Chapter IV - Mary Morstan's theory

                                    

                                          
Mary Morstan was a woman of superficial nature, appearing to be sweet and kind-hearted. She was in fact, cunning and calculative, showing signs of a borderline psychopath. I came to these conclusions when she opened her door to me. With all other traits aside, one particular one was swirling through my mind; liar. I was going to have to be careful with this one. 
                          
As she opened the door she gave me a warm smile, asking if I needed any help. I was initially shocked that she didn't recognise me as I was all over the papers at the moment. 
                          
"Yes. I'm here to ask about John Watson. Aside from the fact that I'm a consulting detective, I'm his best friend, so any information you harbour will assist me with his missing case." Mary appeared to be lost as her head was bowed, her blonde hair covering her right eye. Her eyes kept flickering from myself and the parked car on the street. 
                          
"You're Sh- Sherlock Holmes," said Mary after a painstaking pause.
                          
"Yes. Good to know that you're aware of who I am."
                          
"But," she swallowed. "You're dead." I admittedly didn't understand why this woman was acting so dramatic. No, that's a lie, I did know why, but she's not playing her part very well. We'd never met before, so why was my 'death' so important to her. 
                          
"I'm clearly not dead. We can discuss my 'death' inside, don't you think?." 
                          
At first it didn't seem like she understood my words, but then a flicker of understanding passed through her eyes. "Oh, of course. I'm so sorry, come in." 
                          
As I sat in Morstan's dining room as she was preparing us some tea (though, I declined the offer), I wondered why John was drawn to this woman. She was immediately interesting, but only because of her connection with John. I looked up to see Mary holding a mug of steaming hot tea, glaring at me with a smile. "The table is fine." She cleared her throat, placing the cup on the table that separated us. 
                          
"What do you want to know?" She asked once she took a seat opposite me. 
                          
"Before John went missing he was living with you for the last nine months. When exactly did he leave?"
                          
She hummed an irritating tune as she thought. "I think it was September sixth." 
                          
"How was he behaving before he left?"
                          
"He was acting a bit out of the ordinary, come to think of it." I nodded for her to expand. "After  you..."
                          
"Died."
                          
"Yeah, died. He always spoke of you. Even though you and I have never met before, I already know a lot about you." 
                          
"I know the feeling. You were saying that John was behaving differently?" Morstan digresses too much. 
                          
"Umm, oh yeah.  He was acting strange. He became distant, was meeting up with old friends, on his laptop a lot more than usual." She came to a sudden pause, as if something was plaguing her thoughts.
                          
"Yes?"
                          
She took a large swallow of tea. "I don't know if John spoke of me-"
                          
"He didn't."
                          
"Oh," her tone suggested disappointment, but her facial expression turned sour against me. She suddenly put her cup down, taking in a breath of air. Her tea must have tasted bitter. "Well, we used to date when we were younger. With him staying and all, I thought that he might... take an interest in me.."
                          
"But he didn't. I wouldn't say that's strange behaviour." She sent an icy glare my way. I felt even more agitated than before. Her relationship with John was irrelevant. Well, not completely, but I have no interest in their romantic relationship. I took my scarf off for a moment, playing with the blue threads. "Did he leave any documents behind?"
                          
"He took everything with him the morning he left. Everything he owned is now gone. You haven't touched your tea. It'll go cold."
                          
"If you don't mind I'll have a lot around the house," my voice echoed from her bedroom to the dining room. It was a quaint room, much like the rest of the house. Everything was neat and orderly, giving her the appearance of the suburban life. She's hiding something. But whether it has a connection to John is the question. I looked into her wardrobe. Nothing but her plain clothes. More formal wear was placed at the end of the rack, inferring that she hardly goes out. Or at least that's what the average observer would think. I opened a drawer, finding more clothes. Underneath a white collared shirt, a picture stuck out. I took the picture in my hands, and found myself smiling. I deduced that it was originally Mary's photo, even if John was in it. He looked quite young in his soldier uniform, smiling that adorable smile even with such a horrid near future awaiting him. I would change that. John deserves a bright future. Deserves more than myself. But I am selfish, and I'm not willing to let go of John so easily. I would make things different for John. Just as he came into my world in cool wave, I would make life better for him. Even if the photo didn't add anything to the case, I pocketed it all the same.
                          
I searched all the rooms and found nothing. Mary Morstan was hiding something, but I didn't believe she had any part of John's case.
                          
Just as I reached the door, I felt Mary's hand in mine. "Before you leave, I want to tell you something." She had all day tell me 'something'. But instead, she fussed over her relationship with John. I violently removed my hand from hers.
                          
"Yes?"
                          
"About a month before John left, I recall him continuously talking about you, often writing down memories he had of you. He especially talked of your past. Back then I thought it was his way of dealing with the grief you caused him." I ignored the jape. "But now I think it might have something to do with the case."
                          
"You believe that John's disappearance might have some connection to my past." I dwelled on that for a moment, and shortly thanked her for the first time that day,