Vague Shadows

“Is it alright if Oliver comes over?” I asked as I jogged up the stairs. Sherlock didn’t even look back at me, his eyes trained out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. John and Lestrade, who were both on the couch, glanced up.

“Not at all, so long as you’re not too loud. We’re on a new case,” John said, standing up.

“We just have some studying to do,” I explained. “We’ll keep it down, promise.”

I walked over and gave him a hug, then smiled down at Lestrade.

“Laicee, good to see you,” he said, getting up and giving me a brief side-hug. “School is well?”

“As well as it can be,” I joked, tossing my backpack down the stairs as I went into the fridge.

I hadn’t seen Oliver for a while. He hadn’t been in math, and he hadn’t been at work. We always studied for the math tests together, and when he’d texted me asking to come over, I’d been relieved to hear he was still around. I’d just poured myself a glass of tea when I heard the doorbell.

“Quiet!” Sherlock shouted, startling the three of us and making me spill tea on myself. I dug an ice cube out of my cup and flung it at Sherlock as I headed downstairs; he glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at me.

Ignoring him, I pulled open the door and gave Oliver a smile, but my expression faltered when I saw his face. His bright blue eyes were dark and bloodshot, and his face looked worn. He shoved his way in and slammed the door behind him.

“Quiet!” Sherlock hollered again; I glowered up the stairs.

“I’ve got more ice, and I’m not afraid to throw it!” I threatened.

“With your poor aim, that’s hardly cause or worry,” he mused; I muttered a few choice words as I turned back to Oliver, picking up my bag.

“Sherlock’s here?” he asked, his voice hard and very un-Oliver. I nodded as I led the way into my room, a little put off by his behavior.

“Yeah, with John and Detective Lestrade,” I told him, flicking on the light and dropping down onto my bed.

He stood in my doorway, frowning at me; I patted the bed beside me.

“You okay?” I asked; he gave me a dirty look and came forward, sitting down hesitantly on my bed. “You’ve been out of the loop for a while, and you seem-“

“What do I seem?” he demanded, catching me off guard.

“A little defensive,” I murmured, scooting back to give us room. I pulled out my book and opened it up. “If you don’t want to study-“

“I want to,” he insisted, a little more intense than he needed to be. Without warning, Oliver reached forward and pushed my book aside. “I want to spend time with you.”

I sighed and looked up at him; I swallowed hard. Oliver had an intense, almost unsettling gleam in his eyes as he stared at me. His eyes flicked back and forth as he held my gaze. I leaned back a bit as I cracked open the book.

Oliver didn't speak once as I read the problem out loud, and didn't move as I started to write it out. For a moment, I lost myself in the numbers. I dove into trying to solve it, and then Oliver's hand came forward and rested on my thigh. I jumped a bit, pulling back from him; when we locked eyes, I could see the turmoil on his face.

“This is just a study session,” I said softly. “I thought you knew how I felt about you-“

“I can change that, though,” he insisted, moving closer again. I put my hand on my shoulder. I could feel him trembling, shivering lightly, almost unable to hold still. I frowned.

“Are you okay?”

“Now that I’m with you, I’m fine,” he murmured, putting his hand on mine and coming even closer; his legs started to overlap mine. He reached out and put his other hand on my waist. His eyes softened, and some of the angst seemed to leave his face as he held onto me. He began to lean forward, and as I tried to pull back, his hand tightened on my waist.

“Oliver-“ I started, beginning to panic.

“Laicee, I need your laptop!” Sherlock hollered down the stairs, startling both of us. We jumped apart, and I was glad to be out of his hold. Oliver stared at me as I stood up fast.

“I’ll be back, Sherlock needs me,” I said quickly, grabbing up my laptop. Oliver’s gaze hardened again as he glared after me; I ran up the stairs, trying to calm myself down.

“You have your own laptop, and John’s laptop,” I reminded him. “What do you need mine for?”

“He’s been experimenting,” John sighed, holding up his own half-burned half-melted laptop. I pulled back as Sherlock reached for mine.

“Don’t you dare do anything to it,” I warned, forcing my voice to be stern even though it wavered just a bit; Sherlock rolled his eyes and held his hand out.

“Yes, yes, alright,” he sighed, and I reluctantly handed it to him. As I did, Sherlock’s glanced at me, and his eyes narrowed. He stared at me, and I frowned. Sherlock sat my laptop down, and turned to face me.

“What?” I asked, a little unnerved.

“Something’s happened,” he guessed; John and Lestrade looked up at me now, but I did my best to keep my expression blank.

“Why do you say that?”

“Your eyes give away more than you want them to,” he told me, reaching out and grabbing my wrist. “Your pulse is irregular. You’re upset and…” his eyebrows drew together. “Uneasy?”

“I’m fine-“ I began as Sherlock’s eyes snapped up.

“What the hell is your problem?” Oliver shouted from the doorway; I nearly jumped out of my skin, breaking away from Sherlock. John and Lestrade stood, looking warily at Oliver.

“What’s gotten into you?” I asked; his eyes fell on me, and I stopped talking. The look in his eyes was enough to shut me up.

“We were in the middle of something,” he growled at Sherlock; I frowned.

“Studying can wait, Sherlock needed-“

“Sherlock this, Sherlock that,” he snapped. “He doesn’t own you, Laicee! You’re not his property!”

“I never said he did-“ I began, feeling a little more than put off.

“You’re mine!” he snapped, and everyone in the room fell into stunned silence; the fear slid off of me, replaced with irritation and indignation

“Oh forget that,” I growled, storming forward. “Oliver, I’m not anyone’s property! I thought I made it very clear to you that I only see you as a friend-“

“That’s Sherlock talking! He’s making you say that!” he cried, and I stopped in front of him, incredulous. Oliver’s eyes were wild as he stared at me, almost possessive.

“Oliver, I think it’s best if you leave-“

Oliver grabbed my arms, holding me tight.

“Oliver!” I exclaimed, trying to pull back. Lestrade and John both made towards me as Oliver tightened his grip.

“I’m not leaving you, I’ll never leave you,” he insisted, his fingers tightening painfully.

“Let her go, kid. Let’s calm down,” Lestrade urged, coming towards us. Oliver’s eyes burned into mine.

“Don’t you see, Laicee? He’s got his claws in you-“

“Let her go,” Sherlock said; at the sound of his voice, Oliver reacted. His hands tightened so powerfully on me I gasped in pain. His eyes widened, and rage burning through his gaze. Without warning, he threw me to the side. I hit the end table and fell to the ground.

“I’ve had enough of your bullshit-“ Oliver growled, advancing on Sherlock as John raced forward to help me up. Lestrade came up behind Oliver and grabbed hold of him, pulling him back.

“You’ve overstayed your welcome,” Lestrade said roughly, pulling him backwards towards the stairs. Lestrade looked over at me as he began to reach for his cuffs; I shook my head slightly, and he nodded. “As a favor, I won’t take you in. But keep away from here, and learn to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Just keep her away from Sherlock, and we won’t have any problems,” Oliver snarled as the two of them stumbled down the stairs awkwardly. John immediately began to check me over. He pulled the sleeves of my shirt up and studied my arms. I could see they’d reddened, but nothing worse than that.

“Is your hip okay?” John asked; I pulled my shirt up in back and turned, showing him where I’d hit. It was sore, but not bad.

“It’ll bruise, but I think you’re fine,” he said, relieved; Lestrade slammed the door and came back upstairs, giving me an uneasy look. I sighed and scratched the back of my neck.

“I’m sorry,” I told them all, giving a small, apologetic smile. John rubbed my shoulder as Lestrade crossed his arm.

“Is he usually like that?” he asked.

“No, I promise, this was really unlike him,” I sighed, shaking my head. “He was acting weird downstairs, and then this happened…”

“Keep away from him for a bit, yeah?” Lestrade asked, settling back down on the couch, and I nodded. As I turned to go back downstairs and give them peace and quiet to work, I felt slender fingers wrap around my wrist and gently tug me to a stop.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked, his clear eyes burning into me."Truly?"

“I will be,” I promised him, and the corner of his lip twisted up. “Tea?”

“Please,” he agreed, dropping my wrist as I headed into the kitchen. As I began to boil the water, I glanced out the window, and my stomach knotted. Oliver stood on the corner of the street, staring into the flat, his eyes locking onto me. I saw a smile creep onto his lips as he turned and disappeared down the street.

-x-

“If you want her, you have to kill Sherlock,” Moriarty hissed in Oliver’s ear as he played the doctored recording over and over again. Just taping the conversation in 221B for an hour had given him more than enough to work with.

Laicee’s voice repeated itself, the words patched together to feed Oliver lies.

I love you Oliver. I love you, but Sherlock won’t let us be together. Love me, Oliver. I love you.

“She loves me,” he breathed, wincing as the needle slid into his arm. The combination of drugs Moriarty was feeding him was slowly driving him insane, warping his reality and judgment and tricking him into believing the lies fed to him.

“Sherlock has her trapped,” he hissed. “Help me destroy Sherlock, and she can be with you forever.”

I love you Oliver.

“She loves me,” he murmured, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. His vision swam with false images, pictures of Sherlock attacking Laicee, thoughts of her falling in love with him. He was going mad. The drugs altered his perception, helping him believe what Moriarty told him, heping turn him against Sherlock.

“You almost had her today,” Moriarty promised. “You were so close, but Sherlock stopped you. She wanted you, and he kept her away from you.”

“Sherlock,” Oliver snarled, rolling his head to the side to look up at Moriarty; he nodded, a wicked grin spreading over his face.

“Take Laicee and kill Sherlock,” he urged, putting the last of the hallucinogens into Oliver’s system. The boys’ eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness. His lips continued to murmur the words that had been burned into his mind.

“Kill Sherlock. Kill Sherlock. Kill. Sherlock.”