I lied down in my cell thinking. What kind of person am I? Despite having to forgive my enemy, my mind was a bigger enemy. All I could think of was what would my sister say?
It had been too long since I had actually talked to her. The mind is a complicated machination with many descriptions. Memories become distorted as time passes by. I stood in the darkness of my mind, doing nothing but hope something will eventually pop up. I started to think of situations that I was sure would never happen. Situations like Jane abandoning me, or seeing my sister Emily again. I needed to remember what my objective was; Find Cupcake and the true identity of the man who claims to be Sherlock Holmes. The person named Leela is his concern. Cupcake shot himself, I saw it! But then it occured to me that I never checked the body. There are many ways to fake one's death; Hang yourself on a fake noose that never tightens, make a fake death certificate, and many other creative ways.
Cupcake, in the video, filtered his voice and did not show his face because he claimed that it would make things easier for Sherlock. The question is is that true? My cellar door creaked open before I could continue thinking.
"Hello, William" said Agatha, standing behind a police officer. He explained that, because he was the boss of the precinct, he can get me out without any trouble because he trusts me.
"Boss of this precinct?" I asked "But that would mean-"
"Welcome back, William"
I was back to where all my detective adventures started- the same police station I worked in, in Idio town, as a detective when everything continued to fall apart. But the wall colors were different, the desks were upgraded, everything was unrecognizable since I went away with Jane. Everything except for what was my office which had been left intact. My name still remained on the door.
"It was the only thing we didn't wanna change" explained Agatha "We also didn't allow anyone to come in, or any new detective to have it"
"Why?"
"You may not know it, kid, but you turned out to be popular around here. You were the most adventurous detective. Everybody's job was boring as fuck, but you? You were surrounded with a lot of deaths and even had your own arch enemy. Your companion, Jane, was a criminal"
"Don't make me feel special"
"I didn't intend to"
"Where's Jane and the fake Sherlock?" I asked
"Oh, speaking of them. Heinz told me something triggered one of Sherlock's memories, but you were the only person he wanted to tell it to. I just contacted them, they'll arrive very shortly"
"Good"
He pulled out a chain of keys and started rattling one of them infront of my ex-office door before opening it and turning on the lights for me.
"What are you doing?" I asked
"Do you need some thinking?" he stretched his arm to hand me over the key he used to open the door. I recognized it, it was the same key I use. I just nodded, grabbed the key, and went in. Everything was intact. So intact that dusts blanketed what was once my desk and chair. However, there was an extra pair of clothes hanged in the corner, folded and plastically sealed to prevent any dust from burying the textures. The dust that covered the plastic was as old as the dust on my desk and chair which I blew off to sit and continue thinking. Even if I was physically strong, nothing is stronger than the mind which can be either used as a weakness or a weapon.
I once again stood in the dark, under a beam of light, in my mind.
"In chess, the pawns always go first" said the voice of none other than Harvey- Cupcake.
"How are you still alive?" I asked
"That's a shitty question"
"How many pawns do you have left?"
"I have no more pawns left, just bishops and one queen. You, however, what do you have left? You never had pawns to begin with"
"I still continued to fight. You said you filtered your voice and didn't show your face in the video so things would not be easy for Sherlock Holmes. But I think you're hiding something" I said
"Yeah, my face and my voice" answered Cupcake
"If you were truly being Moriarty, who has kidnapped Watson, then Sherlock would know what you look like already, there was no point in hiding your appearance. If you were truly hidden and Sherlock had never seen you, then he would refer to you only by 'M' "
"Go on" he insisted
"Obviously, you had something to do with this. The reason why that man thinks he is 'the' Sherlock Holmes"
"And?"
"I-" I paused to think more "I need more information"
"Pathetic little shit! This is why you were called the defective detective"
The sound of knocking emitted from my officr door.
"Come in" said I
"Meow" said Jane, holding our dog.
"What the fuck?" I asked in confusion
"That didn't life your spirits up?"
"Why would... nevermind" I stood up to hug my wife while also trying not to squeeze the dog.
"Don't worry, I'm here now" said Jane, in attempt to comfort me.
"Where's Sherlock?"
"Hey" said the man I was looking for "I'm- yeah"
He was not himself, or more accurately, he was not being Sherlock Holmes. He sounded like his confidence had been taken away. I knew then that we were getting closer to his true self.
"When our plane landed on the airport" he explained "It triggered a memory"
"Continue"
"I was on my way to the Philippines with a girl, I do not remember who, everything is still a bit blurry. And then, we got caught in a storm and crashed on the wavey ocean. Next, I woke up comfortable in my bed not remembering how I got there or what happened. When I tried perhaps a bit too hard to remember, the only name I remembered was Sherlock Holmes, and the stories I could regain was solving crimes with Watson and fighting Professor Moriarty. That's it, there should be a memory between the two but for now, this is as far as I can remember"
I could tell just by looking at him that he had lost sense of who he thought he was. He started to breath heavily as if he was having an Anxiety attack.
"What's wrong?" asked I "Sherlock?"
"Don't call me Sherlock Holmes, I'm not him!" he snapped "Tell me, William, do you know what a fugue state is? No wait, it's called something else. Dissociative fugue? I forgot, but I have come to accept that I am just an idiot with memory loss who thinks he's Sherlock Holmes. Who the fuck am I?"
"That's what we're here for! Remember?" reminded Jane
"Yeah" said I "We're here to find out who you really are"
"Am I mentally ill? I'm not!" continued Sherlock, he started to convince himself he was not mentally ill for self comfort. Walking around aimlessly in my old office "I just forgot things. That's all! That doesn't mean I'm mentally ill or anything" he stopped to control his breathing. Jane and I did not say anything until he broke the silence once more.
"I have to go" he claimed
"Where could you possibly go to?" I asked
"The nearest hotel with the last of my money" with that being said he walked out. I tried to stop him but he was incredibly determined.
"No, we need you! We don't know Moriarty's goal yet! Sherlock!"
"I said don't call me that"