Entry 6

A couple of weeks had passed since my first adventure with the enigmatic Shirleigh Holmes. During this time, I had the opportunity to learn more about her character. Some of her strengths and weaknesses so to speak. When we had conversations about her beliefs, I was often left quite baffled. Take our conversation about the solar system for example:

"How conceited," I huffed, falling into my chair in front of the fireplace. "He acted as though the Earth revolved around him."

Shirleigh had stopped before me, holding onto her coat. She stared at me silently and I grew uneasy under her gaze.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting upright. "Why did you suddenly stop like that?"

"The Earth...?" Shirleigh mumbled.

I stared back at my flatmate who had placed her chin on her fist.

"It revolves around...the Sun?"

I slid down my chair in disbelief.

"You must be joking..." I said.

"I seldom do," Shirleigh retorted. "It is interesting, though. The planets circling round a star. Too bad I shall forget it sooner rather than later."

"How can you forget the fact that the Sun is at the centre of our solar system?"

"The mind is that of an attic, Watson. Perhaps you have heard it referred to as a sponge. The brain soaks up information and it does so more efficiently when it is still developing. You can think of it as a brand new sponge being introduced to water for the first time; there was not much water, to begin with, thus it retains it easier. When we grow older, however, we cannot hold onto as much information as we were once able to, therefore we lose some of our previously gained knowledge. Just as a sponge loses water when it cannot soak up any more."

Shirleigh folded her arms and bounced on her toes, as she so often did.

"For someone like myself, I choose to treat my brain like an attic. At first, it is an empty room that you must fill with furniture of your choosing; the information you allow into your memory. Like an attic, the mind is unable to stretch or expand, so once you have filled it, you must remove things occupying the space. I keep all information that I deem relevant and throw out that which is not."

"The solar system isn't relevant?"

"You think it is?"

"Of course! It is crucial to understanding time zones, the changing of the seasons."

"It has nothing to do with my work, so it is not relevant enough for me to remember. You are welcome to remind me whenever I say something contrary to the fact."

"That would be a waste of time," I said. "You would just forget again."

A subtle smile crept across Shirleigh's lips and I forgot our conversation for a moment. That is until she collapsed in her chair and began tuning the strings of her violin.

"If your brain is an attic," said I. "Then my mind will be a basement."

Shirleigh raised an inquisitive brow.

"All of the things that you find you no longer need and throw from your attic above, I will take and store them away in my basement," I explained. "So to speak."

What I believed to be a snicker came from her direction and she plucked away at her fiddle.

That was something that I found she was truly incredible at. Watching her play the violin was a magnificent sight. Whenever she picked it up and began bowing the strings, it was as though she were a woman possessed. She always put everything she had into whatever she played and I often found myself mesmerised and speechless. Even though her violin consisted of only three strings at the moment, for she has yet to replace the snapped one, she improvised with the ones she did have and it was intriguing to see what her mind would come up with.

That being said, I believe I have found another thing about my flatmate's character and that is the fact that she seems to express her emotions through the notes of the music she plays. While it was a delight to hear her play the bright and joyful tunes, the ones that were dreary and angry were terribly ear-grating. Many times over the past several days, when it seemed she had hit a dead end in a particular case, she would perform the most egregious of pieces to the point where I would have to leave our flat, upon which she would promptly cease to play and would mumble some sort of an apology.

"Will you ever replace it?" I asked.

"Perhaps," Shirleigh replied, removing what remained of the snapped string from the violin peg. "It is not at the top of my agenda."

"Isn't frustrating to play with just the few strings? Just around the corner, there is a music shop, we could stop by-"

"There are more important matters that require my attention."

Shaking my head, I decided not to continue the conversation any further. Once Shirleigh had her mind set on something, it was very much difficult to change it.

I ran my fingers through my hair as we sat in silence. Separating it into equal sections, I attempted to braid it the way my mother used to when I was younger. It was a sort of French braid that started at the midpoint of my scalp and followed behind my ear before falling over my shoulder. She always tied a little ribbon at the end, filling me with the utmost happiness.

After struggling for several minutes, my arms grew tired and I decided to call it quits.

"Not going to braid it, after all?"

Shirleigh had her eyes closed and her arms crossed over her abdomen. I promise she was omnipotent but I am sure she would argue otherwise.

"I wanted to French braid it," said I. "But it is a pain to start it at the top. I think I shall continue with the normal braid I have been using."

"How do you want it?"

Before I knew it, Shirleigh was standing before me, her fingers drumming her leg.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your hair," she motioned toward my head. "How do you want it?"

I explained to her how my mother would style it and she would ask questions to be sure she was doing it correctly. Every minute or so, she would lean over to make sure it was coming along as envisioned and would ask me if she was being too rough. It never occurred to me until then but I had barely felt anything at all. Remembering when we had to flee the alley from Jack the Ripper, Shirleigh had taken hold of my wrist but it wasn't all that constricting. I could have broken free if I wanted to do so. Her hands were naturally gentle and I felt myself grow a bit envious.

When I came out of my daze, Shirleigh was standing in front of me once more, her arms crossed in a more relaxed manner.

"I can see why she styled it this way," she said.

"You finished it? Already?"

She nodded and tilted her head toward the restroom to tell me to go take a look.

When I stared in the mirror, I nearly lost the ability to stand. Memories of my mother and my childhood came flooding back to me. She would wake me in the mornings to help me prepare for school, always making the best of lunches that would make my classmates jealous. Every couple of days she would braid my hair just as Shirleigh had and my friends would express their love for it. They would often come over to my house and my mother would be overjoyed to have so many people to feed. I remember her telling me how she wanted me to have brothers and sisters but she was unable to after my birth. Cancer, she told me. It was a miracle that I had been born when I was, otherwise, there would have been no hope for me. The word was foreign to me at the time and I was unable to grasp the meaning of it all. She passed just a few years ago before I started university leaving behind a fracture that may not completely heal.

I heard footsteps and I turned to see Shirleigh leaning on the doorframe, her features softer than they usually were.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"I shall rebraid it every now and again if you would like me to."

I nodded and composed myself. Shirleigh stepped out of the way as I exited the room and at the same time, there was a knock at the door.

Shirleigh fell onto the sofa as I answered the call. Mr. Hudson was standing with his arms behind his back. The lights in the hallway bounced off of his glasses, concealing his eyes.

"Good day, Miss Watson," said he, adjusting the spectacles on his nose. "How are you? Your hair is quite lovely today."

"I am doing quite well, thank you," I told him, my face warm. " I hope you are the same."

"As long as you and Shirleigh are alright, I am alright. Is she here, perchance?"

"Oh, yes, she's here."

I pushed the door wide to let him in.

"What is it?" Shirleigh asked, her head propped up by her hand.

"How are you, Shirleigh? It has been some time since we have spoken."

"We spoke just the other day."

"You know what I mean."

Shirleigh opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow. She glanced over at me and fixed her gaze on Mr. Hudson.

"How have you been feeling? Is everything alright? Do you need anything, anything at all?"

"I'm fine," Shirleigh replied curtly.

"You say that..."

Mr. Hudson lowered his head and he appeared to be deep in thought. A moment had passed and he turned to me, his expression a bit melancholic. Approaching me, he had us facing the opposite direction from that of Shirleigh.

"I am glad that you have stuck around," he whispered. "I know it isn't easy."

"I am not a child," Shirleigh said in an annoyed tone.

"If you should ever require something," he continued. "You need but ask. I am here for the both of you. Always."

"I am most grateful. If I ever find the need for your assistance, I will duly let you know without a moment's hesitation..." I told him. "... And if I am being honest, my time with Shirleigh has been...unique. In more ways good than bad. My time spent with her will surely be something I look back on in the future and appreciate. For now, I will cherish the time we spend with one another for as long as we are together."

Mr. Hudson's sullen expression was replaced with one of bliss. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought him to be on the verge of tears, but when he noticed the apparently obvious look of concern on my face, he shook his head, strands of hair falling out of place.

"Now," I said. "What was it that you wanted to tell us?"

"Ah, yes, I nearly forgot," he reached into his left suit pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. "This came for you just this morning, Shirleigh. A young officer with the last name of Gregson delivered it by hand. Apologies, but I took the liberty of reading it before bringing it up to you, the police force can be all but trusted nowadays. After scanning the contents, I believe you will find this to be quite the brain teaser."

Before one could blink, Shirleigh had leapt from the sofa, snatched the letter from Mr. Hudson's fingers, and returned to her spot as if she had never moved.

"If you would excuse me, I must return to my post at the front desk. You never know who might come through those doors."

With a bow and a smile, Mr. Hudson left the room and closed the door behind himself, leaving Shirleigh and me alone just as before.

"Are you alright?" I inquired. "What was he talking about earlier?"

"What?"

"He was asking about your well-being. If there was anything you needed. Is something wrong?"

"It is nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"And yet I shall. We live in the same space, it is natural for me to worry about your health. That and I am a doctor. I won't press you to tell me anything, but know that I would feel better if you did and I shall worry until then."

Shirleigh remained silent. Her eyebrows knitted together. There was something she wanted to say but couldn't bring herself to do so and she remained quiet focusing all of her attention on the paper in her hand.

"Mr. Hudson checks your mail?" I asked after some time.

"He does," my flatmate answered flatly. "For any potential dangers hidden within."

"That's incredible. He would lay down his life for you?"

"He would," Shirleigh looked up from the letter and stared out the window. "And I wish he wouldn't."

I watched as she slowly blinked, her mind elsewhere.

"What does the letter say?"

Rather than telling me, Shirleigh extended her arm, handing the sheet of paper to me and I made my way over to retrieve it.

The writing was neat. The message concise and to the point. It read:

Miss Holmes,

I am sending you this note to ask for your assistance in a strange case we are currently investigating. A woman by the name of Emily J. Drebber was found dead in an abandoned mansion with no clues as to how she was murdered. We were unable to find a murder weapon nor any wounds upon her person.

I have heard from Lestrade that it was you who successfully pinned down Jack the Ripper. It is quite the affair and I would be most grateful if you would come down to Salisbury this afternoon to shed some light on the matter.

- T. Gregson

"How interesting..." I mumbled.

"How ridiculous," Shirleigh said coldly.

"Ridiculous?"

"It would seem that my name is now floating around the police departments. Now they are bound to rope me into whatever ordeals they find themselves in."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"I have told you before, Watson," she looked me in the eye. "I serve no one but myself."

"But, surely you won't let this case go cold? It is definitely the most intriguing one we have received since the Jack the Ripper affair."

"That it is."

She sat up and leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees. Pressing her fingertips together, she assumed her usual thinking posture and I sat at the round table a few feet from her.

"What is it with the random initials?"

"What was that?" said I.

"The initials," Shirleigh repeated. "You with the H and now this Drebber with her J. If one is not going to spell out the name why even insinuate the existence with a letter?"

It was these kinds of conversations that made me admire Shirleigh. It would seem like even the trivial of things fought for her attention. While it was one thing to see her work out a complex case it was an another to watch her ponder the question of why mosquitoes exist.

"I suppose it is just a way of writing one's full name without having to go to the trouble of spelling it all out," I shrugged.

"Then don't write the initial to begin with!" She leaned back and rubbed her temples, an irritated expression on her features.

I quietly giggled to myself gazing out of the bay window. It was a cool October morning, one that filled a person with nostalgia as the crisp, cool air brushed the skin.

"Would you care to join me?"

I turned to find my flatmate watching me with curious eyes.

"Of course," I answered. "Wherever you go, I shall follow."