Deducing Tragedy Part Two: Speak No Lies

I ran back into the living room as the tears fell down my cheeks and I sank down to the floor. Around me the silence of the empty flat screamed in my ears and I cried into my knees. All that I was, all that I once stood for had faded as the trials of my life slowly ate away at me. I’m a shadow of myself and I didn’t know how to come back from this. People liked to think that I was somehow invincible. “If anyone can come back from this, it’s Hanna; she’s tougher than she looks.” But I'm not; I am human, I am weak. I broke like any ordinary person would.

The front door closed behind John and I paused. I waited a moment for him to get a safe distance away before I stood and wiped the tears from my eyes. I calmly walked into mine and Sherlock’s room though it was more or less his; my clothing occupied a certain percentage of the closet. I went through my things before coming across a black cocktail dress. It was slim and fitting, a piece that would attract attention to the wearer. It was perfect.

Walking into the bathroom I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and looked into the mirror. Staring back at me was Frankenstein’s Monster. I was neither Hanna Hooper nor was I Ann Arsvitae but a merging of the two. I looked like Hanna but I bore the scars of Ann trying to sew me back together. I suppose that was the tragedy of Ann, she was made to protect Hanna from her scars but in doing so she created scars of her own.

The copper ends of my hair caught my attention as I lifted a hand to twist a red lock around my index finger. Copper, red; a scar I kept as a reminder of what had transpired. A cut opened as Hanna and left untreated as Ann until it became infected. Looking at it now I couldn’t understand why I thought it necessary. My upper arms bore pale imprints of the fire that I so dearly wanted to remember. Between the length and color my hair was the biggest example of the Frankenstein I’d become. The length was Hanna’s and the red was Ann’s, but none of it was me.

Walking out into the living room I reached for Sherlock’s katana, which he kept near the desk. I gripped the sword in my hand and started swinging it around in my hand. I twisted and turned the sword moving with my body, nothing but flashes of silver in the dim street light. This was me, I thought as tears kept down my cheeks. I'm a fighter, a trained killer, an expert assassin. I am a grieving mother, and a broken woman. There is every reason to fear me and every reason to care for me. I was not who anyone wanted me to be; the one they remembered was gone, and I would never be them again. Hanna and Ann would always be a part of me but they were not me.

I am the Frankenstein Monster and I am okay with that.

I cartwheeled back onto my feet and took a few steps towards the mirror. My eyes locked with the blue ones staring back and me and, with a flash of silver, I cut off my hair. Copper and white covered the floor as I stared into the mirror above the fireplace. Frankenstein’s Monster stared back and I watched her transform. She stood a little taller; her eyes lost that frightened and haunted look that they bore as she dropped the sword at her feet. No longer did I see bits and pieces of two fairytales forced together but one solid and beautiful story that I identified with. I was her and she was me as it was supposed to be.

Behind me, in the mirror, a little girl smiled. I looked to her; she nodded before disappearing in a silver mist and I was left alone in the flat I loved so much.

“Time to go Anna,” I said looking back into my eyes. “There is work to do.”

~*~

Sherlock sat alone in the conference room where Hanna’s team kept their files on The Ripper case. Spread out across the table was papers and photos that he quickly raked his eyes over. There was something among these plies that was wrong, something he couldn’t quite place.

“Why are you still here?” Lestrade asked walking into the room and crossing his arms over his chest.

“There is a case to solve inspector,” he said walking around to the other end of the table. “Where else would I be?”

“At Home,” Lestrade said crossing the floor to the opposite side of the table from Sherlock, “Taking care of Hanna.”

“Hanna is well.”

“I get regular updates from John don’t try and lie to me,” Lestrade said with an even tone. “There is something wrong with her-”

“There is something wrong here!” Sherlock shouted slamming his hand down on the table before glancing up at the other man, “The sooner I figure it out the sooner you’ll be able to have a decent night’s sleep, something you haven’t had in what? Three weeks?”

“Sherlock-”

“Right around the time you and that blond shagged in your office. Dear me, is it really affecting you that much?”

“Sherlock-”

“I suppose you could tell your wife to clear your conscious but then she would probably tell you about you about the barista down the street from your home so I doubt it work out well for you in the long run.”

“Sherlock-”

“But there is something here more pressing than your affair,” He continued circling around to the other side. “Something is wrong among these pages. Something I'm missing!”

“Sherlock it was Hanna!” Lestrade shouted and the Consulting Detective froze. “It was Hanna in my office that night.”

“That is impossible,” Sherlock stood up straight, “Hanna was in a coma.”

Lestrade held up his hands, “I know.”

“Then, pray tell, how one person can be in two places at the same time?”

He sighed, “She said she would wait till you fell asleep and then attach the heart monitor to her sister-“

“To Molly?” Sherlock asked spinning around. “Are you sure?”

“Uh… yeah?” Lestrade frowned as Sherlock turned back around to the table and began searching through the papers. Lestrade waited, confused as to why Sherlock would be working on the case and not hitting him for snogging his girl.

Sherlock laughed; circling something on one of the pages, “Of course, of course!” He chuckled, handing the paper to Lestrade before reaching for his jacket and scarf. “Lestrade you, like John, are remarkably good at kicking start my genius so I must say thank you. Savor the moment, I won’t repeat myself.”

“What- where are you going?” he demanded following him in to the hall.

“One person can’t be in two places at the same time, Inspector,” he said pausing in the door way. “The phone records are they key. The answer was there all along. Now if you’ll excuse me I must be going, but first-” he punched Lestrade in the jaw and the inspector fell to the ground. “That’s for thinking you kissed Hanna, never make that mistake again.” and with that Sherlock walked out of Scotland Yard.