I've been an Elementary fan for quite some time now, but I never got a good idea for a story until recently. We've all heard Sherlock mention his father numerous times, and we've met his older brother Mycroft, but there's one member of his family who's never been mentioned or seen. This is my take on what might happen when we meet Sherlock's mom.
The song had been playing on a continuous loop for an hour straight. Not just playing – make that blasting. Oh, there was no denying it was a pretty ballad, happy-sappy enough to satisfy the palate of anyone who loved fairy tales, love stories, and all things Disney, but stuck on an hour-long loop? Jeez Louise, it was enough to make the most ardent Broadway nut bust out the heavy metal.
Brian Marino was neither a fairy tale freak nor a sucker for show tunes, and he definitely was not a fan of the Divine Miss M – at least, not of the song that had been steadily filtering through the wall of his apartment, which was smack-dab next to the one that housed the source of the syrupy ballad. After an hour of hearing Bette Midler sing about that blessed rose, he'd had enough. It was time to pay his neighbor a visit.
"Mrs. Kelleher?" He knocked on the door of his 60-something neighbor's apartment, willing his voice to remain calm, no matter how irritated he was. "Mrs. Kelleher, no offense, but could you kill that song? It's kinda getting on my nerves over here." When no answer came, Brian knocked again, louder and harder this time. Mrs. Kelleher was hard of hearing, after all, so maybe that would account for the music going full blast. But on a loop? That was a mystery he wanted to solve for himself. "Mrs. Kelleher?" No answer, so the knocking escalated to pounding and his calling to shouting. "Mrs. Kelleher! Open up and kill the music, for crying out loud!" When still no answer came, Brian cursed under his breath and jiggled the doorknob, stunned when it turned and the door swung open easily. About time, he thought angrily, storming over the threshold with a mouthful of words ready to hurl at his neighbor. "Mrs. Kelleher, have you gone totally deaf or are you just dead as a –"
The rest of the sentence never came. Brian froze and felt his entire body begin to shake at the gruesome sight that assaulted his eyes.
Rose Kelleher, his next-door neighbor, was lying spread-eagled on the floor of her apartment, glassy blue eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling, while her blonde hair soaked up the blood that pooled around her body. A brilliant red splotch of crimson marred the otherwise flawless white of her blouse, blood seeping from a single wound to the chest, and her skin was the ashen gray color of death. Next to her, well away from the pond of blood, were two objects: a black-and-white photograph and a small bouquet of flowers – violets.
"Oh, God..." This was bad with capital letters. Not only had Brian just busted into a crime scene, he'd found the latest victim of the serial killer who'd been terrorizing New York for the last four weeks. As he yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 911 to alert the police, he took another look at the calling cards and knew there was no doubt about it.
The Constant Gardener had struck again.