Vague Shadows

Sherlock was perched in his chair muttering at the TV when I finally woke up the next morning. I pushed myself into a sitting position, wincing as my arm brushed the couch.

“How many times do I have to say it? He can’t be the father, he’s obviously gay,” Sherlock sighed, agitated at people he’d never even meet. I studied the show for a moment.

“Look at the kid’s nose, though. Definitely the same as the guys,” I put in, pulling my legs up to my chest and resting my chin on my knees.

“I told you earlier that noses are trivial right now,” he said, flicking his eyes over at me. I gave him an incredulous look.

“I’ve been asleep.”

“John, tell her about the noses, since she wasn’t paying attention,” Sherlock requested, waving his hand in the direction of John’s empty chair. I rolled my eyes and got to my feet, stretching cautiously. I was sore, but I could function pretty well.

“He’s gone, Sherlock,” I said, shuffling into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

I could hear excited screams rise up from the TV. Sherlock stood and gave the tellie a frustrated glance as he passed by.

“No one listens to me,” he complained. “I said he was gay, and no one listened.”

“It would help if you talked to people that could actually hear you,” I pointed out. “Or, you know, people that are conscious and in the same room as you. Just some ideas. Now, are you hungry or not?”

“I don’t just speak to hear myself, you know,” he muttered, pacing around the table. I tightened my jaw. He drove me insane, sometimes. Okay, okay, most of the time.

“Sherlock.”

“I make pertinent comments that no one gives a second thought to, and people wonder why I hate them.”

“Sherlock, do you want-,” I began as he paced by me again, oblivious.

“It’s tiring, really, being ignored when all you want is a simple yes or no-“

“Sherlock Holmes!” I snapped, snagging the sleeve of his shirt and jerking him to a stop. He gave me an incredulously bewildered stare; I set my jaw.

“Do you want a muffin or not?”

“Yes, I’m starving,” he informed me. “Wasn’t it obvious?” I had to severely restrain myself from strangling him. I dropped my hold on him and elbowed my way to the counter. He, of course, followed me and watched me work. He had a habit of observing me when I prepared meals. He told me once that he found my cooking amusing, but honestly I figured he was somewhat worried that I would poison him sooner or later.

As I began to fry his bacon to go along with his muffin, I could feel him watching me intently. A tremor of surprise ran through me when I felt his touch on my upper arm. I looked over at him; his index finger traced a shape on my skin.

“What?” I asked, a little put off by the expression on his face.

“Nothing,” he said dismissively, dropping his hand. I gave him a look.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” I threatened. Sherlock began to pace around the table again, giving me the ghost of a smile as he flicked his eyes down at me. I could have stabbed him, I swore it.

The bacon was nearly done, so I pulled the cupboard open to grab the plates.

“Bleedin’ Christ, Sherlock, how many times do I need to remind you of my height?” I snapped, glowering at the dishware two shelves too high.

“Every day, apparently,” he said off-hand as he passed by me again. I stared after him.

“Are you gonna- no, okay, fine,” I growled, climbing up onto the counter; Sherlock paused his steps to watch me. “Let the short uncoordinated girl scramble onto the furniture to get the glass plates while the six-foot guy with freakish long arms walks around. Brilliant.”

I balanced the plates in one hand and then twisted myself around to set them on the counter. I somehow managed to get back on my feet without any serious injury, and Sherlock began to move around again.

I put his muffin and bacon on a plate, then scooted his lab equipment over to make a spot for us to eat. He observed the muffin as he sank into his chair; I poured a bowl of cereal for myself.

“It’s blueberry,” he stated; I gave him a sarcastic smile.

“Good job,” I praised, and his eyebrows twitched at me. I sat down across from him as he stared at his muffin. I went to take a bite.

“You don’t like blueberries.”

“No, I don’t,” I confirmed, putting my spoon back down as I saw Sherlock frown. “But you do. Now eat your muffin.”

“Why didn’t you get muffins you like?”

“Because your favorite muffin is a blueberry muffin, and you eat them more than me,” I informed him, trying to take a bite.

“What muffins do you eat, then?” he mused, poking at his bacon instead of eating it. I put my spoon back down with a sigh.

“Raisin. I eat raisin muffins.”

“No one likes raisins.”

“I like raisins.”

“So you’re the reason they keep making those god-forsaken muffins,” he accused me, as if I’d just committed high treason.

“I’m pretty sure there are more people that like raisin muffins.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re lying.”

“Just eat, Sherlock,” I sighed; when he sat completely unmoving, I gave him a frustrated frown.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“Someone’s at the door,” he informed me, standing at the exact moment I heard Mrs. Hudson open the front door. Now that Sherlock was distracted, I began to eat my cereal. Before Sherlock even reached the living room, Inspector Lestrade pushed his way in, followed by his two constant companions, Donovan and Anderson.

“Anderson, get out, we’re attempting to enjoy a meal and your face is severely disrupting the experience,” Sherlock said immediately. I rolled my eyes as Anderson drew himself up, glowering at Sherlock.

“I’m here on official business,” he informed him, and I saw Sherlock’s lips twist up in his amused smirk.

“I’ve told Lestrade already that I’ve got no interest in the multiple homicide case-“

“I’m not here to beg again, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, unnervingly serious. Sherlock stopped his pacing and glanced over his shoulder. “I’m here by an… unusual request. You’ve been… asked to join. As well, I’m here to take Laicee into protective custody.”

“What?” I spluttered, dropping my spoon as Sherlock completely turned around.

“Request?” he asked; I could here the intrigue in his voice. Lestrade nodded as Anderson came towards me. I got to my feet immediately, giving him a wary look.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell us what’s going on,” I informed him, backing up. Anderson gave me an aggravated sigh.

“You’re as bad as Sherlock,” he informed me. “It’s protocol, I’ve got to take you-“

“Don’t you dare,” Sherlock and I said at the same moment; when I looked up at him, surprised, Anderson moved forward and grabbed my upper arm. I winced when he tightened down on my bruise and pulled me after him. Sherlock took two long strides and put his hand on Anderson’s shoulder, shoving him back off me.

Anderson moved to grab me again; Sherlock slid between us and gave him a warning glare. Anderson looked helplessly at Lestrade while Donovan sighed heavily.

“Sherlock, she has to come with us-“

“Tell me why, and I’ll think about it,” he said, not moving out from in front of me. After exchanging heated frowns, Lestrade reached into his bag and pulled out two pictures, handing them to Sherlock. The moment he looked at them, Sherlock tensed up.

I leaned around his arm, staring down at the photos. My breath caught in my throat.

“I told you, it was an unusual request,” Lestrade began.

“It’s not just a request,” Sherlock said, his voice alarmingly quiet. “It’s a warning.”

I swallowed hard, grabbing a hold of Sherlock’s arm to steady me. A man, mid-twenties, was the center of one picture. A younger girl was in the other. Both were hanging, their eyes staring at the camera, unseeing. On each of their chests, one word was written.

Across the man’s chest, WATSON was written in blood. BENNETT was written on the girl.