Vague Shadows

“I didn’t want this.”

“He was your friend, Lestrade. Think of all he’s done for you, and think of what you’ve just done to him,” I said, getting to my feet. Lestrade’s expression seemed to fall even more as my words sunk in. He let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand over his face, letting it fall to his side.

“If you were in my place, if he’d made you look like a fool, like an incompetent, stupid puppet-“

“I have stood by him, through thick and thin. He is an arrogant, insufferable brat most of the time, and he’s made his fair share of mistakes. But he has been unfailingly loyal to you, and all you’ve managed to do is shun him into the shadows. You’ve played right into Moriarty’s game.”

Lestrade actually took a step back at my words, and I held my ground, jaw set and brows furrowed.

“You really think that Moriarty is behind this?”

“I know he is, Lestrade,” I told him forcefully. “I know that he set this up to ruin Sherlock, and you can bet that I will not sit by and let you help that monster any more than you already have.”

“What are you going to do then?” he asked; his voice held more of a hopeless tone than a condescending one. He was just as frustrated as I was. “There’s a warrant out for your arrest too, you know. The three of you can’t run forever, and after tonight, I’ve got no say in anything to do with Baker Street`. It’s the end.”

“I will do whatever I possibly can to help Sherlock and John, until I can’t do anything else,” I told Lestrade, my voice holding a quiet intensity. “Even if that means living with them in storm sewers and surviving off of scraps, I will do it in a heartbeat. I will not abandon Sherlock and John like you have. And know this, Lestrade: whatever you try to do to them, it will come back to you tenfold.”

For a moment, Lestrade said nothing. I could see the conflict at war in his expression. I knew he was close to me, and I knew he cared deeply for my wellbeing, but now he was fighting with his dedication to the force. For just a split second, his hands faltered towards his handcuffs. I gave him a sad look.

“You can stop me if you want, but really, I don’t think you have the heart to cross another friend tonight.”

It was my final sentence that sent it all home to Lestrade. His face crumpled, and he dropped his head into his hands as he sunk down onto the chair beside the door. My heart twisted; Lestrade was a good man. We all made mistakes.

“I know your heart is in the right place, Lestrade,” I said quietly, coming forward and resting my hand on his shoulder. He reached up and rested his hand on mine, holding me there momentarily.

“When you find him, tell him I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice muffled and thick. I gave a squeeze as I pulled my hand away.

“I will.”

I left it at that. Shutting Lestrade’s door behind me, I jogged down the stairs and then slipped out into the chilled night. My phone said just past two when I pulled it out to text Sherlock. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, I had a feeling he wouldn’t be in the best mindset. So I did what I could until I could find him.

I will follow you.

I sent the text, then pocketed my phone and headed down the street. I had no idea where Sherlock was, but I had to start somewhere.

***

It was nearly three thirty by the time I climbed the stairs in St. Barts hospital. The only other two places I’d thought to look –Molly’s house and Mycroft’s office- had turned up empty, so I tried my last ditch effort. I’d expected Sherlock to avoid the hospital, seeing as how everyone out looking for him knew how much time he spent there; apparently, I’d been wrong.

Sherlock was seated up against one of the counters, his eyes fixed straight ahead. He merely glanced up as I walked in; we said nothing, and I took my seat across from him and just a smidge to the right to give his legs room to stretch out. It was clear he’d been in the middle of a thought, so I pulled my legs to my chest, rested my chin on my knees, and kept quiet.

Half an hour passed before either of us said anything.

“Thank you,” Sherlock finally spoke, his eyes slowly sliding over to me. I glanced up and raised my brows, tucking my curls back behind my ears.

“Of course.”

“I do not say this often,” Sherlock began, and I felt my heart begin to beat just a little faster. “In fact, I believe the last time I said this was to Mycroft, when I was four.” He looked up at me, and I kept silent, waiting for him to continue. “Laicee, you know that.. you know that I …. What we are, we both feel…”

Sherlock’s eyes flicked away from mine as his cheeks tinted ever slightly pink. A small smile crept to my face, and when he looked back, his blush increased. He looked as if he was trying to force out a grouping of words, but I could see the struggle on his face.

“Laicee, I-“ he cleared his throat. “I am thankful that you follow me.”

A grin overtook my face, and Sherlock began to flush so brightly he had to fully turn his face away. I knew what he’d tried to say, and though I would’ve liked to hear those words, I enjoyed his substitution all the much more. It had become our thing, our little inside secret that held more meaning than anything else he could have said at that moment.

“And I will always follow you,” I told him back. His eyes flicked back to mine, and one of his rare, genuine smiles lit up his face, making my heart twist just a bit. A moment later, the lab doors opened again, and I looked up to see John stride in.

“I got your message,” he told Sherlock as I got to my feet; John immediately pulled me into a tight hug.

“Oh sure, tell John where you are, but leave me to wander the streets of London at 3AM,” I griped, and Sherlock gave me his usual bemused look.

“You did just fine,” he told me dismissively, turning to look at John. “Computer code is key to this. We find it, we can use it to beat Moriarty at his own game.”

“What d’you mean use it?”

“He used it to create a false identity. We could use it to break back into the records and destroy Richard Brook.”

“And bring back Jim Moriarty,” John said, a grin lighting up his face; I looked back and forth, puzzled.

“Richard who? What?” I asked; John gave me a quick recap of their nightly events, and by the end, I was speechless.

“He’s brilliant,” I said, short of anything else to say. Sherlock agreed with me as he got to his feet.

“He must have left it hidden in the flat somewhere,” Sherlock murmured. “The day he came by, the day of the verdict… it must be there.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I told Sherlock as he fell silent again, his face contorted into serious thought. John tapped my hand and gently pulled me back from the table as Sherlock meandered to a nearby chair and sat down, pressing his fingers together and resting them on his chin. He’d be lost in his thoughts for a while.

John and I settled at the table across from Sherlock, John on a stool and myself up on the counter. We were both quiet a moment, and then John looked up at me.

“So you outran the police?” he mused, and I chuckled.

“It wasn’t hard. I’m sure even Anderson could have managed it.”

“We’re going to be in some serious trouble for this,” John sighed.

“Lestrade said we’ve all got warrants.”

John’s brows quirked up, and I shrugged off his question.

“I broke into his apartment, more or less,” I explained, and then we fell silent. When I looked over at John, I could tell we both had the same somber expression.

“What happens now?” I asked him. We were on the run. We would be until either we managed to prove Moriarty was real, or until Scotland Yard hunted us down. John took a breath, and then gave me a small smile.

“We run. We keep moving until we break this code and show the world the truth. When that happens, we can put this behind us.”

“The three Baker Street fugitives,” I joked, and John chuckled.

“That’s us. Just you, me, and Sherlock.”

“All one really needs,” I told him, and John reached out and rested his hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze.

“Precisely.”

John and I both ended up dozing off. When his phone went off from between us, we both shot up and I nearly toppled off the table. John scrambled to answer it as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I glanced over at Sherlock; his eyes had flicked to John, and they watched him intently.

“What?” John demanded, and I turned to him. “What happened? Is she okay?”

John paused as he listened, and then I could see his face visibly pale.

“Oh my god… What? Yes, I’m coming,” he said quickly, hanging up and pocketing his phone.

“What is it? What’s happened?” I asked him, sitting up.

“Mrs. Hudson’s been shot,” he said, grabbing his jacket of the table.

“What?” I gasped, as Sherlock asked,

“How?”

“Probably one of the killers you managed to attract,” John said frantically, heading for the door. “Jesus. She’s dying, Sherlock. Come on, let’s go.”

I hopped down off the counter, my heart racing at a hundred miles an hour. I had just reached John when Sherlock said in a monotone voice,

“You go. I’m busy.”

John rounded on Sherlock as I turned to stare incredulously at him.

“Busy?!” John demanded.

“Thinking. I need to think.”

“Doesn’t she mean anything to you?” John demanded. Sherlock shrugged.

“She’s my landlady.”

“She’s dying, you machine-“

“John,” I said quietly. John rounded again and shook his head, his face livid with fury.

​“Sod this. You stay here, if you want. Laicee, come on-“

​“I’ll stay with Sherlock,” I told John, who glanced back at me. For a moment, he was furious, but when he saw my expression his fury faltered.

​“Go on, take care of her,” I urged. “I’ll keep Sherlock company. I don’t want to leave him alone-“

​“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me,” Sherlock said quietly. John’s face hardened.

​“Nope,” John snapped. “Friends protect people.”

​As I reached to pull a stool towards me, Sherlock looked up.

​“Go with John.”

​I looked down at Sherlock; his eyes flicked away from mine.

​“I’ll stay with you,” I told him. “I’ll be quiet-“

​“Laicee, leave,” Sherlock said, his voice a little harder this time, his eyes still looking away. My heart tightened.

​“I want to stay with you,” I began. Sherlock’s gaze snapped back to me, and the expression they held broke my resilience. They were cold and almost dead, with chilling indifference sparking on the edge. His look held distaste for me, and when he spoke I didn’t recognize the man talking to me.

​“I do not want you with me.”

​The venom of his tone poisoned me, and I took a half step back, looking at him and letting the pain show through.

​“Fine,” I said briskly to him. “Be alone.”

​I turned and let the door swing shut behind me as I raced down the hall. I caught John a moment later, and when we slipped into the cab, he didn’t ask what had happened, he only gave me a tight hug to comfort the hot tears burning lines down my cheeks.

​If Sherlock didn’t want me, then he could keep to himself. His solitude could protect him now.