Vague Shadows

“Who is she?” Donovan asked John, handing him a cup of coffee. “Sherlock seemed adamant about staying with her. Is she a relative?”

John shook his head, taking a sip as they headed back to the observation room. It had been two hours already, and John was still in the dark. He knew about the pictures, of course. The ‘message for Sherlock’, but past that, he knew nothing. The three of them had been separated since Sherlock and Laicee arrived; Sherlock was discussing things with Lestrade, and Donovan had finished questioning John a while ago.

All that was left was Laicee, who was being as uncooperative as John had predicted. Her dislike for Anderson was almost as great as Sherlock’s, and she was in a defiant mood.

“She’s a friend of Mrs. Hudson,” he explained. “Sherlock and I sort of… watch out for her, if you will.”

“Right,” she laughed; when John looked at her, she gave him an exasperated smile and corrected herself. “I’m sure you do, I’m not doubting you John. But we both know Sherlock. He doesn’t watch out for people.”

“He’s not as heartless as you assume,” John said, stepping inside the observation room. “He’s got a soft spot for Laicee, and he keeps his eye on her.”

As the door shut, the aggravated voice of Anderson rose up through the one-way glass. John and Donovan looked over at the very unsuccessful interrogation of Laicee. She sat in the middle of the room, one leg folded beneath her, the other pulled to her chest. She had the ghost of a smirk on her face as she watched him pace angrily.

“Your attacker was just over six foot,“ Anderson began again, pausing in front of Laicee. “Pale complexion, black hair-“

“Actually, Sherlock’s hair is dark brown. Do your research.”

John couldn’t smother the smile that crept onto his face at Anderson’s expression.

“So you’re admitting Sherlock was the one who attacked you?”

“I’m confirming that you’re trying to pin evidence on him. It’s completely different,” she corrected, giving him a smile. Anderson let out an aggravated sigh and came forward. He put his hands on the chair arms and leaned forward, his face inches from Laicee’s. She didn’t even flinch.

“You’re getting dangerously close to pissing me off,” she informed him, narrowing her eyes.

“I think it’s highly suspicious that you were attacked, injured, and emotionally distressed, and neither Sherlock nor John felt the need to contact the police,” he growled; John began to move for the door, but Donovan put her hand on his arm.

“I’m not pleased with how this is going,” John began, his voice sparking with displeasure.

“Why not? I’m quite enjoying his discomfort,” Sherlock mused, strolling in ahead of Lestrade, his eyes glinting as he watched the scene unfold.

“You know what I think, Anderson?” Laicee began, shoving him back away from the chair as she got to her feet. “I think it’s ‘highly suspicious’ that you’re so keen on pinning Sherlock to this case with nothing more to go on than your severe dislike of him.”

She began to advance on him, and he began to back up, giving her a wary look.

“I think it’s highly coincidental that you happen to be about six foot yourself,” she said, her green eyes glinting. “Dark hair, left handed like my attacker… It’s funny, I can almost picture you in the alley. Maybe I should be checking your own wallet for my ID-“

“What are you getting at?” Anderson snarled; his back hit the wall. Laicee stood on the tips of her toes, her face an inch from him, her eyes dangerously narrowed.

“What I’m getting at, Anderson, is that before you start trying to turn things around on Sherlock, you should figure out who you’re dealing with.”

“Donovan!” Anderson shouted the same moment Laicee shouted “Sherlock!”.

Lestrade buzzed open the door. Anderson whirled around and stormed out, his face bright red and his eyes dangerous. He shoved past John and stopped in front of Lestrade.

“She is out of control! Turning it around on me, harassing me like that! That conniving little wench-“

“Watch your mouth,” John warned, coming up to Anderson as Laicee exited the interrogation room. Her eyes were trained on Anderson’s back, a gleam of distrust in her expression. Sherlock glanced down at her, and she looked up. Sherlock’s face darkened; he lifted one eyebrow in question, and Laicee tightened her jaw. Sherlock turned and slowly looked over at the man he detested.

“Anderson,” he snapped; Anderson glanced back. “Let’s see your wallet.”

“What?” John asked as Donovan, Lestrade, and Anderson shared a look. “Sherlock, she was kidding-“

“I was,” Laicee agreed, not moving her eyes from Anderson. “I said it as a joke, but he reacted differently than he should have. He turned slightly to the left, protecting his back pocket, where his wallet is. He’s hiding something.”

“Show us,” Sherlock demanded. Anderson began to advance on Laicee.

“I’ve had enough of your attacks,” he snapped. “You’d better start watching what you say-“

Sherlock put his arm out in front of Laicee, keeping her back away from him. Donovan and Lestrade exchanged a surprised glance; Sherlock was protecting her?

“Show us the wallet or I’ll get it myself,” he threatened; Anderson opened his mouth to argue.

“Show them,” Lestrade said quietly; all eyes turned to him. He nodded to Anderson; he reached back and retrieved the leather pouch. Slowly, he opened the wallet, and from the middle fold, he produced Laicee’s ID.

Several things happened at once.

Sherlock wrapped his outstretched arm around Laicee’s waist, pulling her behind him as John pressed his shoulder to Sherlock’s, keeping her safely out of Anderson’s view. Anderson dropped the ID and backed away from the two men when he saw the expressions on their faces. Donovan’s hand fell to her gun, just in case, and Lestrade threw his hands up, trying to get order.

“Anderson didn’t attack Laicee!” he assured, waiving Donovan down and trying to cool the fury on John and Sherlock’s faces. “It was confiscated from a man that turned himself in this morning. He confessed to the murder of Michael Harper and Denise Richards-“

“The man and woman from the pictures,” Sherlock interrupted.

“Yes, precisely. He said he needed them to convey something that only brilliant minds would get. It was his job to find two suitable matches for the message he was instructed to leave.”

“That’s why they looked like us, or at least resembled us vaguely. Watson and Bennett,” John put in, and Lestrade nodded again.

“He said once we received the request, it was time for him to be turned in. He said the game could begin now that all the players know the stakes.”

“Like I said,” Sherlock repeated. “It was a request and a message. A request to play the game, and the message of what’s at stake, if I decline or lose.”

“You know who left the message, don’t you?” John asked, and Sherlock nodded slowly. He turned his eyes to Anderson.

“Naturally, you assumed I was the one setting up the game, so you wanted to manipulate Laicee into giving you what you wanted.”

Anderson gave a curt nod, and Sherlock’s lip twisted up.

“And how’d that work for you?”

Anderson narrowed his eyes, and Laicee smothered her laughter.

“No, no, I’m not playing games with myself,” Sherlock said, moving away from Laicee and John as he began to pace. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the floor as he moved. “He’s been much too dormant for the promise he made me. I should have realized right away what was going on.”

“Who, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock looked up, a knowing smile gracing his lips.

“Moriarty.”

-x-

“Sherlock,” Lestrade called, snagging the back of Sherlock’s jacket and pulling him to a stop. “I need to ask you something rather important.”

Sherlock paused and turned to look over at the inspector. He had a troubling expression on his face, and Sherlock frowned.

“I need to be assured that Laicee is safe at Baker Street,” he said quietly, keeping his voice low. “There’s nothing I can do about John, but if I don’t truly believe Laicee will be alright living with the two of you, I’ll be forced to take her out of there.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked, giving Lestrade an incredulous look.

“She’s underage, and if she’s not safe, I’ll be taking her out of the flat and putting her into protective custody.”

“You can’t do that,” Sherlock began, but Lestrade held up his hand and gave him a warning look.

“I can, and I will, if I don’t truly believe she’ll be okay.”

Sherlock averted his eyes for a moment, and his gaze landed on his flatmates. John and Laicee were leaning against the counter, chatting idly with Donovan. Laicee glanced to the side, and her eyes caught his. A secretive smile crept onto her lips, and she reached into her sleeve, pulling out a laminated card.

Anderson was typed in bold across the front, and Anderson’s sneering face was pictured on the side. With a wink, she slipped it back into her sleeve as Anderson stormed past the lot, muttering something about things disappearing. Sherlock chuckled softly, then turned back to Lestrade. He gave him a nod and said quietly,

“I will keep her safe.”