Deducing Tragedy Part One: See No Evil

Mark sat at the end of the bed. His hands were bandaged and his hair had been cut to remove the burned chunks. He wore a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans. His blue eyes were fixed on the sleeping girl before him when Molly came in.

“Any change?” she asked in a small voice from the doorway.

He swallowed, “no.”

“I brought you coffee,” she said walking behind her brother. “I thought you might need some.”

“I'm fine.”

“And because you think that’s true is how I know you’re not,” she said handing him the cup. “The doctor said she will live-“

“But he has no idea if or when she’ll wake,” he snapped. “This is our sister, Molly. One I was forced to spy on and-“ he choked up as tears he’d been holding in for nearly a week spilled down his cheeks. Molly set aside the coffee to hug him as he wept into her arms.

Outside the room, John stood in the hall with Sherlock. His dark eyes locked on the shambles that was the Hooper family. Beside him Sherlock couldn’t be more board.

“Why are we here again?” he asked with a huff.

“That’s our flat mate in there.” John almost growled. “We should go give our sympathies-“

“You keep saying she’s our flat mate but I don’t remember her,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “And even if I did know the girl like everyone keeps claiming, I don’t know here now. What could I say that would help anything?”

John sighed looking at his friend, “you don’t get it Sherlock. It’s not your words that matter now, it’s your presence. So say something or say nothing just get your arse in there before I drag it in.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the smaller man’s threat but walked with him to the door. John knocked and Molly looked up, her eyes going hard when she saw the consulting detective in the doorway.

“No, get him out of here!” she growled.

“Me?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Yes you, you…” she trailed off, unable to think of a suitable insult. “Anyway it doesn’t matter just leave!”

“What have I done?” he asked with a sigh of boredom.

“That!” she shouted. “You don’t care! You’ve forgotten my sister, turned your emotions back off… right now you are the last thing I want near her. She needs to get better and she can’t do that if you- with your indifference and board sighs- are here breaking her!”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” he shrugged. “Why should I matter to the girl, I didn’t know her.”

“Yes, you did,” John said looking up at the man. “You knew her, and she knew you. Better than anyone I’ve ever seen you interact with. Sherlock you loved her-“

“Oh don’t go on with that nonsense again,” he moaned. “I keep telling you that I must not have if it was so easy to forget her-“

“Hello?” a new voice flooded the room as they turned to see a young man standing in the door way. He was tall and thin, with pale skin and deep blue eyes. With one hand in his pocket and the other running through his dark mess of hair, he looked very innocent.

“Who are you?” John asked in a gentle tone.

“My name is Ben,” he said. “My boyfriend, Brad, died saving her. I'm a friend of Hanna’s.” ah yes, Sherlock remembered seeing a blonde man pull the Girl away, as she opened the door, and covering her with his body. He died so she would live.

“I’ve never heard of you before,” Molly frowned but Mark cleared his throat.

“They met in America,” he said. “He was her best friend over there. Brad was forced into helping Mathers because if he didn’t then Ben would die.”

“It’s funny, I had a sniper on my back and the man I loved was helping a serial killer, but I had no idea,” he laughed once but there was no amusement to it. “Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and see her before I left-“

“Most people in your situation would blame Miss Hooper for the death of their loved one,” Sherlock frowned, cocking his head to the side.

Ben looked up at him, a very sad and very tired smile crossing his lips, “you really don’t remember her do you? No one blames Hanna, how could we? They were forced to spy on her but they also got to know her in the meantime. Hanna, though she would never think it of herself, is one of those innocent souls that are impossible to hate. She radiates joy and love, when she speaks it is like the world around you fades away and all that matters are her words. She is kind and gentle and would never hurt anyone should she have a chance to stop it. We all adore Hanna, and not one of us could ever hate her.”

Sherlock frowned, “you think an awful lot of her.”

Ben let out another laugh, this one lighter as he walked around the group to take a seat beside the girl on the bed. “There was a time when you did too. You loved her Sherlock, more than anyone has ever loved-….” He stopped short, his eyes falling to the blue blanket that covered the motionless body before him. “Well… almost anyone.” He took her hand in his before looking back at the Detective.

“Sherlock, I will email you photos that we took while you and she were in America,” he said. “Photos, bar tabs, anything you need to jog your memory of her. Just remember her, please. There is no reason that Mathers still manage to destroy your relationship while he lies dead in his grave.”

"I’ll ask Lestrade to send over the tapes of Mathers in the interrogation room." John said from behind him. "And the file on her case."

"I send you all the surveillance pictures Mathers sent me," Mark said. "There are a few hundred of them but it'll help-"

"No," a new voice groaned and everyone turned to look at the bed. This was the first time Sherlock had actually looked at the Girl, he didn't like what he saw. Her entire body wad red and swollen. Her arms were bandaged heavily where the fire licked her skin. Her red hair was cropped short and uneven, Sherlock assumed that Molly had attempted to save her sister from seeing the burnt dead mess. Everywhere else she was vertically untouched.

"Hanna, you're awake!" Molly gasped racing to her sister's side, across from Ben.

"Unfortunately," she said in a small voice.

"Don't say that," John said moving to stand beside Mark at the foot of the bed

"I was ready to die for those people," she said, her already weak voice breaking down as she spoke. "Brad should have let me, now he's gone and I have to live with it."

"Hanna, Brad saved you to make up for believing Tomas," Ben whispered to the small broken girl. "He did it to be forgiven-"

"He was always forgiven," She whispered back, tears spilling down her cheeks "Always and completely forgiven, but now what of me? How will I ever be forgiven for my part in this?"

"You are forgiven Hanna!" Molly said, her own tears flowing. "No one blames you." Hanna just shook her head and looked away from everyone.

"You blame yourself," Sherlock said from the back wall. "Don't you Miss Hooper?" They parted from around the bed allowing Sherlock to walk up beside her, where Molly had stood.

“Sherlock,” she breathed, her blue eyes sparkling with tears.

“I am right,” he said. “You do blame yourself, even though everyone around you tells you differently. You can’t forgive your role as the victim.”

“I'm not a victim,” she whispered. “I'm as good as an accomplice-“

“You did no-“

She stopped John with a swift glare that made the doctor fall silent. “You can try to convince me otherwise all you want. I know I could have- I should have- done more. But I didn’t, Irene and Brad died because of me. I should have done everyone a favor and died with them.”

“But you didn’t,” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

She frowned, “what do you mean?”

He shrugged, “when in a condition such as yours some believe it is possible to just let yourself die… unless you have something to live for. So what is it Miss Hooper? What have you to live for?”

She looked at him through eyes that had seen too much for a girl of her age. The weight of her memories and the demons among them showed in her eyes. But through that he could see the smallest light. She had a million reasons to let herself die that much was true; but he knew she had one reason to hold on.

“You’ll think it’s silly,” she whispered, “since you’ve been reset to factory defaults and everything.”

“Try me.”

She gave him a half-smile, letting her eyes drop to her hands. “After the first explosion I fell to the ground. I hit my head just like you but while I lay unconscious… I had a vision”

“A vision?” John asked and she shrugged looking up at him.

“Maybe not a vision, more like a dream I suppose” she said. “Anyway, it surprised me how much I wanted it. I never thought much of it before then but now…. I want it with every fiber of my being. And it’s so selfish… to want a happy ending when I’d been a part of so much pain.”

“Is it safe to assume that I was part of this happy ending?” Sherlock asked turning towards the window.

“You were.” All were silent for a moment before John spoke up.

“Hanna you said no, before,” he started. “When we were talking about the thing we possess to help jog Sherlock’s memory.”

She nodded, “I did.”

“Why?”

She met his eyes straight on as she spoke, “because it won’t work.”

“Are you saying my memories are incapable of returning?” Sherlock inquired, his back still to her.

“No, of course not,” she said not looking at him either. “But I must act like they will never come back. We can’t start if I'm at the finish line. You don’t know me, putting all my memories on you would only push you away. I have to start at the beginning too and maybe, just maybe, build something new with you if that’s what you want when we get there.”

“How do you plan to accomplish that?” Ben asked and she looked over at him, her eyes slowly moving around the circle until she stopped at Sherlock’s back.

“By leaving Baker Street.”