Vague Shadows

​I smoothed down the hem of my dress one last time, checking my curls in the mirror as Sherlock slipped on his overcoat. His eye caught mine, and we shared the ghost of a smile. John tightened his tie, and then we silently turned and headed down the stairs. I paused in the doorway beside Sherlock as John came through, his hand resting on the doorknob.

​We had been through a lot in the month since Baskerville. Most of our time had been preoccupied with increasingly notable cases. Though we did our best to keep from standing out and being noticed, Sherlock’s fast-growing rise to fame hadn’t been much help either. We’d all become icons now, the infamous trio of Baker Street. Though we’d managed to stay off the Chief Superintendent’s list, we had ended up setting ourselves on track to run head-first into Moriarty, and that’s exactly what we’d done.

​His trial was in less than an hour, and it had been pulling at us since the day Sherlock had been asked to testify. Now we were only moments from the public, none of us really wanting to step out of the flat. John looked at both of us before taking a breath.

​“Ready?”

​“Yes,” Sherlock murmured, and I gave a nod. John pulled the door open and forced his way out. Sherlock rested his hand on my lower back and guided me forward after John, keeping himself close to me. John rushed around to the other side of the squad car as I slid into the open door, settling in the middle of the back seat. John and Sherlock joined me on either side, and the moment the doors closed, the car took off.

​After several moments of silence in the cab, John turned to Sherlock, and Sherlock tensed.

​“Remember-“

​“Yes.”

​John let out an aggravated breath.

​“Remember-“

​“Yes.”

​“Sherlock,” I murmured, and he squared his jaw. John took his chance.

​“Don’t try to be clever,” John said quickly, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Just keep it calm and simple.”

​“God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent,” Sherlock griped. I gave him a look.

​“Intelligent, yes, but let’s give smartass a wide berth,” John shot back. Sherlock pressed his lips together and looked out the window.

​“I’ll just be myself,” he decided, and I felt John tense.

​“Are you even listening to me?”

​Sherlock said nothing, and the cab fell silent again. I gave John a small smile, and he gave me a tired one in return. We shared the same anxiety; would Sherlock behave enough to convict Moriarty?

​In the silence, Sherlock reached out and rested his hand on mine, giving it a squeeze. I flipped my hand and linked our fingers, squeezing back. As the cab pulled up in front of the courthouse, we separated, but gave one another small smiles to assure ourselves.

​“Please keep it together,” I murmured to Sherlock as he grabbed the door handle. He gave me a fleeting dubious glance before pushing the door open. I slid out after him, and instantly he took hold of my elbow and steered me ahead of him. He kept me firmly between himself and John, shielding me from the cameras.

​“If nothing else, we’ll at least try to keep you out of the media,” John said to me as we slipped into the courthouse. The crowd was much thinner and much calmer inside, which was enough to convince Sherlock to drop his hold on me. Court officials met our trio almost immediately. One pulled Sherlock aside, and the other ushered John and myself towards the courtroom.

​“Find us after the trial,” John requested as we separated. Sherlock gave a curt nod; before we lost sight of each other, I flashed him a smile and added,

​“Behave yourself, yeah?”

​He gave a quiet chuckle as he was pulled off into a separate room. John and I were led up to the balcony. We settled into our seats, and the moment we were alone, John turned to me.

​“Think he’ll cooperate?”

​“I’d like to say yes, but I know him too well to even try to be optimistic about that,” I sighed, beginning to play with the hem of my dress in an attempt to quell the nerves building up. I had just begun to relax, just begun to convince myself it would go alright, when Moriarty was led in. I sat up a bit straighter and tensed; John rested his hand on my knee, doing his best to calm me down.

​Moriarty’s eyes instinctively shifted up to us, and a sickly grin came over his face. He locked eyes with John and gave him a wink, and then shifted his gaze to me and blew a kiss before he was turned around.

​John and I looked at one another again, and this time we had nothing to say.

***

​“Somehow this is part of his scheme,” Sherlock murmured, pacing back towards the window and then turning his back on John and I. John glanced back at my spot in front of the stove. I gave him a heavy look as I dished out the food.

​“Dinner’s ready,” I announced to the solemn men in the living room. John stood and came to the table, but Sherlock kept his back to me. As John sat down and I put the plates on the table, I turned and looked at him again.

​“Sherlock-“

​“I’m on a case, Laicee.”

​I hardened my jaw and took a breath. Wiping my hands on the dishtowel, I came out and paused a few feet behind Sherlock, crossing my arms and making sure my stern glare was in place.

​“Yes, I’m aware of that. But you also haven’t eaten for the past two days, and I’m not letting it go on any longer.”

​Sherlock didn’t move or comment, so I went on.

​“I made a nice meatloaf dinner, greens and everything. I even whipped up gravy for the potatoes. Now, you’re going to sit at that table –case be damned- and clear your plate or I swear on my life I’m cutting up your scarf and using it as kindling to burn your lab equipment.”

​Sherlock turned slowly, his brows drawn together, hands clasped firmly behind his back. I held my stance, unwavering. Any sign of weakness, and Sherlock would call my bluff. But I stood strong against him, jaw set and eyes narrowed, until finally he let out half a breath.

​“Fine,” he said simply, brushing past me and taking his place at the table. John shot me an impressed look behind Sherlock’s back, and I gave him a disbelieving smile; that had actually worked.

​I sat across from the boys and said a quick prayer, then began to eat. Sherlock picked at his food in the beginning, but after the second cleared throat and quirked eyebrow from me, he actually started putting food in his mouth.

​Once he started, he couldn’t stop. He was starved, and he’d only just realized that. He actually helped himself to another serving, and was still eating by the time John stood from the table.

​“I’m off to bed,” he announced. “Big day tomorrow. Sherlock, get some sleep. Laicee, take care of him.”

​“I always do,” I promised as Sherlock pointedly ignored John. He gave me a swift hug and then disappeared up the stairs. I stood and cleared the table silently as Sherlock finished eating. By the time I had put everything away, he got to his feet and sat his plate in the sink.

​“If you’re still hungry, there’s more in the fridge,” I told him. When he didn’t reply, I glanced up from putting the leftovers away. Sherlock was a foot away from me, his eyes burning into mine, an unreadable expression etched on his face. I sat the Tupperware down.

​“Sherlock?”

​“Are you worried about tomorrow? About what Moriarty has planned?” he asked me, his voice controlled, as if he was hiding something from his words. I pondered a moment on his question, idly washing the dishes as I thought.

​“Yes,” I told him honestly, and he tensed. I grabbed the dishtowel and dried my hands, turning to him. I knew he believed that he was slowly losing the battle to Moriarty, and it was driving him insane. I moved to Sherlock and reached up, smoothing down his collar and focusing on his buttons as I spoke.

​“Sherlock, no matter what happens tomorrow, know that you haven’t lost. You still have John and I, if nothing else. You’ve got Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade-“

​“He can take them all away,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. I stopped messing with his shirt and simply rested my hands on his chest now. I realized exactly what was on his mind. He wasn’t afraid of losing the game, he was afraid of losing his friends. “He could take all of you from me, and I could be powerless to stop it.”

​“That will never, ever happen. I assure you,” I said to him fiercely. “I will never abandon you, Sherlock Holmes. I’ve told you a thousand times- I will follow you. And I meant it. Every single time-“

​“Stay with me tonight,” Sherlock said, cutting me off instantly. I paused my words and stared up at him, mouth half-open from talking. Slowly, I pressed my lips together and nodded.

​A thousand answers rushed through my head: Why? Of course, you don’t need to ask. It’ll be okay, I promise. Don’t worry.

​“Okay,” I said simply, pushing the other thoughts away. For anyone else, I would have made a big deal. I would have insisted on talking things through, I would have assured them until I was sure they were okay. But right now, all Sherlock needed was me.

​Not my words, not my actions, not my thoughts. Just me.

​I finished putting away the food; Sherlock disappeared into his room, and only once everything was tidy did I shut the lights off and hurry downstairs. I changed into a pair of pajama pants and a tanktop, brushed out my curls, and then headed back up to the flat.

​Sherlock’s light was off, but the door was opened a crack. I slipped inside silently and shut it, letting the moonlight illuminate my way. Sherlock was lying in bed, the sheets thrown aside. He rested on his back, his hands folded neatly on his stomach.

​I crawled in beside him and copied his form, letting my arm press against his. We said nothing; the clock read 10pm. When Sherlock finally spoke, the numbers had just passed midnight.

​“Will this be the constant theme?” he mused, his voice startling me out of my half-asleep daze. I rolled my head to the side.

​“Hm?”

​“You and me, dead of night, on the edge of chaos?”

​I turned my head back and continued to study his ceiling. A small smile came over my face.

​“Well, if you continue to lead us here, then I guess so,” I told him, my voice winding through the darkness and wreathing us in its echo. Sherlock’s hand rested on mine, echoing the softness of our words.

​“I’m not asking you to follow me,” he began. I turned my hand over and linked our fingers; for once, he didn’t pull back.

​“You’ll never have to,” I promised. Those words were the last we spoke to each other that night. When I finished talking, Sherlock and I rolled our heads to the side at the same moment and came face to face. We were so close that our noses brushed. We stared at one another, and I offered him a smile. Sherlock leaned forward, pressed his lips to mine, and then pulled back, turning his head away.

​The clock continued to tick away, and we continued to lay there. We rested side by side until the sun began to rise, until the shadows of the night dispersed and left the two of us illuminated in the sheets.

​When I finally sat up, finally rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes, I looked over. Sherlock was asleep, having passed out sometime around five. Our hands were still linked; I managed to untangle my fingers from his as I slipped out of his bed.

​Today was a new day; today was the day that told us whether Moriarty was out of our lives, or whether he’d make our lives living hell. It was the day that decided everything for us.