Faith

A story about time, faith, and love

CHAPTER Seven

"Nice to meet you both, but...what exactly are you doing here?" It wasn't everyday you were met by two people who were interested in you.

"Well, we heard about what happened. Everything, with the fire and stuff." As The Doctor said this he made an explosion gesture in his hand.

"We're just here to ask if anything was unusual about the entire experience." Sherlock had this light British accent, which, along with the deepness of it, gave him a unique voice.

"Wha...why would there be anything unusual about it?! It was just a regular house fire!" I stood up, my ears blazing. "Thinking about it, what do you guys have anything to do with me and my life? You just come storming in here like you're the boss of me!"

The duo looked at each other for a moment, and then The Doctor spoke.

"You're right. We're sorry. We just come in this hospital and start asking you random questions. We should leave." He gestured to Sherlock, and they both starting walking off.

They had just taken a few steps when Sherlock said, “Sorry about your mother.”

Everything around Charles suddenly went silent. The world had felt like it had stopped.

“H-how do you know about that?”

“Well your father is currently in hospital and you’re the only one here. So unless you have a horrible mother...it kind of makes sense. But by the way you just reacted, it's definitely not the former."

Charles spoke in a whisper. “Yeah it was...it was too much for her.”

"Suicidal, I knew it. But there’s still more. She cared too much about you and your father. So what did she do? She killed herself. Fewer mouths to feed, less money spent, however, it would also mean less income; if she had a job. And since I know that your mother was this smart...I know that she is a housewife."

“Uh, yes. But that’s really specific. There were a lot of other things she could’ve been.”

“Hm, yes. Shot in the dark. Good one, though. There are a lot of other things I can see from your appearance; you have clothes that are quite raggedy which seems to suggest your family is quite poor. That’s not it, though. It’s twenty-twenty yet there is an eighteen-year-old without a phone in his pocket or hands? Definitely from a poor family.

Now, your financial problems are quite interesting. You weren’t always poor, were you? Your hair...”

The Doctor looked confused. “His hair?”

“Shut up." Sherlock placed his attention back on Charles. “Your hair, it’s shaved with the same blade all over. Someone has cut it with a razor around...judging by he length...around two months ago. But that’s ridiculous, your father wouldn’t spend money on a barber or a razor when he’s already this much in debt. So that means your family used to be able to live quite comfortably until something happened."

"What happened?" The Doctor asked.

"His father was fired.”

Charles’ eyes widened. “How do you know he got fired?”

Sherlock replied with a smug look. “Again. Shot in the dark. That’s two now.”

The Doctor suddenly spoke up. “You could tell all that from his haircut?”

“Yes, pay attention.”

The Doctor suddenly started talking. “Also you might want to take better care of those shoes. Maybe wash them in a lake sometime. They would be the only memento you’d have left of your father if he dies. You wouldn't really be able to afford many shoes would you?"

He knelt down and smelt them.

"Hmm...yes...over two years old, maybe three."

“I’m the one that’s supposed to be analyzing him!”

“Shut up, I’m making deductions. It’s very exciting.”

Sherlock then looked at Charles. “And I think that covers just about everything.”

I stared at the man who, only a few moments ago, I thought was a complete stranger. I swallowed down the saliva which had slowly gathered in the mouth which was currently incapable of speaking.

"We'll be on our way then. Goodbye." I saw them walk off, stop, wait for the lift, and enter. I still had no reason to trust them. Although there was that little part of my brain which said that you'll definitely meet them again. It wasn't like I wanted to - I mean, who knows what that man could determine if I just changed my clothes!

I was about to sit down when I saw the nurse - the nurse which was taking care of Abba - walking down the hallway. I strode up to her and asked her about Abba.

"He has severe burns to his leg and won't be able to walk for a few days, maybe weeks. He'll need a wheelchair, which we can get you."

"How...how much would that be?"

"About one hundred dollars."

I shuddered.

"And what about just the general hospital fees?"

You know, I always think of the hospital as the most expensive place on Earth. It's the only place where you pay the true price of life. Death.

"It's already been paid off. A few of your friends came and paid it for you."

"Wh...Well, um, thanks for everything you've done!" I ran off, feeling bad about leaving her so rudely, smashed the lift button, and thought about them two masterminds. The Doctor and Sherlock.

*****

I searched frantically around for the duo, scanning the entire reception. Come on, I know you two are still he-

"Well, you've come. Finally."

I turned around to face The Doctor. "Yes, well, I heard about what you di-"

"Uh, uh, uh, uh." He covered my mouth with his hand. "Don't speak of it."

"Hey, you still have the wheelchair to pay off." Sherlock's voice boomed in my right ear.

"How did you...how did you know about the wheel-"

"Ugh, don't you humans remember anything? What goes on inside that little brain of yours?" the Doctor asked. I stood there, confused, waiting for an answer of some sort. "Ugh. Let's start again."

I felt my eyeballs roll from the left side of my eye socket to the right. But I waited, not interrupting him.

"I'm The Doctor. And I help people."