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História A Case Of Baker Street - Capítulo 1

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Capítulo 1 - Chapter I

The Sun again loses the race with Rosie, causing my daughter to wake up first and cry with desperate tears asking for the comfort of her mother's lap. The dawn that had come cold and quietly morbid, now lulled to the sound of she, and of my creeping steps, and sleepy towards her.

— John, tell her to shut up, have you seen what time it is? – Sherlock grumbles, at the bottom of the stairs, no matter how uncommon he complains about the noise, he really should be tired, because he simply hasn't slept for three consecutive days, in what I now call Post-Case Abstinence.                                                     

To the baby's graces, I arrive in a short time, but still dizzy for having done everything so fast.

— Sshhh ... Daddy's here. Here it is. Daddy!                          

She swallows her tears seeing that useless old gray man, who has no milk coming from his chest to comfort me. I take her by the arm, and rock her down the stairs and into the kitchen. I open the microwave to find the bottle I had left ready for this occasion. I end up confused, close the microwave, and head for the fridge. I open it, look for the blessed one, and no trace is found there. I close the fridge, and the little girl starts to grumble about the delay in having her dearest morning. I turn to the sink, and there was the one in demand, among various instruments of chemical experiments, and probably very dangerous for Rosie. Soon after cursing the lazy analyst Holmes very well, I manage to make another milk and put, of course, in another bottle, that one would probably go to the destination of the previous ones, the garbage. I sit with Mary's miniature, in my chair, I feed her while I look at his chair right in front of me, I look away to see if I was doing right with her. And I realize that I'm the luckiest man in the world.                                        

— Do you know, Mary? I may not have everything I wanted. But I know I have everything I ever needed. – I talk to the walls, hoping to hallucinate and to hear she say me that I was right, and completely right, hoping to see her saying that she would always be there with us, even with the sloppy Sherlock. — And you, Rosamund, you are now my world, practically everything I have. – The little girl looks at me with two big dark green eyes, half honey, and half brown, and I start to wonder if she is understanding me or not.

Satisfying herself, I put the bottle on the table next to me on the right, which was full of magazines, clippings, photos, and telegrams of people wanting us to take their case, barely knowing that, the hope they put here is transformed in our combustion, and mixed with the wood from the fireplace. I start lulling the little one, yawning here and there, but always wide awake, with active thoughts and under all pressure. Time soon passes, and I start to see the sinister bluish light of the street, turning into a cold and ashamed orange yellow, which brings me as a gift, a very heavy package of sleep, and as soon as the order is delivered, the values ​​alternate, it is no longer the owner who opens and decides to use his product; it is now the product that with pure eagerness to be tested is thrown over the owner, and gives him everything he has to offer. I don't remember when the exact moment occurred, but I know I fell asleep, hugging Rosie on my lap. Hours later I wake up, remembering that it was dawn and that I would have to put the baby in the crib, but I was in a totally different place and situation; well, the place was Sherlock's room, I'm lying down, I mean, now sitting on his bed, and the situation is simple, I'm without the baby in my arms. I get up a little disoriented, and see him talking to Rosie, while she is sitting in my armchair, the light emanating from the windows is much stronger now, it must probably be about nine in the morning. I can still smell Mrs. Hudson's strong coffee in the air.                                                                                                          

— Sherlock? – I'm walking towards them.                                                    

— Got it, didn't you? And no, don't look at me that way. – He finishes what seems to me to be a sermon, while he shakes a rattle in her direction and looks at me, now getting completely erect, and with that class, seriousness, and more, that I'm almost sure that only he had. — Hello, John.  

— What were you doing with her?                                                                          

— Playing. – He shakes the rattle towards me.                                                  

— And?

— Talking, of course.                                                                                                                            

— Talking? Sherlock, she is a baby, she will not understand what you say.                                                 

— Of course she will, she just won't be aware of what it is now, John.                                                          

He throws the rattle in the distance, sits in his own chair and stares at it, but soon puts his hands with long thin fingers in the thoughtful pose, this means that he will enter into the thoughts, and leave this world, the real, for one another occasion. In silence, I take her by the arm, and put her on the cart, where I know she would be safer.

— What time is it?

— It's exactly eleven hours, thirty-four minutes, and forty-one, forty-two... Seconds. – I loved it when he answered things in such a fast and detailed way, it gave me a different impression, I wonder if he also didn't have a compact watch on his head.

Apart from how I got to know what time it was, I was surprised to learn that I had slept so much! I had to prepare myself, because from 12:30pm, I would have to be at a job interview, on the other side of the city, to work as a Pediatrician in a private hospital in the region, and yes, probably, I should have already started getting ready.

  — Sherlock.

He detaches himself from his world, and looks at me carefully, with those two deep, black, distant eyes, yet so focused on me, that I am not successful in looking at him.                                        

— I'm going to a job interview, in an hour, and I need you to take care of Rosie while I'm gone.      

— Take care?                                                                                                                                                                            

— Yep, give a bottle, shower, change a diaper, and put she to sleep after the baby food.                    

I start looking for her things through that mess of chemicals, and parts of human bodies.               

— Huumn... Sherlock? Why do you have an eye inside that bowl of porridge?                                          

— It is an experiment, as well as a source of vitamin A, for Watson.                                                                

— No, no! She doesn't have to be one of your guinea pigs.

— But of course she isn't, John. – I look at him incredulously, with the pot in my hand, as evidence that I will regret leaving him alone with my daughter.                                                                      

— You know what it is? You will come together.

— What?

— Yes, you will take care of her there, while I give the interview.

— And, what about my customers?

— As you said yourself: "They're all boring, annoying."

— So be it then, come on baby. – He takes her by the arm, and puts her on her feet, she tries to balance herself, but then she gets out of balance and falls over the diaper, sitting down.

— I still find it hard to believe that you were like that someday.

— Why?

— Because she looks like an angel, pure, innocent and you... – I point with an open palm from top to bottom towards his body, while lifting my shoulders.                                               

— The same thing, but in an adult version.

— Definitely not.

— And male, of course.

— Still not being, keep trying. – We stay in a moment of silence, which is soon broken by Rosie who tries to talk to us next.

He looks at her, jumps on the couch, and throws things up, seeming to look for something.

— Where's my gun, John?

— My gun is kept, Sherlock.

— I need it, where is it?

— We will go to a hospital, we will not need to be armed.

— I need it.

He stare me, in front of me, with a pleading look, as if he urgently needs that. I take myself for granted, and shift my gaze to the infiltrated ceiling, which was dark by the coldness I had been doing lately, at night. I bite my lips, then lick them, in a quick gesture, while I decide whether to say it or not.

— Please.

That was the peak now, the limit that there was, called "No", was totally extinct, I keep looking at it.

— It's on the underside of the crib, with tape, next to some refills. 

He gives me a fake, forced smile, going in the direction of my room, which is at the top of the house, right after climbing two stairs. I put the porridge on the table, I go over to Rosie. I hear noise on the stairs.

— I still don't know why you want to take a gun to a hospital. – I turn around with Rosie in my arms and see Mrs. Hudson with a surprised look, because she is totally against violence.

— A gun? With my little one here? – She comes towards me and takes the baby from my arms. 

— Only when they're living far away from me. – She smiles with Rosie in her hands.

Soon a brilliant idea comes to mind, now everything is really solved.

— Mrs. Hudson, could you take care of Rosie while I go to a job interview?

— Sure, sure. But will you dress like that? In my day we were all aligned, trained. And the men were impeccable, on the line... – I stop listening when I see Sherlock coming down the stairs, and coming towards us, already seeming to understand that he would not need to go with me, since Mrs. Hudson would stay with Rosie; well, just in case, I better warn you, speaking very clearly.

— Yeah... Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson is staying with Rosie.

— Good.

He goes to the kitchen, and goes to his own room, then locks himself. I don't understand.

— You should talk to him. You know, when I was married, it happened directly, he always closed up, and sometimes, days went by without talking to us. In every rela...

— No, no, Mrs. Hudson. How many times do I need to make it clear? We are not a couple! I am not gay!

It always made me angry, did you ever imagine the disgrace that I would be for my family if they found out that I am a homosexual? It would be a catastrophe, my sister would be the first to talk shit; and my father would clearly disown me!


After having showered and eaten something like breakfast, I'm leaving, now kissing my daughter on the forehead.

— I promise to arrive before 3 pm, Mrs. Hudson.

— Oh, don't bother, I haven't had a baby in my arms in a while.

I smile sideways, and go down the stairs.

— John! – I hear a scream at the top, and desperate footsteps running, then I see Sherlock going down the stairs like crazy, and taking his long cloak. 

— I'll go with you. – He speaks passing in front of me and opening the door.

— What? No... Look, you don't have to, okay?

— Of course I do, John.

— No, Sherlock. I can go alone.

We stared at each other for a moment, I am the first to get out of that uncomfortable situation.

— Just don't be so...

— Yes, I know.

I go out and signal for the taxi.

— Taxi!

It doesn't take long before one stops in front of us. He walks in front of me, I round the car and get in next.


Both the way, back and forth, was illustrated by Sherlock's silent presence, he absolutely said nothing, nor commented on the way, the hospital, the patients, it seemed like an independent shadow, or a ghost that follows and haunts him wherever it goes. As soon as we get out of the taxi, I decide to break the silence.

— You didn't have to go.

— John, you're mad at me. 

He speaks leaving me speechless, and I look at him in surprise. He walks in, and leaves the door open, leaving me alone on the street. Shortly after returning with my conscience, a few seconds later, I follow him, and close the door.

— What do you mean by that?

— You didn't look me in the eye for a long time, and when you did, they were withdrawn, your laughter in my direction didn't make your eyes move, you treated me like a shadow all day, and said that I'm unable to take care of a baby. 

He takes off his cloak, then hangs it up, and goes up, turning his back on me.

— What? Wait... – I climb up behind him — I'm not mad at you, and I didn't even say you were disabled, I just think you treat Rosie like an adult, not like a baby. – He stops, walks around in front of me, and goes down, without touching me.  — Where are you going?

— Mrs. Hudson!

— Sherlock! Almost woke Rosie...

— Tell John I can't tell you where I'm going.                                                                                                             

— John!

— I heard it, Mrs. Hudson.                                                                                                                                                 

He picks up his cloak again and puts it on, looking at me, before closing the door.

— Did something happen, John?                                                                                                                                    

— No, Mrs. Hudson. So, did she behave? – As much as I tried to disguise it, I couldn't get that attitude out of my mind.                                                    

Literally everything she was saying didn't catch my attention, I was biting myself with curiosity, looking at the door every ten minutes, whenever I had the chance, of course; because I didn't want to give Mrs. Hudson any more reason to say that we are a gay couple.                                             

The night has now come, it is already too late, and there is no sign of Sherlock's life. You know what it is? I'll leave it for another time, now the only person I owe double attention to, is my daughter, who happened to be on my feet, playing with some toys, when I see her picking up something shiny. In a quick movement, I exchange it for another toy, because I knew that if I just took it out, she would burst into tears. Now analyzing what I got, I feel a small hole in my hand, it looks shiny, no, a shiny one is very modest, it looks like a diamond! I lower myself to the floor, and look for more. It doesn't take me long when I see a bag of five hundred grams of diamonds, and I think some other precious jewels are under my chair. I am surprised, and scared. How long had that been there? Why did he hide from me? And I always thinking about working, getting a job, to help him support this damn flat, when in fact, he is practically rich!

Before two o'clock in the morning, I hear someone open the door, going up without any care, but silently; clearly it was Sherlock. He opens the door, closes it, and I clear his throat as a warning that I was there, watching him. He turns to me, and looks directly at the diamond in my hand.                                                                                                                                                                                          

— Where did you get this?                                                                                                 

— How long have you been hiding?                                                                                                                               

— As soon as we moved.                                                                                                                                                  

I start to smile ironically in disbelief at that.                                                                                                        

— Where did you get this?                                                                                       

— You know where I got it.                                                                                                                                           

He comes towards me quickly, and tries to take the bag from my hand, I hold it tightly.                   

— The right question Sherlock is, where did you get it?

— No more questions, John. Where's Rosie?

— Asleep. Why?

— Why were you waiting for me?

— Because I still want answers.

— Go to sleep, John.

— No! I am not going to sleep.

— But I will. – He leaves, turning his back on me again. — Good night, Watson.                                  

I sit there, with the diamonds in my hands; I end up putting them in the same place, and going to sleep soon after.

The next morning, I wake up refreshed, it was an incredible night because Rosie hadn't cried at night. I get up from the bed and stretch completely. I head towards the cradle, which to my surprise is empty. Without taking too many steps, I see several toys on the floor, I start to pick them up to organize. It was obvious that it was Sherlock's doing.                                                                  

— What the hell happens...                                                                                                                                               

Loud children's music invades my ears hard.

— Sherlock!

I descend quickly, almost tripping or slipping over the toys. When I reach the living room, I see him dressed as a clown with Rosie in his arms, Mrs. Hudson beside her clapping hands and playing with her with a rattle. I let the toys fall to the floor; of all the scenes that I had witnessed in these, I think that five years of living together, I never saw him as human, as alive as now. He stops playing with her and looks at me seriously, then passes her into Mrs. Hudson's arms.

— Good morning, John! – He is approaching me, hands behind. — It's a beautiful morning, don't you think?

— Yes, Sherlock. – I'm starting to get uncomfortable with his proximity.

— So how about taking a pie?!

He tosses a whipped cream pie in my face, and starts to give a monotonous laugh, but soon I hear the most beautiful laugh I could get.

After wiping my eyes, and wiping the excess whipped cream off my face, I find myself smiling too.

— Come on, Watson! Now it's party time!

He starts throwing confetti in the air, dancing what seemed to me to be a waltz, but faster with the little girl in his arms. 

After cleaning myself completely, I stand and admire that scene. I had no idea what had happened to him, but I guarantee it was one of the best things that must have happened.

— Come on, John! Don't miss the party!

I go towards them, and I am playing, jumping, singing, throwing the baby up, and smiling so much that my cheeks hurt. After my wedding, this is the best day in the world! I should mark that date on the calendar to use as a personal holiday for me. Wants to know? I don't even need to score more, I hope I can never forget that! Never! And it certainly wouldn't. Right after lunch, Sherlock decided to go out for a walk with Rosie, and of course, I would go too. As I leave the house, with the stroller being alternated by each one of us, I begin to have immeasurable access to happiness, feeling the happiest man in the world, with the best friend, and the most perfect daughter I can ever imagine. In a short time we arrived at the public square, soon we are playing with her, for the toys. When we got tired, we decided to go home.

— John, can she eat cotton candy?

— Just a little.

He goes to the cotton candy cart with the baby in the cart, I follow them.

— I would like the smallest portion of cotton candy.

The man soon takes a small cone, and fills it.

— This is your daughter, right?

— What? No, no, she is my daughter, he is the best man.

— Ah, you didn't adopt?

— Of course not. What do you think we are, by any chance?

— Gays.

Sherlock walks, while giving Rosie small pieces of cotton candy, as if he hasn't heard, or is just ignoring. I start to have a huge tantrum, it was already the portion of joy that had bathed me.

— I am not gay!

— But you're still a couple, right?

— John!

Sherlock calls me, and I run out of things to say to the salesman, just as I did a few years ago. I head out, angry, and get home just before they do.

— You shouldn't get carried away by others, John.

— Worldwide! Everyone I know, after that, practically the whole world, thinks that we are a couple, and that mainly I am gay! 

He walks up the stairs with Rosie in his arms, and then I go up with the cart on my back.

— You shouldn't have taken weight.

He hands me Rosie, and I decide to give her a bath.

— I heard it as soon as you arrived, do you accept tea?

— Yes, Mrs. Hudson.

— Perfect.

As soon as I shower, I leave it on top of the changing table, and go into the kitchen to get my tea.

— John! Give me the tea.

— Use "please", Sherlock. 

— I take his cup and go towards him.

— I don't need to use it. – He takes the cup, and blows while looking at me. 

I keep watching him, thinking about what might be going on in his mind, right now, but I know this is impossible, and even if I knew, I wouldn't be able to understand his line of reasoning.A few moments later, I go up the stairs, and I see the empty changing table, the empty crib, the empty room, my heart starts to race, the cup of tea falls to the floor.

— Sherlock! Sherlock! – I cry out desperately, and soon I hear it coming to the door of my room.

— What's up, Wats..? – He stops talking, I look astonished, he pushes me and throws all the sheets, cloth, and bears from the crib up.

— She's not here! No, no, no, no! Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!!! – I scream at the top of my lungs, putting my hands on my head, and losing my mind for many seconds, which for me have become forever, where I knew my Rosie is in the hands of another.

Sherlock takes a small bear, and starts to laugh, a huge, hysterical, irrational laugh.

— It seems to me that we finally have a case, John. – He whirls around, hands me the plush, which apparently was a laughing matter, and leaves.

Notas Finais

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