Vague Shadows

Sherlock and I stayed like that for nearly ten minutes before I finally gathered myself enough to pull away and look up at him. Sherlock’s hand moved from my back up to my cheek, his slender fingers sweeping off the tears. I reached up and caught his hand in mine, holding his palm to my cheek. I saw him swallow, almost unsure of what to do now.

It was as if his compassionate, sensitive side had only emerged out of instinct. Now that I had stopped my crying and I wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown, all thoughts of how to act in a situation like this immediately vanished. Though he kept his hand in mine on my cheek, he scooted back just a bit to give us distance.

“I wasn’t mad at you, you know,” I told him, my raspy voice catching in the back of my throat. “I was just hurt, and I was more mad at myself than anything.”

“But I caused your turmoil,” Sherlock pressed, and this time I nodded, not holding back my feelings anymore.

“You used my feelings to trick me. It was like you had figured out how far you could go with me, and you used that to your advantage. It felt like… like you didn’t actually care about me at all. Like you had just been playing a game, experimenting with my emotions.”

Sherlock was quiet for several long moments, and I began to regret what I had said. Did I offend him? Had I upset him?

“I am sorry Laicee, truly,” Sherlock said slowly, his voice low and smooth, his eyes burning down into me. “I did not wish to… I was not playing a game.”

I swallowed hard; so Sherlock did have feelings for me too.

“Then why did you do that?” I pressed.

“What I said to you was true. The thought of finding you hurt in a dark alley way does not sit well with me. I wanted to do what I could to keep you unharmed for once, seeing as my track record for protecting you is less than zero.”

“You handcuffed me to a fireplace,” I pointed out, and Sherlock gave me a dry look.

“You wouldn’t have listened to me.”

I went to argue, but shut my mouth.

“Okay, you’ve got a good point.”

Sherlock caught my hesitation, and his eyes narrowed.

“You said that Lestrade doesn’t trust John anymore,” he pressed, and I glanced away. “What happened to cause this? Lestrade puts more faith in John than he does me, and I’ve known him for five years.”

“Well, John more or less-“ I sighed heavily and broke off. I’d been attempting to avoid telling Sherlock I’d been involved with his rescue, but there really seemed to be no way around it now. I looked back at Sherlock and sighed.

“It’s more that Lestrade is doubting John’s abilities to keep me out of harm. John came home not half an hour after you left with Lestrade and Donovan. He thought I was dead. I told them all that had happened and John let me out of the cuffs.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes more at me and I shrunk down into his mattress a bit.

“John told me to stay here. He had Anderson babysitting me. I wanted to help find you, though, so I uh, well,” I cleared my throat and gave him a sheepish smile. “I sort of put the fear of God into Anderson and cuffed him to the fireplace.”

Sherlock snorted at this, but motioned for me to go on.

“I followed you. I didn’t know where to start so I went to the middle of the garden. I saw you up at the top of the hill, with Moriarty and a guy named Sebastian-“

“Sebastian Moran,” Sherlock murmured, his eyes flicking down as a scowl came to his face. I nodded.

“Moriarty ordered him to throw you into the lake; you were drugged, and you wouldn’t have been able to swim.”

“I remember the lake,” he said. “I was.. I was in the lake. Yes. I was.”

“You were. I, uh, well,” again I paused and cleared my throat a bit. “I ran up to Sebastian, we got in a tussle, he partially drugged me, threw you into the water, and I jumped in after you.”

I rushed the words out faster than I should have and then fell silent, looking up at him. Sherlock was quiet, taking in what I’d said. It was as if he was trying to decide what was most important out of what I’d just rambled. Finally, his brows flicked down and he gave me a somewhat concerned look.

“You jumped in after me?”

“Well, I say jump…” I muttered; Sherlock gave me a look and I elaborated. “I more or less flopped off the side of the overhang. I was a little less-than-coordinated at the time.”

“You threw your drugged body into a lake after me. You could have died.”

“You would have died. I was only partially drugged anyways,” I assured. “I grabbed onto you and pulled you out of the water. Lestrade is more or less angry at the fact that John didn’t force me to stay in the house.”

Sherlock sighed, giving me a look as if to say, that’s why I handcuffed you.

“Honestly, I think he’s just upset that a seventeen-year-old girl outsmarted one of his ‘highly trained’ professionals.”

Sherlock chuckled at that, but soon his face fell into a serious look. I rolled onto my back and then turned my head to look at him as Sherlock propped himself up on his elbow.

“You followed me without hesitation,” he said softly. “You put yourself into danger. You nearly drowned. You risked getting killed, all for me.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere,” I told him without hesitation. “I’m not much, I’m not the smartest person, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Sherlock. Even if it means handcuffing a sergeant to our mantel and jumping off a cliff. I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

Something shifted in Sherlock’s eyes, and for a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of the Sherlock hiding behind his heartless façade. I could see his instinctive compassion begin to surface, and I lost my breath as he stared down at me.

Sherlock leaned forward, his lips melting into mine. I reached up and cupped his face, holding him to me. Gently, Sherlock lowered himself down onto me, sliding his fingers up my cheek and back through my hair as he deepened the kiss. I kissed him back passionately, sliding my arm around him to hold him close. Sherlock rested one hand on my hip as he kissed me harder, beginning to breath heavily.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless. I gave Sherlock a grin, and his eyebrows quirked. We stared at one another for a long moment, and then he asked suddenly,

“Do you truly wish you could switch places with your mother? Do you really feel as if you caused her death?”

I swallowed hard, taken off-guard. I hadn’t been expecting that. I felt more tears prick my eyes, but I immediately forced them back; I’d cried enough today. Instead I let out a shaky breath and then, against my better judgment, I nodded. The hand that he’d left resting on my hip slowly slid off, and he straightened himself a bit, concern flooding his gaze.

I had never, ever told anyone how I truly felt about my mothers death. Since the day she died, my father had assured me that she killed herself because of me, and I believed him.

“How could it be your fault?” he asked me quietly.

“My mum was going to leave my dad,” I began; without even thinking, I scooted closer again and tucked my head onto his chest. He tensed a bit, and didn’t move to console me, but he didn’t shove me off. “She told him she’d take me and get us out of there. Dad didn’t seem bothered by it until he asked who I’d rather be with, and I said mummy without hesitation. I think it pushed him over the edge. He promised my mum that the moment she tried to leave, he’d kill me and make sure that if he couldn’t have me, no one could. My mom was distraught. I wanted her to sleep in my room that night, but she wouldn’t. She seemed upset, and scared. I wanted to help her, but she didn’t want me around. I had just fallen asleep when-“

My voice broke, and I cut off. I didn’t want to go on. Sherlock was quiet for a long time, and when a good five minutes had passed, he finally asked,

“And you believe that because you told your father this, his actions escalated and your mother killed herself to escape the life she’d been locked into.”

“Yes,” I said bitterly. “If I’d kept my mouth shut, we would have been fine-“

“No, Laicee, you wouldn’t have,” Sherlock said, almost irritably.

“My father told me that’s why she did it,” I argued, frowning into his shirt. Sherlock grabbed my shoulders and pushed me back to look down at me properly.

“Of course he told you this. He fed you lies all of your life to make you dislike yourself and count yourself out.”

“How do you-“ I began, and that was all it took to launch Sherlock into his explanation.

“Your father has taught you to look at yourself through his hated, warped, twisted point of view. You hate yourself. You can tell me that is wrong all you’d like, and I will not believe that. He’s convinced you that you’re stupid, which is hardly the truth.”

When he saw the look on my face, he pressed on.

“You are anything but stupid. You are clever, and very keen. Very bright. Brilliant. You doubt yourself because you’ve been taught to do so. I see the intelligence in you, though, when you speak to me. When you do your homework. When you argue with John about the price of jam.”

I felt myself flush, and as always, Sherlock kept going.

“Your father has, no doubt, made you believe that you are ugly. He’s called you fat, forced you to believe it. Convinced you that you’re disfigured and unappealing.”

“Sherlock, I don’t want to talk about this-“ I began, trying to push away. I really didn’t like where this conversation was going. The last thing I needed was Sherlock picking away at my looks-

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever met,” he told me in his blunt, honest tone. I stopped struggling and looked up at him. I wanted to believe that he was only telling me this to make me feel better, but I knew Sherlock. He never handed out false compliments. The kind words he said were always heartfelt, and often they slipped out without meaning.

Sherlock regretted his words immediately, but now I wanted to hear what he had to say.

“You really believe that.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Your looks make you pretty, but your intelligence makes you beautiful.”

“Sherlock-“

“Your father has convinced you to believe these lies, so why is the lie of your mother any different? Though he is more to blame than you are, no one is as guilty of your mother’s death as she is. She chose to take her life, and you were not the one to convince her of it.”

“Do you honestly believe that, Sherlock?” I asked him, and Sherlock turned me to the side so he could fully look into my eyes.

“I have never been more positive of anything before, Laicee. You did not cause your mother’s death. And, more importantly, you should not wish to change places with her.”

As we stared at one another, I gave a small smile. Sherlock was putting his all into being kind and sweet to me, and that showed me that he truly cared for me. But instead of keeping us on our sweet and sentimental track, I gave him a cheeky smile.

“You’d miss me if I was gone,” I said, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Hardly.”

I saw him glance over my shoulder at the nightstand, and then roll off of me onto his own pillows.

“It’s nearly four in the morning,” he informed me, pulling an arm up and resting his hand beneath his head, leaving his other hand resting on his stomach. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” I said, almost a childish hint to my voice. Sherlock’s lip quirked up.

“Rest,” he ordered.

For a moment, I contemplated getting up and going to my own room, but Sherlock made no moves to remove me from his bed, and since I was comfortable, I grabbed his blankets and pulled them up.

He didn’t resist as I casually scooted myself a bit closer. I rested my head in the crook of his shoulder and tucked myself up next to him. Intimacy wasn’t his strong suit; the deep kiss had been a surprise, and it seemed his instinctive romantic side had backed away once he was done cheering me up. Though he made no move to cuddle with me or show me any compassion, he didn’t shove me off of him, so I considered that success.

He kept his hand on his stomach, and so I placed mine right beside his. It was odd; I hadn’t been tired just moments ago, but lying here beside Sherlock seemed to sooth the adrenaline storming through me. My eyelids drew heavy and I started to doze off.

Somewhere between dreams and reality, I heard Sherlock begin to hum. His chest vibrated with his deep voice as he pieced together a haunting melody that stuck in my head. And, moments before I was lost to the realm of the unconscious, I felt a timid, sneaking hand rest itself on mine.