destroyed house. The debits smelt TNT, no gas, she explained); she lost her memory by the exploding land mine (trauma or not); she didn´t know where her parents once lived; she had no credit card, however. So she got homeless. End of the lane!
John was shocked by so many bad luck she had. Or was she just pulling his leg? Sherlock would find that out, he was sure. But his friend was dead - died as a fraud. Was she a fraud? But she smelt strong with her unwashed clothes. She asked him for a bath in the same way as she asked (or ordered) him for a coffee and food an hour before. He couldn´t resist. There was something at her what made him feel good, never mind her strange behave. He invented her to live in that flat, where he wasn´t since Sherlock´s furneral - 221B Baker Street. John lived all the time in Mike´s flat, slept on his sofa. Watson phoned to Mrs Hudson, to ask, if the flat was still vacant. She was so pleased to hear, that John intent to come back. And yes, the flat (a living room, a kitchen, a bath and two bedrooms) was still vacant. Sybille explained to John how to get to Baker Street by Tube or by two bus lines what the travel would made more expencive and need more time. John was impressed. They decided to use the Tube. Russell Square Station was around the corner. Sissi got an Oyster card - John had to pay cash.
Right in front of the black wooden door in the Baker Street with a long brass knocker, three brass figures and a single letter B Sissi looked pussled. She looked at John and meant:"It looks familiar. Did I lived here once?" "I don´t know. Let´s ask Mrs Hudson, the landlady. Perhaps she knows." In that moment, Mrs Hudson, an old well-dressed lady opened the door. She greeted John in an overwhelming joy, hugged him and said him how much she had missed him. John Watson introduced each other. Then they went in. Actually, Mrs Hudson never met her before. John showed her around that house. Then she took a bath.
After bathing, Sissi went to the chaotic looking living room with different wallpaper on different walls - one of them with a huge smiley. John tried to tidy up, with less succeed. He held an old newspaper in his hand, where Sherlock´s suicide is announced. It titled: Suicide of a Fraud. "He wasn´t a fraud - Moriarty made it in anyway. I know it." John murmured, looked up to his new flatmate and gasp. Sissi stood at the doorframe; slim, barefoot with a dark blue morning gown - Sherlock´s morning gown! With her dark, wet, long hair and that fitting cloth she looked breathtaking. She smiled at him, went to the armchairs near the cold fireplace, sniffed and sat down in an armchair. John frowened and yelled angry: "That´s Sherlock´s place!" "Is he here now?" she asked in a provocate way. "Sorry - I didn´t mean it. Of cause, you can sitdown where ever you want." he apologized. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. She looked so peaceful. John couldn´t belive that they met just three hours ago. It seemes him, she had ever lived here. John laid the newspaper on another pile of old, yellowed newspaper, sat in his armchair and watched her sleep.That was the first time after his friend´s dreadful death John felt no pain.