Deducing Tragedy Part Two: Speak No Lies

“Hanna, use your brain!” Sherlock’s hand was on my arm, halting my progression up the street to the night club where two of my friends were being held. His hand was warm but his eyes were cold. Stopping me now had nothing to do with my safety or concern for the people being held inside. He stopped me because I was risking the game.

It had only been a few minutes since Mycroft informed me that my birth mother was the head of a criminal empire and in her spare time enjoyed pushing psychopaths down the path to worldwide fame. I couldn’t stand being in that room. Everyone was watching me, waiting for me to make a move. Whether it was to strike or begin to plan our course I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that it hurt to be observed with constant pity by a room full of people, most of who disliked or even hated me at the time. I needed to get out, so I did.

I slipped out the bathroom window and started up the street. The club was only a couple blocks away but because of my current vision problems it took me longer than it should have to get where I was. Apparently not being able to see more than five feet in front of you as you walk affects the speed of which you move, who’d have known.

And because of my lack of speed Sherlock was now griping my arm and staring me down with cruel eyes. He had no sympathy for me, and for that I was thankful. “What will getting Ben solve?”

“He’s smart,” I breathed as I looked up into those silver eyes that stared back like I was nothing. “He can help us-”

“Benjamin White is no more than second class mortician,” he argued, “He has no knowledge that we don’t already have-”

“He spent the night in there,” I said as I pulled lightly against his grip. I could make him let go and leave him with a few broken bones but I didn’t want to. Honestly I was just tired, just so emotionally drained that if I went to bed I would probably sleep for days; but there was no time for that. The clock on Mary’s life was ticking and I would be damned before I let them take Ben as well.

“In a drunken haze that has left him unconscious at the bar,” he countered, his grip on my arm tightening just slightly. “He will likely remember nothing of value.”

I tried pushing past him, “You don’t know that.”

His grip tightened again as he spun around to face me, “We both do, Hanna. You know he has nothing to offer the situation at hand. You are risking more than we will gain, why? For the life of one boy when the lives of many are at stake-” I tried to pull away again, “-Hanna, don’t you see the puzzle? You are giving Vitamali the final pieces-”

“This isn’t a puzzle, Sherlock,” I cried, trying to shrug out of his grip. His fingers here wrapped so tightly around my arm at this point I was sure he would leave bruises. “You play with puzzles; you toy with their simple logic! Mycroft told you, its chess. Vitamali is playing a chess game with us… and we’re losing!”

“Not yet,” he said. “If this is chess as you say then we still have several moves we can make and a powerful weapon on our side.”

“Who-”

“You.”

“No.”

“Yes, Hanna,” he said with a pointed look, “Vitamali considers you her stolen queen, that means she has none. You are the most important player on the board and walking in there so save a pawn will destroy our chances of winning-“

“I need him,” I shouted, my eyes taking on the same steely glare as his. “I need that ‘pawn’.”

A moment passed before his hand dropped and he stood up straight, “Why?”

I tried to smile, the corner of my lips twitching and his eyes tracing the movement. Sherlock Holmes stood before me, a man full of anger. And I, the woman who made him this way, stood before him and spoke words I knew would hurt but were more honest than I had been with him in a very long time, “Because he loves me and right now… I need someone too.”

“Molly-”

“My sister is still angry because I lied to her,” I said. “My team hates me, John can’t trust me, and you…” I trialed off as I raised a hand to his cheek, “You are my greatest tragedy, Sherlock. Ben is the only one I can do right by and I will do right by him.”

He raised his head and took a step back, my hand slipping from his face, “destroying everything in the process, how selfish of you.”

“I'm doing it for-“

“Yourself,” he cut me with his gaze, “don’t try and back track now, Miss Hooper. You said you were doing this because you want someone to love you-“

“That’s not-”

“That’s exactly what you meant,” he said cocking his head to the side. “For the first time in your life you are without someone who loves you. You’re support system has been ripped out and you don’t know what to do. So you go running towards the one person you can still manipulate into adoring you and you risk us all to do so. Are you so helpless and weak that you need the affection of another to function?”

I glared at him, “I am not weak.”

He leaned down so his eyes were level with mine, “Then prove it.”

I took a step forward so our faces were inches apart, “And what about you, Sherlock?”

“This isn’t about me-“

“The game isn’t,” I agreed, “but I told you that you had a daughter-”

“That’s debatable.”

I blinked, my eyes going wide with shock, “You- you doubt me?”

“We only had sex the one time,” he said standing up straight again. “Am I to believe you got pregnant from that?”

My whole body felt numb. My chest hurt and my stomach felt like it had been tied in a thousand tiny knots. I stepped away from Sherlock, shaking my head in disbelief before I turned and started to sprint down the street towards the flat. I got to Baker Street and stood outside the door. My poor vision getting blurry as I sank into a crouch and cried into my knees.

I knew when he found out about Molly, that Sherlock would hate me. I knew that he would get angry and more than likely end our relationship if you could even call it that. I knew this, I’ve always known this, from the moment I buried her in his family tomb. But never, in my most cruel and hateful thoughts, did I think for one moment that he would reject her. She was his daughter; my baby girl was Sherlock’s child. How could he not believe that? How could he refused what would have been a beautiful little girl?

I always knew he would turn his back on me and I deserved it. But Sherlock had denied his child and that was something I could never forgive.