Deducing Tragedy Part Two: Speak No Lies

Sherlock looked at the table carefully there were five notes with five letters. I, T, E, N, and R. He was sure they would lead directly to the Ripper. Personal touches like this always did. But what did it mean? Ben, Jordan, and Eva had gone back to their hotel to rest for the night. Tate was in the corner nodding off; He’d stayed behind to monitor Sherlock but his lack of sleep was getting to him. Most of Scotland Yard was gone, at home with their loves ones.

“Ordinary people are so dull and distractible,” Sherlock muttered walking around the table. “Sleep doesn’t matter, not when there is a puzzle to solve.”

“I missed that,” a new voice chuckled and his head snapped up too see Ann standing across from him. “Hearing you talk to yourself. I’d be in the other room but you’d be rambling away like I was right there.”

“I don’t ramble,” Sherlock frowned through narrow eyes. “I was talked to Tatum,” he gestured to the, now sleeping, man in the corner.

She smirked glancing between the two before walking up to the table. “Something tells me Tate isn’t aware of that.”

He cocked his head to the side, “Why are you here? I thought this case bored you.”

“It does,” she shrugged. “But I also heard you’d found the letters on the notes.”

“You knew about them.”

“Of course.”

The Consulting Detective frowned looking over her. Those Silver blue eyes deducing her as she stood there and smiled her hands slipping into her back pockets, “Something’s different.”

“A lot changed –“

“That’s not what I mean,” he said giving her a look as he walked around the table. “I mean your clothing.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked down. “Black pants and a black tank top, like always.”

“We are both too intelligent to be playing these games,” he sighed as he walked up to her, towering over her small body like a giant. “You’re wearing tennis shoes.”

She looked down at her bright white and blue sneakers and shrugged, “My feet hurt.”

“Your hair is down,” he said reaching up slowly to twist one blond strand around his finger.

“Well it is quite late,” she said, her blue eyes locked on his nose, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be off to bed soon.”

“You don’t sleep.”

Her eyes snapped to his, her lax jaw conveying her surprise. “Tonight is a tea night,” she said slowly before taking a step back and recovering from her shock.

“Ah yes,” his hand dropped and he turned away from her, walking back to the table. “The tea that sometimes helps you sleeps.”

He could hear her shrugged as she walked over to the chair beside where he stood. “When you have insomnia, you find the strangest things to try and get some rest.”

“But it only helps you sometimes,” he frowned looking over the letters. “Why wouldn’t you look for something that helps you all the time?”

“Because the tea, unlike any medicine Ben tries to get me to use, lets me dream,” she said, spinning the chair around in a circle before sitting in it.

“And why didn’t you tell me?” he asked glancing at her before his eyes turned back to the papers in front of him.

She shrugged again, leaning back in her seat. “At the time it was because I didn’t want you to worry more than you already did.”

“And now?”

“It didn’t come up,” she said with a smirk. “Also it’s not relevant to the case-“

“You don’t care about the case,” he waved off her thought.

She pointed at him, her smile growing, “True.”

“Why is that I wonder?” he asked as her hand fell back against her leg with a clap.

“Hm?”

“Why do you stop yourself from caring?”

Her smile faded and she sat up, “Because… if I care then the next time a body drops will hurt. I cannot do my job if I care.”

“Wrong,” he growled turning to face her, her eyes going wide. “Tatum and Ben told us that this was out of character for you. You always put your heart in the cases. But this one is different, why?”

She stood up, her blue eyes like windows into the broken soul beneath. For a moment, while her walls were down, Sherlock could see the grief and sorrow she once hid so well. But then she blinked and it was gone. Her walls came back up and she answered him, “Because you’re here.”

His eyes narrowed in confusion, “me?”

“You will solve the case, Sherlock,” she said with a sad smile. “I'm not a fool; I always knew you would be brought on. I was actually surprise it took Mycroft as long as it did.”

“You are letting me have the case?”

“It was yours from the beginning.”

“Why?”

She turned to the table, her palms pressed against the glass as her hair fell over her shoulder to create a barrier between them. “Because I need out.”

“Out? Out of what? The case-“

“Out of London,” she cut him off as she turned to face him, those blue eyes now shining with tears. “Hell, out of England- out of the United Kingdom! I just need out.”

Her sudden outburst of emotion shocked the detective, who looked at her with wide eyes, “Hanna-” he reached for her but she slapped away his hand.

“No!” She hissed, “Don’t comfort me! You’re part of the problem!”

“What?” he asked getting agitated.

“Look at me!” She shouted throwing her arms out, “I’ve been an emotional wreck since I got here! You keep giving me something to live for and I don’t want it! I was ready to die; hell I tried more times than is fair!”

“What do you mean?” He asked grabbing her shoulders, “What do you mean you tried?”

“Fourteen cases over the past two years,” she growled. “Every time I was the first to confront but I never took the shot or made the arrest, you’re smart enough to understand that Sherlock.” And then she ripped herself from his grasp and walked out of the room. He was going to let her go, part of him thought that it was best if he did. But right then, he didn’t care to listen to that part.

“Hanna!” he shouted jogging after her. She paused in the hall and slowly turned back around to face him. Her cheeks bore the mark of her tears and she blinked repeatedly, trying to stop more from falling. She was breaking apart, he realized. All her walls and shields were in shambles, it was now or never.

“What?” she asked. Even her voice was weak, cracking as she spoke.

“What happened to you?” He asked with an expressionless face even though inside he was reeling.

“What do you mean?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Don’t do that,” he said with a sever voice as he slowly approached the girl. “Don’t put your guard up, not to me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” She challenged him, anger leaking into her eyes. “My walls, my shields… they protect me.”

“You are self-destructing inside them,” he nearly barked. “You are dying inside Hanna-“

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” She screamed at him as her body went rigid, her arms tense at her sides and her hands balled into tiny fists.

“Never,” he said, closing the distance between them. “You are Hanna Hooper, My Angel, My Lullaby; you are My Little Blind Girl.” His hands moved to cup her face, his eyes locked with hers. “You will never be anything else in my eyes and this act you put on will never fool me.” And then, without much thought or care for possible consequences later on, Sherlock Holmes kissed her.