The Detective And I

Ch. 03 My College

(I do not own the rights to the BBC Sherlock, only my Original Character, Robyn Archer.)

Happy Reading!

"Check mate, Robyn."

"Uh!" I slap my head on the table. "Ow." Sudden pain strikes my forehead, the numbing feeling gritting my teeth.

"You know," Jash comments, "That's stone you hit on, right?"

I prop my chin on the smooth, dark table, glaring at him.

Jash just smiles kindly with that little twinkle in his warm, brown eyes. Stroking his short, chocolate, yet trimmed beard. If you ever met my buddy, you would mistake him for an Indiana-Jones-gone-all-jazz with his cherry waist-coat, shiny loafers, shoulder length hair, and ironed suit pants. Not to mention his saxophone that you almost never see him without it.

"I hate you," I grumble.

College kids pass by leisurely, while the professors in their black robes rush with paper buried in their arms. Tall, prideful building desperately reaching for the sky, only to stand so high with their huge, dominant stone. Rose bushes reside peacefully in the courtyard. The standard English College of London.

"Hehehe," he speaks in his quiet, humble voice, "I love you, too." Jash tips his page-boy hat with one finger. "Wanna go another round?"

"No. My brain is fried." I sit up, trying to rub the soreness away. "I got too much on my mind."

"Is it.…" Jash looks around, before leaning in at an even quieter tone that's almost impossible to hear. "Is it the hyperthymesia again?"

"Yeah." I nod. My eyes dart left and right, narrowing. "Alot… of stuff has been happening alot lately."

"You want to talk about i-"

"Robyyyyyyyynnnnnn!" Someone hollers loudly.

"Ooof!"

The air suddenly punches out of my chest, someone squeezes me in a tight hug. Pink hair invading my vision.

"Onyx- You're-" I gasp, "Choking- ME!"

"GuesswhatIsawguesswhatguesswhatguesswhat!" Onyx hops up and down, vibrating like a ping-pong machine on sugar.

"Whoa- whoa- whoa! Onyx, chill my lady." Jash seizes her by the shoulders, trying to pin her vibration despite her short height. "Chill, Onyx. Take a fresh breath and chat sloooowly."

My tiny friend, reels in a deep, deep, deep, deep breath. She holds it, her cheeks puffed to the point she resembled a puffer fish. She holds it. Holds it. Starting to turn purple.

I roll my eyes. "You can let it go, Onyx."

A burst of air comes noisily from her mouth.

"Guess. What. I. Saw?!" She explodes, adjusting her loose sweatpants. Apparently she decided to go hippy with a black, sleeveless v-neck and a hoodie tied to her hips.

"What?" Jash and I say in unison.

"Sherlock!" she squeals. Her legs stomping rapidly. "Sherlock Holmes!"

"What!" We both burst out in shock.

"When? Where?" I nearly jump out of my seat. The sudden buzz of energy zapping me with its own effect. What's Sherlock doing-

A light bulb went off in my head. The case. Sherlock is here based on my statement. No. My memory on the person who delivered the message. The college logo on the person's jersey resides here.

At my college!

"Where is he now?" Jash asks with wonder and curiosity.

"Everybody dance now~!"

My mobile phone vibrates against my hipbone, buzzing loudly in the beat of that old song.

"Yo!" Jash taps his hat,. "Change the ring, it murders cats."

"Bloody, Cousin Stella." I roll my eyes, punching my thumb on the screen. "Listen 'ere, you bloody money leeching, heart sucking, coldless, blonde stereotype of an evil troll! I'm not giving you money!"

"... I'm not blonde."

I pause, unblinking. That smooth deep voice smothers my ears. Cool words singing logic. That baritone, English accent-

"Sherly!" My jaw drops, snaps shut, drops open again. "How the bloody 'ell did you get my number?! You- You-"

"Quite simple, really." There is a pause, "Facebook."

"Whose Sherly?" Onyx asks, doe eyes batting in question.

I facepalm. "Bloody, Stella using my stuff again!"

"Yes, that annoying cousin of yours. Is she really the stereotypical blonde?"

"The mean kind, not the ditsy." I blink, brow sinking over my sight. "Where are you?"

"Right here," a English baritone voice says cooley, right behind me.

"AH!" I jump, my arms sharply jab backwards. My elbows hitting a target, resulting a THUMP! And a:

"Uh!"

Spinning on my heel, I look to what, er, who I hit.

"Sherlock!" I cry, quite mad. "You dipstick! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Robyn," he dark haired detective lays flat on the cobblestones, not daring to move. He clutches his stomach wincing.

"Wait! You know this dude?" Jash's dark eyebrows crawl up on his forehead, disappearing under his cap.

"Well, yeah. I only met him yesterday."

"Oh. My. Gosh!" Onyx's purple irises grow wider and wider, turning into the size of frisbees. "You jabbed Sherlock!" she squeals, her smooth skin morphing with fifty shades of red. "Ohmygoshomygoshohmygosh!" Onyx spins a one-eighty at me, her legs jumping as if walking on hot coals. "You. Know. Sherlock!"

My eyes scan around the area. "Onyx. Keep it down." I mutter through my teeth. "People are looking." I can feel the color red starting to skim my cheeks, running up to scalp.

"You. Know. Sherlock." She says in a lower volume, yet with the same level of excitement.

"Huh, it'll be funny if this guy moved in with you." Jash indicates his thumb to Sherlock.

"Actually, she's moving in with me." Sherlock says blankly.

"Huh?!"

Onyx's jaw drops. The shock drops quickly, only to be replaced with an evil smirk. "My, my! A busy bee, are you."

I flush red. "Shut up." I turn my accusing scowl on the detective, still lying on the ground. "You, Mister, we need to talk."

"Okay, what's going on Sherlock?" I ask, hand on hip while it juted out to the side.

Hiding behind thousands of old smelling books, dark mahogany shelves, and lots of study tables with green lamps ebbing a bright glow. In other words, the college library.

Sherlock quirks his eyebrow, looking bored. "What do you think?" He pulls a book out, flipping through the pages in a flash.

"If I didn't know any better," I lean against the bookshelf, crossing my arms. Side galncing. "I'd say staking out on the hunch I gave you."

"Not a hunch, Robyn." He snaps the books shut, switching it out with another book. "You, my dear, know. It's too coincidental with your college crest on the deliver's jacket. Obviously, he's following you. The only question is finding him."

"So how are we going to find him? There are thousands of students who go here, around different schedules and separate times per semester. And, by the way, no name or face to narrow down. Only purple hair and the jersey, if he's wearing it." I sigh, running my hands through my red hair. "It's a needle in a haystack."

"Easier when you use a magnet on the haystack. Here." Sherlock hands me a book.

I blink for a few seconds, my brain clicking. "The yearbook. Oh geez, why didn't I think of that?" I say in a sarcastic tone.

"Page 27."

I roll my eyes, but obeying his command anyways. Pressing my thumbnail between the pages, I scour to page 27. I blink. The photos contained groups of teens posing in crazy poses and silly faces. Then my eyes land on one face, one purple head, wearing the jersey proudly. He had both of his arms up in the air while water being dunked on his head. The a wide grin stretching ear to ear in pure happiness,like he had no care in the world.

"Scratch Hebb, Junior Football Player." I read quietly. I lower the book, giving a dull stare at my companion. "Well, that narrows it down to last semester."

"But don't you see?" Sherlock just tisks. "By your description by memory, I have narrowed the search by the dozen."

"And how do we know WHERE to find him exactly?" I snap the book shut, folding my arms and jutting one hip out.

"Because he's right behind you."

I go rigid, every muscle in my body turning to dead cold. I gape at Sherlock, I could feel my eyes turn to the size of dinner dishes. At a slow pace, I crane my neck, glancing over my shoulder, at the corner of my eye.

Peeping at the end end of the narrow, aisle, around the majestic mahogany bookcase was a mass of purple hair and a pair of wide green, honeysuckle irises.

"Sherlock…." I croak. Not moving a single centimeter from my sore neck position.

There he is, standing right there, just a few yards away!

I gape at him, but he dosen't see me. He dosen't make any moves, he's just having his nose doved in a really thick book. Silence reeks the room in a award stench, a weird tai-chi slithering in the air.

The guy shuts the book, turns away, and goes to check out his book at the old librarian's desk.

"Let's go!" Automatically, my feet moved. Following the one link to my dad, literally.

Sherlock gave no reply. He just followed me, like a string puppet being pulled.

And part of the day involved running behind bushes, dashing under tables, hiding in the boys' locker room. Don't ask about the last one.

"Bloody!" I curse, bitting my jaw down. "We lost him!"

"How long," Sherlock inquires, "My dear Robyn will you'll be following him?" The detective standing slightly hunched, arms folded as I peek around the corner.

"As long as he's walking on two legs." I huff, hair flying up with the same frustration. "Besides, I need to know what this guy knows."

"Stalking, Miss. Archer."

I whirl around, gritting my teeth hard enough they pain gone numb. "Shut up, Shirley Temple."

"Shirley Temple?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah." I grin feindishly, terribly annoyed already. "Cause you're cute and have curly hair."

"I'm a grown man." Sherlock scowls deeply, eyebrows lowering dangerously.

"Whatever, Shirley."

The darkhair detective growls. "You don't know the first thing about being a detective."

"Hey! At least I can kick butt, Mr-I'm-too-cool-for-you! Get your head straight-"

"AHHHHHHHH!"

The scream sliced the tension in half, chopping our attention.

Sherlock is gone in a blur, dashing past right past me with quick speed.

"Hey!" I yell, running after him. "W-wait up!"

I speed down the hall, running as fast as my legs could carry me. The I saw the dark haired detective, standing in the doorway of some sort.

"Sher- WHAAA!" I skid to a hult, tripping over the last second past him. Jumping right back up, I shout, "What the blo-! Why did you run off like that?"

He doesn't move. He doesn't respond.

I push myself past him. I stop in my tracks, I could feel my eyeballs nearly popping out of their sockets. The sight making bile rise up in my throat..

Blood pooled on the floor, spreading out in a slow, sticky, paste. The purple hair kid layed face down on the ground, body twisted in a painful position. Yet, the one thing that made me do a double take was….

There was another purple hair standing before the dead one.