John woke up. He was covered in his own sweat. All nights he had the same dream - no, not a dream, a nightmare! Sherlock is jumping off the roof; John is trying to catch him up for some seconds, but he is failing. His friend Sherlock crash landed deadly on the pavement right in front of him, covered in his own blood. John cried a little in his bett and took a deep breath to calm down. Then he turned the light on, stood up and went to the shared bathroom of the Baker Street. After refreshing himself he went back to his bedroom, as he heard a noise downstairs. He looked to the other bedroom - Sherlock´s bedroom - what now belongs to a pretty,but homeless young woman. The door was half open. She seems to be downstairs - made these cutting noises.
John Watson wanted to know, who she really is. Did she pretend to be an invalid soldier for sympathy? Is she a fraud? oder did she really get so much bad luck? Is it possible to have so much bad luck? He went into her room (former Sherlock´s bedroom), turned the ceiling light on and looked around. All her clothes were washed and hung up for drying. Even the military rucksack and the shoulder bag were cleaned, also her shoes. She got a laptop what was still recharged and a smart phone. John started to wonder, if it was stolen? Why she didn´t sold this expencive items? He looked at a square, orange plastic bag with a red elefant on it. He opened it carefully, not to make any noises. Forms and files were inside. John pulled it completely out and begun to read.
It was all true! He knew now, all things what she told him in the restaurant near Russell Square were true. John was really shocked and felt sympathy for her. He heard her downstairs cutting out something. He checked the alarm clock on her night tabelle - quarter past baum in the morning. John was tired and his head was full of new information about his new guest - flatemate(?). He had to sleep. Tomorrow, he thought, it will be better for him and her - but it was already tomorrow.
John didn´t slept well as he woke up in the morning - the same morning, just later. It was five past seven. It was still dark. He heard Mrs Hudson went out. He knew, she is going to Shop and bring fresh scones ans sandwiches oder what it is needed for having a good breakfast. Her niece from Cardiff was visiting her aunt. He sighed. He stood up, went to the bathroom, opend the door and get shocked backward. She, Sissi, was in - naked. John apologized immediately blushing and closed the door properly. Outside of the bathroom he took a deep breath and went back to his bedroom.
They had had their breakfast. John read a today-newspaper. Sybille was still cutting Artikel out of the old, yellowed newspaper and clipped the pile of paper together. The cut out newspaper lied on the floor. Two piles were already bounded. "What do Du doing, Sissi?" John asked. "What do Du think?" was her replay. "You´re cutting Artikel out of the old newspaper and colleced it." he answered. "Great conclusion, Dr Watson!" she said, not without a touch of sarcasm in her voice, what he had heard last time Von Sherlock Holmes. "Any plans for today - going out perhaps?" he tried it again. From Sherlock´s schreibtisch she worked, Sybille looked up to John, who is sitting in an old-fashion sessel and held still a newspaper in his hands, ready for reading. "Do Du think, I´ll go out with a morning gown? - My laundry is still damp. I would kill myself, if I go out with damp clothes Von this temperature, wouldn´t I? Von the way, this room needs cleaning. I am tiding up this room Von throwing away old papers. Du see?" "What kind is it, I mean these articles?" "Sherlock´s" she replied. "You can read about him in my bl...." "Not yet! Later, perhaps..."she interruped his offer and read another old article. John sighed and continued Lesen his newspaper, while Sybille continued to read and cut out everything about Sherlock Holmes.
Weiter morning
John awoke Von a sad tune. "Sherlock" he murmured. Suddenly, he sat up in an upright position onto his bed, listening. Silence... There was no tune, no violin, no Sherlock, no miracle.
John was covered in his sweat - again. Since he had to watch Sherlock´s dead, he was hounting Von this nightmare. There was it again - the sad violin tune! He had heard it a Jahr ago. Sherlock was composing that sad tune, because Irene Adler was dead, he thought. She just faked her dead, John figured it out. Actually, she met hin in the Battersea power station showed him, John Watson, she is still alive. She want back and important item, her camera phone. John insist her to text Sherlock, that she is alive. Then the surprise... Sherlock had followed John and knows it already. There was some trouble in between, about a code and the flight of dead, what had to been cancelled, because Sherlock´s ego ruined everything. Happily, Sherlock was being able to sort it out and beat Irene Adler. But now, she was realy dead, Sherlock´s brother Mycroft was sure. It need a Sherlock Holmes to safe, sicher her from the terrorists, he meant.
Now, that sad tune made John Watson, the tough Army doctor, who had seen so much, feeling blue. But who is playing? John took his morning kleid and went downstairs. It was Sissi, real name Sybille Smith, who stood full dressed at the dark window, holding Sherlock´s violin and bow, read his notes Von the lit of a schreibtisch lamp and begun to play. John stood at the doorframe, didn´t dare to disturb her, listening. He was daylight-dreaming for Sherlock´s coming back.
John Watson wanted to know, who she really is. Did she pretend to be an invalid soldier for sympathy? Is she a fraud? oder did she really get so much bad luck? Is it possible to have so much bad luck? He went into her room (former Sherlock´s bedroom), turned the ceiling light on and looked around. All her clothes were washed and hung up for drying. Even the military rucksack and the shoulder bag were cleaned, also her shoes. She got a laptop what was still recharged and a smart phone. John started to wonder, if it was stolen? Why she didn´t sold this expencive items? He looked at a square, orange plastic bag with a red elefant on it. He opened it carefully, not to make any noises. Forms and files were inside. John pulled it completely out and begun to read.
It was all true! He knew now, all things what she told him in the restaurant near Russell Square were true. John was really shocked and felt sympathy for her. He heard her downstairs cutting out something. He checked the alarm clock on her night tabelle - quarter past baum in the morning. John was tired and his head was full of new information about his new guest - flatemate(?). He had to sleep. Tomorrow, he thought, it will be better for him and her - but it was already tomorrow.
John didn´t slept well as he woke up in the morning - the same morning, just later. It was five past seven. It was still dark. He heard Mrs Hudson went out. He knew, she is going to Shop and bring fresh scones ans sandwiches oder what it is needed for having a good breakfast. Her niece from Cardiff was visiting her aunt. He sighed. He stood up, went to the bathroom, opend the door and get shocked backward. She, Sissi, was in - naked. John apologized immediately blushing and closed the door properly. Outside of the bathroom he took a deep breath and went back to his bedroom.
They had had their breakfast. John read a today-newspaper. Sybille was still cutting Artikel out of the old, yellowed newspaper and clipped the pile of paper together. The cut out newspaper lied on the floor. Two piles were already bounded. "What do Du doing, Sissi?" John asked. "What do Du think?" was her replay. "You´re cutting Artikel out of the old newspaper and colleced it." he answered. "Great conclusion, Dr Watson!" she said, not without a touch of sarcasm in her voice, what he had heard last time Von Sherlock Holmes. "Any plans for today - going out perhaps?" he tried it again. From Sherlock´s schreibtisch she worked, Sybille looked up to John, who is sitting in an old-fashion sessel and held still a newspaper in his hands, ready for reading. "Do Du think, I´ll go out with a morning gown? - My laundry is still damp. I would kill myself, if I go out with damp clothes Von this temperature, wouldn´t I? Von the way, this room needs cleaning. I am tiding up this room Von throwing away old papers. Du see?" "What kind is it, I mean these articles?" "Sherlock´s" she replied. "You can read about him in my bl...." "Not yet! Later, perhaps..."she interruped his offer and read another old article. John sighed and continued Lesen his newspaper, while Sybille continued to read and cut out everything about Sherlock Holmes.
Weiter morning
John awoke Von a sad tune. "Sherlock" he murmured. Suddenly, he sat up in an upright position onto his bed, listening. Silence... There was no tune, no violin, no Sherlock, no miracle.
John was covered in his sweat - again. Since he had to watch Sherlock´s dead, he was hounting Von this nightmare. There was it again - the sad violin tune! He had heard it a Jahr ago. Sherlock was composing that sad tune, because Irene Adler was dead, he thought. She just faked her dead, John figured it out. Actually, she met hin in the Battersea power station showed him, John Watson, she is still alive. She want back and important item, her camera phone. John insist her to text Sherlock, that she is alive. Then the surprise... Sherlock had followed John and knows it already. There was some trouble in between, about a code and the flight of dead, what had to been cancelled, because Sherlock´s ego ruined everything. Happily, Sherlock was being able to sort it out and beat Irene Adler. But now, she was realy dead, Sherlock´s brother Mycroft was sure. It need a Sherlock Holmes to safe, sicher her from the terrorists, he meant.
Now, that sad tune made John Watson, the tough Army doctor, who had seen so much, feeling blue. But who is playing? John took his morning kleid and went downstairs. It was Sissi, real name Sybille Smith, who stood full dressed at the dark window, holding Sherlock´s violin and bow, read his notes Von the lit of a schreibtisch lamp and begun to play. John stood at the doorframe, didn´t dare to disturb her, listening. He was daylight-dreaming for Sherlock´s coming back.
