What Lies Beneath

I was still wiping the jam off my cheek as John and I rounded the last turn before the doctor’s office. The ten minute walk was always a good start to the day, and cabs had become a little too expensive for my taste.

“We had fruit for breakfast! How did that little weasel even get jam on himself?” I asked John, carelessly wiping my sticky fingers on my jeans. John gave me a look as I did so.

“I’d say he’s picked up your talents, Lace,” he mused, holding the door open for me. “Remind me again how it was you managed to get ketchup all over yourself while eating soup?”

“Oh shove off,” I laughed, depositing my bag beneath my desk. John grinned and hung up his jacket on the coatrack behind me. I pulled up his schedule and he leaned down over my shoulder. He smelled of mint-and-musk, a combination of his shampoo and his cologne Mrs. Hudson bought him last Christmas. It was a scent I’d grown accustomed to.

“Right, when Mr. Tempsky gets here, send him right in,” John confirmed with me, and I rolled my eyes.

“Nah, I was thinking of sending him to get us coffee first, and maybe have him swing by the shop and get our groceries while he was at it.”

John gave me a dry look, which I returned with a cheeky grin. He disappeared into his office, and I set to work organizing all the paperwork that John had conveniently not gotten to yesterday.

***

The day trucked by rather quickly; Mr. Tempsky arrived on time and kept John busy for nearly an hour, and I managed to sort through all the paperwork by lunch. Mrs. Hudson came by with Hamish, and I pulled John from his office so we could all eat together.

We’d just gotten back from eating and I’d just settled into my chair when the phone rang. I answered it as I started up a new game of tetris.

“Sacred Heart Clinical Care, Dr. Watson is currently with a patient. May I take a message?”

The line was quiet; I was just about to repeat my greeting when a man’s voice spoke up.

“Laicee Bennett?”

“Speaking,” I said, silently cursing as I misplaced a tetris piece.

“How long has it been?”

I frowned at the screen.

“How long for what, sir?”

“How long has it been since Sherlock fell to his death?”

I tensed up and nearly dropped the phone. Tetris game abandoned, I turned away from the computer and stared out the window.

“Sir, unless there’s an issue concerning Dr. Watson or Sacred Heart, I need to ask you not to call this number-“

“All lives will end, Laicee, and some will end quicker than planned. Tell me, girl, are you prepared for the end?”

The line went silent as all the color drained from my face. With shaking hands, I slowly hung up the phone and then sat back in my chair. I must have stayed like that for quite a while, because when John and his patient finally emerged, my whole body was stiff from tension. John bid the young woman and her coughing daughter goodbye and then turned to me.

“Lace, who else do I-“ he cut off and his face darkened with worry. “Laicee what’s wrong?”

“We got another prank call,” I said dismissively. “Just said some rude things and hung up.”

“Usually they don’t leave you looking like death,” he pointed out gently, and I gave a shaky laugh.

“I’m just reading too much into it,” I assured him, swallowing the lump that had been building in my throat.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, I promise.”

John bent down and gave me a swift hug, then headed back into his office.

It was nearly closing time before anyone came by after that. I finished processing the last of the paperwork on a new patient we’d gotten earlier before I looked up.

“Laicee Bennett,” said the same voice from the phone, and my head snapped up. Because though it was the same voice, it was more distinctive now, and my mind immediately placed who it belonged to.

Sebastian Moran stood in the center of the office, his face pulled into a twisted smile, a gun in one hand.

“No,” I said in a strangled voice, getting up so fast I nearly fell over. “You shouldn’t-“

“You’re not the only one who lost someone that day, kid,” he snarled.

“John-“ I began as Moran lifted his gun.

“This is for Jim, you bitch.”

John’s arms wrapped around me and jerked me to the ground as Moran pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the picture frame right where my head had been, and the glass showered us with painful shards.

In an instant, John was off the ground and he flung himself into Moran. The two of them fell down and the gun skittered away from their fight. I heard people screaming as they rushed to see what had happened. I launched myself from behind the desk and snagged the gun, getting it up off the ground as they fought.

John landed a hard hit to Moran’s face, but Moran had gained the upper hand. He shoved John off and into the wall, and then was up and running before John had recovered. I immediately took off after him, my mind set on revenge. John reached up right as I passed and snagged my waist.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, holding tight to me. After a moment, John let me go. I could have run after him still, but I knew I’d be wasting my time. Instead I crouched down beside John, ignoring the crowd gathering in the office. I sat him back up against the wall. He looked winded, but alright.

“Are you okay?”

“That was one of Moriarty’s men, wasn’t it?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Sebastian Moran. The one I fought with in Queen Mary’s garden.”

I took John’s hands and helped him to his feet, then did a quick check over him as he ushered away some of the younger office assistants that kept crowding us.

“I’ll ask again,” I said pointedly. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, I promise,” he assured. “You can stop worrying about me.”

“I never stop worrying about you,” I said in complete honesty. “But I’m glad you’re alright.”

As yet another assistant came up to John, he gave me a look, and I took the initiative.

“Right, let’s get home. I need to phone Lestrade.”

***

“You think it’s revenge?” John asked, laying a sleeping Hamish down into his crib and tucking the blankets in around him. I finished off the last of me tea and deposited the cup into the sink, nodding.

“Pretty positive. Just from what he said, I can’t think of anything else it would be.”

John nodded as he began to tidy the living room. We worked in silence, both of us brooding over the events of the day. I had just switched off the light in the kitchen when John did the same in the living room. He came up to me and pulled me into a tight hug. We stayed like that for some time. I snaked my arms around his waist and rested my head in the crook of his neck.

“That was too close, Laicee,” he said into my curls, pulling back a bit to look down at me. “I almost lost-“

He cut off and cleared his throat. I hugged him tighter.

“Don’t think about it. I’m okay. We’re okay. It’s all okay, okay?”

He chuckled softly. His chest rumbled as he spoke and his arms tightened around my torso.

“I can’t lose you too, Lace. I can’t. You’ve got to be more careful.”

We pulled apart, and I gave him a gentle smile.

“No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

John nodded.

“I guess that’s all I can ask for. G’night Lace. Sweet dreams.”

“Sleep well John,” I told him, switching on Hamish’s nightlight and locking the doors to the stairs, just for precautions. I slipped into my room and shut the door, leaving it cracked just enough for my weasel to sneak in.

I curled up on my bed and hugged my pillows to me. Sleep had trouble finding me that night, and while I laid awake, Moran’s name surfaced dozens of memories that I’d wanted to keep hidden.

The night Sherlock handcuffed me to the mantel.

Fighting Moran on the hilltop.. jumping in after Sherlock.. swimming to shore, holding him tight to me... fighting the night he woke up, and then falling asleep in his arms..

My chest ached, and tears fell down my cheeks.

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever met,” he’d told me that night. His words rang in my head. His voice, though it was beginning to fade now after so long of not hearing it, swam in my head as sleep slowly came for me.

Sherlock’s eyes surfaced in my mind as I finally fell into a deep, uncomfortable sleep. His sea green gaze warmed my mind, and I clung to it, forcing the bad dreams away as I thought of Sherlock.

***

“I’ll email the details of the next case when you land,” Mycroft told his brother as Sherlock tucked the files into his bag. The plane left in half an hour, and Mycroft had a car waiting outside.

“Deliver the money to Molly, don’t let it slip your mind,” Sherlock confirmed; he’d left his dear friend a heavy lump sum to reimburse her for the years he’d agitated her. He hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye- she was with her family for the week, and the plane ticket was only so flexible.

“Consider it done,” Mycroft assured. He stood from his desk and came around to face his little brother. “It could take several years to ensure complete safety-“

“I am aware.”

“Until complete safety, you can’t come back-“

“My plane leaves in half an hour, Mycroft.”

“Right, right,” Mycroft said, clearing his throat. He stared at his little brother, an uncommon feeling of sadness washing over him. This could be the last time he saw Sherlock for quite a while.

“I’ll phone on occasion,” Sherlock said, his best attempt at an emotional goodbye; it was enough for Mycroft.

“I’ll keep my eye on Baker Street.”

“Please do,” Sherlock said, nodding curtly and turning to leave. The moment his fingers touched the doorknob, Mycroft’s cellphone rang. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder; Mycroft’s face came into a frown, one of concern, not displeasure. It must be Lestrade, and he wouldn’t phone unless it was an urgent matter. Sherlock paused his exit and listened

“Greg, slow down-“ Mycroft said, his face taking on a sheet of anxiety. As he listened, his eyes inadvertently flicked to Sherlock, which set the younger Holmes on edge. Then Mycroft’s expression grew into one of shock, disbelief, and severe worry. “Are they okay?”

Sherlock froze.

“She wasn’t hit, was she?”

Sherlock was at Mycroft’s side in an instant. He hovered beside the phone to listen better.

“No, no, Laicee’s not hurt, but she knew the attacker-“ Lestrade cut off to issue a series of orders to Donovan and a few other sergeants, and Sherlock’s face drew into a blank slate of anger.

“Who? Who attacked them?” Mycroft urged.

“Laicee said it was Sebastian Moran.”

Sherlock turned from his brother and took a breath.

Moran had found Laicee and John. He had attacked them. He could have lost them tonight, and the three years of suffering would have been for nothing. The three years away from the people he loved could have been negated in one gunshot.

Mycroft wrapped up the call, promising to meet with Greg in the morning. As he hung up the phone, Sherlock sat his bag down and settled into a chair. Mycroft let out a heavy sigh.

“Sherlock, you can’t stay-“

“This is not something you can negotiate, Mycroft. Moran is after Laicee and John. I will not let them come to harm. I will stay here, and I will keep them safe, do you hear me?”

Sherlock spoke with such a stern determination that it left his brother speechless. So in lieu of an argument, Mycroft nodded. He dug into his bag, pulled out a memory stick, and said,

“We’ll start tracking down Moran tonight, then.”

Sherlock nodded and sat back in his chair as Mycroft began to type. Only once his brother was fully emerged in his computer did Sherlock reach into his inner jacket pocket. He pulled out several pictures, ones he’d gathered over the years, but he pulled out one in particular that he’d taken from his grave the summer before last.

Laicee and John stared up at him, with Molly and John’s now-deceased wife Mary crammed in as well. He’d kept it with him since the night Laicee left it on his tombstone, and he looked at it often. His best friends shared a mutual, light-hearted grin that made Sherlock’s chest ache.

One day soon, he’d be able to be with them again, be squished in the middle of John and Laicee, a grin on his face as well. And if anyone, anyone, ruined that, they would have hell to pay.