Deducing Tragedy Part Three: Hear No Lullaby

Baker Street is quite. The piano in the window, with a violin set on top, hadn't been touched in months. And the violin? Soundless. On the outside the flat looked empty the man that once paced the windows hadn't stood there in ages. The woman who stared lovingly out at the London street hadn't been seen either. The woman tending the bakery below the quiet flat only shrugged when asked about her tenants. They've just become private people, she would say. They've just become quiet.

John Watson came to Baker Street a few times a week. The man was almost always out or too deep into a case to say much. The woman however was a gracious host. She smiled when he arrived and poured him a cup of tea. They would talk but at a slower pace that he was used to. Sometime he would look at her and realize she didn't know what he just said because his cup had blocked his lips. When he repeated himself she would smile but her eyes were sad. Those deep blue eyes were filled with a sorrow that he couldn't understand.

"You're adjusting well," He said one day as they had tea. "How's your sign language coming along?"

"It's getting easier," she said with a small shrug. "Ben's been coming with me to classes."

He frowned, "Ben? I wasn't aware that you were still in contact."

She smiled, "Yes. Ben has been a great help to me through all this. Learning sign language with someone else makes it easier. You can practice and learn from each other."

"Dull."

John turned his head to look at the man standing on the couch along the back wall. Sherlock Holmes was dressed for the day but wore his dressing gown regardless. Dark curly hair was all John could see and he fought the urge the yank the dark mess, turning the Consulting Arse around so she could hear his snide remark too.

He shook his head and turned back to her. She looked lost and sad; like a child left out of the joke. He offered her a smile as he set his cup aside. "Hanna why don't you teach me some sign language?" he said sitting forward.

She smiled, the first one he's seen that actually reached her eyes, "If you're interested Ben is picking me up for class in a bit. You could come with us."

"How much would that be?" he asked and she shook her head.

"It wouldn't cost you anything," she said, her smile dropping back out of her eyes, "When I registered for the class I paid for three spots but… one remains empty."

Sherlock sighed in annoyance and John glanced at him again before turning his attention back to the woman in front of him. Hanna Hooper looked sad. Not just a trivial unhappiness that afflicted most people. Her depression ran bone deep and consumed her soul. This was not the Hanna he used to know. She was always happy, even with a monster hunting her she managed a positive outlook on her life. She told him once that her death was inevitable but she found a kind of peace in that. Her death would be the end of her tragic life and that idea was what kept a smile on her face. No matter how bad it got, it wouldn't last long.

Now there was no peace, no positive outlook. Hanna was trapped inside her life. Trapped in Baker Street with a man who gave no care for how she was struggling. The man she loved no less. How Sherlock justified his behavior towards her John didn't know. He wanted to help them, help them recover what they once had. The bond they shared was precious, it was beautiful and John had only see parts of it; little moments of a relationship that had since dissolved into poison that was killing them both. One was just better at hiding it.

John smiled at her and took her hand. Her right eyebrow shifted up just slightly, a question in her eyes and parted lips that he could never answer. "I would love to come to class with you and Ben."

Sherlock spun around, "There is a war waging the streets of London and you're going to waste your time on trivial nonsense-"

"Sherlock," John warned him.

"Oh don't use that tone on me," he rolled his eyes and he jumped off the couch. "I'm not a child."

"You're acting like one."

"Its fine, John," Hanna said reaching forward to rest her hand on his arm. "Please, its fine."

He looked back at her, his hand moving to cover her small pale one, "But it clearly isn't Hanna. You can lie to yourself, lie to him even, but you are not fine. This whole situation is not fine."

"Then help me put an end to it," Sherlock insisted. "If I can put an end to Eva's network then Hanna will be free to-"

"We're not talking about Eva, Sherlock." John growled and Sherlock frowned.

"Then what are we talking about?" he asked and Hanna bowed her head. "If we're not talking about Eva Vitamali, the one causing all our problems, what are we talking about?" Eva Vitamali, Hanna's birthmother and head of a vast underground network of criminals that made Moriarty's net look like a joke. But seeing as Moriarty was part of her web it made sense that he was so much smaller.

Eva was most known for pushing psychopaths in a direction that would benefit them both. She recruited them young and then raised them into powerful positions for her to exploit. Hanna was one of two biological children she had in the early days of her growing empire and even she played a part in the grand plan. Hanna was blinded with a special poison by her now deceased ex-boyfriend, Tomas Mathers, under Eva's orders. However when Mathers gave Hanna the cure Eva decided to take things to another level and deafened Hanna. Permanently.

And that's the part that Sherlock seemed to miss. Hanna couldn't hear any more. She never would again but he was treating it like her blindness, a temporary affliction. At first John thought it was just going to be an adjustment period. Sherlock would come to reason, he had to. But as time went on it became very clear just how in denial the Consulting Detective was. When Hanna would sign he would get angry. When he turned his head and she missed what he said he would yell at her for not paying attention. And then he became obsessed with Eva Vitamali. He was convinced that she was the source of all their problems and he was fighting heaven and hell trying to take her down.

"Mother can't be beaten, Sherlock," Hanna whispered raising her head back up. "We tried when she took Mary and Ben-"

"Yes, and then you jump to the conclusion that there was no way to save them before the rest of us even had time to try," he shouted. "Why you gave yourself to her I will never understand. You're nothing but her puppet now, not the woman I use to know!"

Hanna flinched and closed her eyes. Four months ago Eva had her other daughter, Ciri, kidnap Mary. Ben had drunkenly wandered into the wrong bar at the wrong time. In exchange for their lives Hanna gave herself to Eva. Every move, every word, every breath Hanna took was directed by Vitamali and this drove Sherlock up the wall. John didn't like it either but he was thankful for what Hanna did. His girlfriend, now fiancée, was safe and alive because of what Hanna did.

"Sherlock, stop it. Now." John said in a low tone as Hanna leaned back in her chair, her eyes still closed.

"No," he growled, only glancing at John before returning his gaze to the woman in the chair. "She's a puppet, a spy, a traitor in our midst! Not the woman I loved! She was never this weak, never!"

"Sherlock, she can't hear you," John sighed, standing up. "Her eyes are closed; she doesn't even know you're talking."

"Don't make up excuses for her," he sneered turning back towards the back wall.

The doorbell rang and John sighed again. Ben was here, it was time for class. Gently he touched the back of Hanna's small hands and she opened her eyes to look at him. He smiled, gesturing towards the door and the two of them left. Sherlock heard them go and bowed his head. He walked to the window just in time to see her white blond hair disappear into the car. He watched them drive away. Next to him a piano and violin sat untouched for four months. He remembered the last song they played. Both of them filled the room with a sweet melody that brought tears to his eyes as he recalled it now. The last song they played was a lullaby.