Vague Shadows

​The silence in the lab room was painful.

​John stood frozen at the end of the table, one hand gripping the metal surface, the other pressed to his mouth. He stared down at his phone, unable to comprehend what he’d just heard.

​Sherlock sat perfectly still at the microscope, his brain running at a thousand miles a second. He too stared at the phone, his mind trying to calculate any explanation to what he’d just heard. He had ruled out the impossible: Laicee could not be dead. Though it was highly improbable that she was alive and alright, his mind would not allow him to believe she was dead.

​John had just squeezed his eyes shut, had just taken a shaky breath, when his phone began to ring again. His eyes flew open and he lunged forward, falling to his knees and snatching the phone up. Sherlock watched with intense determination, his own breath going unsteady.

​“Laicee?” John begged.

​The person on the other end began to sob, and John’s face twisted into confusion; he turned to stare at Sherlock.

​“Who’s this?”

​“John, you’ve got to find him-“

​“It’s Louise Mortimer,” John murmured to Sherlock, his heart speeding up. “Louise, tell me what’s happened-“

​“Henry was, he was remembering, then he tried-“ she broke off, and John ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down.

​“He’s got a gun, he- he shot at us-“

​“Where’s Laicee? Did he hit either of you?” John demanded, and Sherlock leaned forward, just a bit.

​“No, no he missed, Laicee pushed me out of the way,” Louise assured, and John nearly collapsed in relief. He looked at Sherlock and breathed,​

​“She’s alive. She’s okay.”

​Sherlock took a breath and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he regained his composure.

​“He- he ran off, he’s delusional,” Louise sobbed. “Laicee went after him. John, you have to find them. Henry’s not alright. I don’t know what he might do to himself, or to her. You need to find them-“

​“Louise, stay at the house, we’ll send someone to you. We’ll find him.”

​John hung up the phone and looked at Sherlock. They both shared the same thought, and Sherlock got to his feet.

​“Druid’s hollow,” he murmured. “He’s going back to where it all began.”

​Sherlock pulled out his phone and dialed the familiar number as he and John raced out of the lab. ​

​“Lestrade, get to the hollow, and bring a gun.”

***

​The cold night air ripped through my lungs as I forced myself to run faster. Henry had just disappeared over the ridge a moment ago, and I could still hear his delusional screams echoing off the hills.

​The adrenaline from Henry’s attack in the house propelled me forward; I was racing down after him in seconds, letting his stumbling footsteps and terrified cries lead me to where I needed to go.

​What I really needed was Sherlock and John, but I’d lost my phone at the house. I’d thrown it aside when Henry shot at us, and I’d barely managed to miss the bullet. When he took off, I didn’t hesitate in going after him, and my phone was all but forgotten.

​Now I regretted not taking a moment to hunt it down, or at least take Louise’s, because I had no idea what I’d do when I found Henry. I’d have to wing it, and something told me that my plan had a huge possibility of going wrong.

​As I rounded the last turn on the trail, I saw Henry slump down into the hollow, and I hurried after him.

​“Henry, Henry wait-“ I shouted, skidding down the slick leaves and coming to a rough stop.

​“Go away!” Henry screamed at me, turning fast and shooting the gun off as he spun around. I dropped down on instinct; luckily the bullet was widely off-course. It hit a tree somewhere to my left as Henry dropped onto his knees, sobbing again.

​“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” he cried, pressing his face into his hands. Shakily, I got to my feet and began to inch towards him.

​“Let me have the gun, Henry,” I murmured, reaching out towards him. He shook his head fiercely and looked up at me. My stomach tightened at the look in his eyes.

​“I’ve let my dad down. Let myself down. Let everyone down,” he cried, and then, as he kept his eyes on me, he opened his mouth and lifted the gun.

​“Henry no, no!” Sherlock ordered, racing down the hill across from us, with John right behind. Henry leapt up to his feet and rounded on them, waving the gun as he backed up.

​“Get away from me!” he screamed; his eyes flicked to me, and he lowered the gun to my direction. I stood up slowly, my hands raised, watching Henry as I tried to stay calm.

​“Easy Henry, easy,” John begged. “Just relax.”

​I locked eyes with Sherlock, and he held out his hand to me. Slowly, I began to back away. Henry’s attention was on John, not me, and I took advantage of that. I moved towards Sherlock, and the second I was within reach, he snagged my hand and pulled me to him, pushing me back behind him and keeping his arm out in front of me.

​“I know what I am!”​

​“Yes, yes I’m sure you do Henry,” Sherlock said slowly, pushing me towards John. John immediately pulled me to his side and kept me close as Sherlock started forward.

​“Jesus, Laicee, you’re okay,” he breathed, pulling me into a tight hug and keeping his hold on me. I hugged him back, just as happy to see him.

​“Thank god you guys are here,” I whispered as we pulled apart. “I had no idea what to do-“

​“You did brilliantly, you were excellent,” John assured, keeping me behind him like Sherlock had. “But Christ, the next time someone shoots at you, don’t chase after them alone into a dark forest.”

​“Right, I’ll work on that,” I told him, and John chuckled softly.

​“Sherlock!” came Lestrade’s voice from behind us. John glanced over at Henry.

​“I’ll help Sherlock, and you stay with Lestrade, alright?”

​“Deal,” I said, backing up to the detective as he came towards us. John crept forward and gently eased the gun from Henry as Lestrade observed the scene.

“You alright?” he asked; I nodded dismissively.

“Fine. Sherlock and John saved the day.”

“Glad to hear it. Should I even ask why you’re out here in the first place?”

I shook my head, and Lestrade sighed. I opted to ignore his concern as I heard Sherlock say quietly,

“Fear and stimulus. That’s how it works.”

“It was only a mind trick,” I murmured as Lestrade stared in confusion at Sherlock. “He was right.”

“There never was any monster, Henry,” Sherlock said gently at the exact moment a vicious snarl tore through the night. All five of us whirled to face the sound, and my jaw dropped. There on the ledge stood a massive black hound with burning red eyes and snapping fangs.

“Sherlock, what the hell is that?” I breathed as Henry began to hyperventilate. I could see Sherlock staring in disbelief at the creature in front of us.

“It’s only a dog, it’s nothing more,” he promised; Henry wasn’t buying it, and neither was Lestrade. The hound jumped down onto the lower ledge, its eyes flicking around to all of us as it growled. I stepped back away from it, and a hand grabbed my arm to pull me back. I turned, and let out a startled cry.

My father stood over me, his dark eyes searing with hatred as he held onto me. I immediately went back to a day four years ago, a night where my dad had too much vodka and I’d been a little too loud. I was back in my room, pulling away, and he was throwing me against the wall, his fist slamming into my cheek over and over again.

“No, let me go!” I screamed, trying to pull away. “Sherlock, John! Help me! Get him away from me!”

“Laicee, calm down, it’s me, it’s John,” my father promised, John’s voice spilling out of his mouth. No. That was wrong. It was so wrong. I felt tears sting my eyes. My father sneered at me, his slightly unfocused eyes burned through me. I was his victim again. ​

“Help me, please help me,” I almost whimpered, no longer the 17-year-old ‘consulting assistant’ I’d been just minutes ago. I was a scared 13-year-old girl in pain with nowhere to run.

My father let go of my arms and took my face in his hands. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to look at him anymore. Soft thumbs brushed my cheeks, and gentle fingers wrapped around me.

“Laicee, you’re safe,” John murmured. My head was jumbled; my thoughts were running rampant through me, and I couldn’t sort them out. “You’ve been drugged, you’re only seeing what your subconscious fears. Your father isn’t here. It’s just me, and I’ll keep you safe.”

I took a breath and opened my eyes. My father had disappeared, and now John stood in his place, holding onto me. I didn’t hesitate as I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around his middle, letting out a shaky breath. John engulfed me in a hug as I buried my face in his jumper.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “Thank you.”

“Are you okay?” he asked me as I pulled away, and I nodded. As I did, I heard Sherlock begin to shout, and we turned towards him.

“It’s the fog!”

“What?” John asked, and I noticed the older man standing across from Sherlock. He gave us all furious looks; he had something to do with this.

“The drug, it’s a chemical, it’s in the fog!”

The dog let out another snarl, and John pulled me back; it had gotten significantly closer.

“For gods sake, kill it!” the man shouted, and immediately Lestrade lifted his gun. I felt John tensed, and took the initiative to move away. Though Lestrade’s shots missed, John’s two bullets were spot-on. The dog dropped to the ground, and the hollow went silent.

“It was him,” Sherlock breathed, and we all turned back to look at the man. “He used the chemical mine field, filled it with hallucinogens that slowly drove you crazy, Henry. We all breathed it in. That’s where the hound came from. That’s why Henry kept seeing it, and why we all could see it.”

Henry slowly looked over at him, and his face contorted into a mask of fury. He lunged at the man and took him to the ground right in front of me. I leapt back, out of the way, just as John and Lestrade rushed to pull them apart.

“You drove me insane!” Henry shrieked. “You did this to me!”

As they were separated, the man got to his feet and stumbled back a bit, looking around. Henry took a step forward, and the man tensed.

“You’re gonna pay for this, you hear? Pay for what you did to my dad, what you did to me!”

As Henry shouted, another round of vicious barking broke out, and our lot spun on the spot to see the dog lunge for us again. As John began to shoot, the group scattered and the man spun and took off up the slope.

Sherlock turned first to chase him, but I was faster. I shot off up the slop after him; he wouldn’t get away. After all he’d done, I’d make sure he got his justice.

“Franklin, stop! Laicee, no, get back!” Sherlock shouted, but I was hot on the trail. The man wove well through the trees, but I ran faster. I easily began to gain on him; my long, lithe legs had no trouble accelerating me forward. I could hear the others behind us, but they weren’t as close as I was.

Franklin looked back; I was only a couple feet from him. He cursed under his breath and turned back as we reached the line of the trees. We broke through them into the open night, and I saw Franklin swerve for a barbwire fence. Sherlock had just broken the treeline when Franklin vaulted over into a wide-open field.

​Without hesitation, I vaulted over as well.

​“Get back! Laicee, come back, please!” Sherlock bellowed, but his warning came too late. I heard the click of the mine just as Franklin’s foot sunk down, and I skid to a stop.

​I saw him let out a heavy breath, and I whirled on the spot. This was very not good. Sherlock didn’t pause in his running, even when I shouted for him to get away. He was coming for me.

​I heard the mine click and activate, and I pitched myself to the ground on instinct as the sky around me exploded.

***

​Sherlock fell back as the mine went off. He brought his hand up to shield his face as debris scattered down around him, raining on the land. The sky was bright from the blast, and the field glowed a soft orange. Sherlock’s mind was one-track right now.

​He did not see Laicee.

​He scrambled to his feet, stumbling towards the fence as the smoke began to grow. He could hear John and Lestrade shouting, but he didn’t care. Only one thing mattered.

​“Laicee!” he cried. “Laicee, where are you?!”

​His question faded, unanswered, into the night.

​Sherlock paused a foot or so from the fence, blinking furiously and waiting for the ringing to leave his ears; as the smoke began to clear, and the glow began to diminish, still Laicee didn’t emerge.

​“Laicee!” he bellowed; as he stood there, scanning the field, he heard something shift in front of him. His eyes snapped down, and he saw a pile of debris fall apart as a mound of dust-covered curls poked through. His breath left him, and he stared in disbelief as Laicee forced herself out from under the pile.

​“I’m here,” she panted, coughing and staggering to her feet. “I’m here, Sherlock. I’m alright. I’m right here-“

​Sherlock rushed forward and reached over the fence. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her easily over the barbwire, setting her down in front of him. He could hear John and Lestrade in the background, calling to them, but he ignored everything else. The only thing that mattered to him were the two bright green eyes staring up at him.

​He grabbed hold of her shoulders, his eyes raking over her dirty and semi-scathed body, his brain calculating how badly injured she was. He felt two warm hands reach up and wrap around his, and he forced his eyes back to hers.

​“I’m just fine, Sherlock-“

​“A mine just went off behind you. You were thrown to the ground, you should be hurt-“

​“But I’m not. Look at me, Sherlock, look. I’m fine. Just fine. I promise.”

​“This is the second time tonight that I’ve been told you were dead,” he informed her, his voice rough from the emotion he was holding back. Laicee’s lips quirked up, and she gave him the smile that forced his heart into painful constriction.

​“What, me? Dead? If I died, how would you expect me to follow you?”

​He pulled his hands from hers, and cupped her face gently. He stared down at her, fully aware of John, Henry, and Lestrade watching them, confused. He was fully aware of every possible action and reaction his next move would cause, but truly, he couldn’t care less.

​Tilting her head up just a bit, Sherlock leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She rested her hands on his chest as she deepened the kiss, her lips turning up into a miniscule smile as she did so.

​They pulled apart; he could almost feel the wave of shock slam into them as John gaped and Lestrade began to mumble in confusion. Still, he didn’t care.

​Laicee was alright, and at the end of the day, that was all that mattered.