Vague Shadows

I woke up in the hospital.

Why? Why was in the hospital? Hadn’t I just been at the flat? I sat up and looked around. Yes, definitely not the flat. The room I was in was the laboratory where Sherlock spent most his time. Why here?

I could hear a voice whispering; it made my skin crawl. The room was dark, and I could see from the window on the door that the halls were dark too. The dim emergency lights gave off an eerie orange glow. I got slowly to my feet, observing the rest of the room as I did. I was alone, but the whispering was growing louder.

A gunshot went off in the hall, and I nearly leapt out of my skin. I backed up against the cabinet, breathing heavily as I looked around. Just as I had begun to relax, the doors began to creep open. Again I backed away, trying to stay as quiet as I could. Once the door was open the whole way, a shadow passed in front of the dim lighting.

“Laicee.”

The voice. Sherlock’s voice. His voice calling to me. I couldn’t see him, but his shadow reached out for me. Something had happened... something before I got into the hospital. Something3 that had hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced, and something that drove me towards the unnerving shadow with nothing more than an ache to hold Sherlock’s hand.

The second I reached the door, the shadow moved away, and I had to lean out to look for it. At the end of the hall, I could just barely see Sherlock. He stood against the far wall, his shadowed face turned towards me. All I could make out was his dark blue scarf and his pale, nearly white hand reached out for me. Something was wrong with this.

But then Sherlock took a step towards me, and I could just see the glint of his eyes. Soft, inviting, safe. His lips quirked up just a bit.

“Follow me,” he urged, and I complied.

The door slammed with a painful finality as I began to creep forward, skirting the unsettling shadows that crawled towards my feet. When I was only ten feet from him, Sherlock turned and pushed open the door to the stairway.

“Sherlock?” I asked, picking up my speed. I caught the door before it shut; he was already up one flight of stairs.

“Follow me,” he begged, so I sped up. I couldn’t lose him.

After what seemed like ages of climbing, we reached the top. Sherlock pushed the door to the roof open as I began up the last flight of stairs. Once again, I caught the door before it shut and I slipped outside.

Though he’d been right in front of me, Sherlock had managed to make it to the very edge of the roof before the door shut. He had his back to me. As I watched, Sherlock took a shaky step up onto the edge of the roof.

“Sherlock!” I cried, rushing forward. He began to sway; I caught his hand in mine. It was cold to the touch. “What are you doing?”

“Are you going to let me die, Laicee?” Sherlock asked, his voice taking on a tone I had never heard before. “Are you going to let me die, like you let your mother die?”

I sucked in a sharp breath, his words like a punch to my stomach. As I began to back away, Sherlock flipped his hand over and held me where I was. Slowly, he turned his head towards me, and I let out a cry.

The side of his head was bashed in, and dark crimson blood coated his face. His curls were matted and dripped as he moved his head. His clear eyes were bright with death as he stared down at me.

“Sherlock-“

“Follow me, Laicee, follow me.”

Sherlock pitched himself forward, still holding onto me, and we plunged over the side of the building.

I shot out of Sherlock’s chair painfully fast; I vaulted forward and fell on my knees, barely catching myself before my face hit the ground. It took several moments for me to realize I was alright.

I wasn’t dead on the sidewalk.

I wasn’t bleeding and broken.

I wasn’t holding Sherlock’s hand.

Slowly, I pushed myself back onto my knees and settled onto my haunches. I squeezed my eyes shut and took several deep breaths, settling the rapid fluttering of my heart. When I opened them, I looked around.

I’d fallen asleep in Sherlock’s chair the night before. I vaguely remembered wandering out of my room a few hours ago, unable to sleep. The chair had become my comfort, my safe haven at night. I knew nothing could protect me from the dreams I’d been having, but the chair made them a little more bearable.

I sat on my knees for a long time, well past the sun coming up. I probably wouldn’t have gotten up anytime soon, but the floorboards in John’s room creaked. I didn’t want him to see me like this, so I took a breath and pushed myself to my feet, wiping the pain off my face.

By the time John came downstairs, I already had breakfast started.

“Hey Lace,” he said, his rough voice catching as he spoke. He settled down in his spot at the table, and now I could see the dark circles rimming his bloodshot eyes. I imagined he wasn’t sleeping better than I was. I glanced back and gave him my best attempt at a warm smile that I could muster. His lips pulled up weakly in return.

“How you holdin’ up?”

John chuckled quietly, shaking his head a bit.

“I’ve seen better days.” He licked his lips absently and watched the frying pan intently. “When are we going?”

I checked the clock above the sink as I turned off the burner.

“Around noon? Mrs. Hudson is still taking-“ I cut off my words a bit abruptly. “She’s still out,” I corrected, clearing my throat as I slid John’s plate across to him. I specifically ignored the lack of science equipment that we’d cleared away last night.
Mrs. Hudson had vouched to take it away. It’s absence made my heart hurt.
“Right,” John said quietly, picking at the food in front of him. I grabbed a bagel and sat across from him.

“I’m not hungry either,” I said, and we both looked up at each other. I knew my face looked just as miserable as his did. I could feel the ache emanating from the empty chair between us. It hurt. It began to hurt so bad that I forced myself up out of the chair and went downstairs without a word.

I took an extensively long shower, so long that the water turned from scalding to freezing; I got out when I lost feeling in my shoulders. After a long while of sitting in my towel and messing with my wet curls, I finally settled on a hairstyle and dried off, pulling on my dress. It was a simple knee-length black dress. I’d worn it to homecoming a couple years ago and disliked it as much now as I had then.

By the time I came back upstairs, John was already pulling on his coat. Mrs. Hudson was sitting in John’s chair, waiting to leave. When I came into the room, she stood and bustled over to me. Her eyes were glazed with sadness, but she had a sincere smile on her face. She reached up and adjusted my curls, and then dropped her hands to cup mine.

“Lovely, Laicee,” she said, her voice catching with the tears she was holding back. Her sadness made my throat tighten.

“Are we ready?” John asked, turning to us. Mrs. Hudson nodded, and I followed suit, not willing to talk just yet. John flagged a cab, and we piled inside, as somber as we had been yesterday when we buried Sherlock. The cab ride was painful. We sat in silence, not even looking at one another. Mrs. Hudson had her lilies clutched in her hands, and I held my own bouquet. A bouquet of white Queen Mary roses.

When the car stopped at the cemetery, I turned to John and Mrs. Hudson.

“You two go on ahead, I’ll meet up with you after a while.”

They both gave me an understand look. It wasn’t a surprise, really, what I wanted to do. John pulled me to him and held me tight. I wrapped my arms tight around his middle and rested my face against his neck.

“Meet here in an hour,” John said as we pulled apart. I gave Mrs. Hudson a swift hug, and then headed right to the older plots. I hadn’t walked this way in quite a while, but my feet remembered the path I needed to take.

The grave was just as I’d left it, with a couple more fake flowers stuck into the plastic vase I’d bought when I was nine. I bet a couple of my mum’s friends had stopped by on her birthday, like I’d been unable to do. I knelt down on the ground in front of her tombstone; it was white marble with jet black lettering engraved in elegant script.



I took in a deep, shaking breath as I reached forward and ran my hand down the cool stone. My mum had been dead for a little over ten years now. It didn’t seem that long, but at the same time, it had been a lifetime ago when she’d last tucked me in. I pulled a rose from the bouquet and sat it in gently with the fake flowers. It seemed to glow against the marble tombstone.

“I miss you,” I told her softly. I hadn’t been to visit her for nearly three years, not since I moved in with Mrs. Hudson. “It hurt to come by. There were days-“ I broke off and took a shaky breath. “I couldn’t keep going. I woke up every day and wished I could have slept forever. I’d walk into the kitchen, expecting to see you at the table. And then after dad-“

My voice twisted and I had to pause. A tear fell down my cheek. I didn’t bother pushing it away.

“I blamed you for putting me in his path. I was so mad that you’d left me alone with him, and then I hated myself for hating you. I wish… I wished sometimes that I could have gone with you. And now I wish you could have stayed with me. I wish I had you here with me, mum. I don’t know what to do. I need you.”

I leaned forward and pressed my head against the tombstone, squeezing my eyes shut as I cried. I stayed like that for a long while, until my legs ached and my heart told me I needed to leave. I pulled back and let out a heavy breath.

“I love you, mum. I hope you’re having fun up there. Take good care of… of Sherlock for me, okay?”

I got to my feet slowly and, with stiff movements, I made my way towards Sherlock’s grave. The walk was long and sad, and by the time I reached his grave, I wanted to turn back and leave. But then I saw his name reflected up on me, and it pulled me forward.

His tombstone was the opposite of my mum’s: jet black marble that reflected back to me, and bold white lettering that said everything you needed to know about the man buried beneath.

I knelt in front of the stone and rested the flowers beside Mrs. Hudson’s lilies. I let my hand linger against the black marble as I stared down at the roses.

“I broke Anderson’s nose, and I gave Donovan a concussion and two black eyes. I probably would have strangled her if Lestrade hadn’t stepped in,” I chuckled, raising my head and grinning at the stone. Only my reflection looked back, and I dropped my eyes, my smile falling with them.

“Every time you needed me, I came. Every time you started to fall apart, I did my best to hold you together. I followed you everywhere, Sherlock, whether you wanted me or not. And I have no idea what to do now. You went the one place I can’t follow, and now I’m left here wandering, waiting to find you again.”

I moved forward and rested my forehead against the cool stone, squeezing my eyes shut as I brushed my fingers over the smooth letters of his name.

“I know you weren’t a fraud. I knew you, as well as anyone could ever know you. You were-“ my voice caught in my throat, and I had to stop for a moment. I pushed myself up and took a step back. The wind had started to blow; a storm was moving in. Tears rolled down my face, staining my dress as I shivered lightly.

“One day I’ll follow you again,” I promised him. “I’ll never stop fighting for you, Sherlock. I’ll fight the entire world just to make sure you’ve died with a clean name. You are not a fraud, Sherlock, you are my hero. I love you, and I will never, ever get done missing you.”