2.
She felt like she might be sick. Or collapse. Maybe even be sick and then collapse.
Elspeth stared at the man in front of her, tears welling up in her eyes as her hands clenched and unclenched nervously, shaking so much she was surprised she didn't collapse. This was a joke, some sort of sick, horrible joke. Or worse – a nightmare.
Her heart pounding furiously against her chest, Elspeth looked at John, who was being restrained by the waiters and breathing heavily, and then at Mary, whose eyes were flickering between the three of them nervously. Turning back to Sherlock, who continued to gaze at her, no doubt deducing her reaction, she opened her mouth to speak, only to find that there were no words to say. Elspeth ran a trembling hand through her hair, taking a step back.
"Ellie," Sherlock said. His voice was deep and soft and just like she remembered, which only made it so much harder to believe.
"I thought you were dead," she finally whispered.
"So did John and Mary – and John tried to put me back in my grave," Sherlock tried to joke. It was a nervous habit. He was a man who could make people tremble in their boots with his words alone but when Sherlock Holmes was faced with an awkward situation he couldn't handle, he babbled and made poor jokes and giggled nervously.
"No . . ." Elspeth shook her head. "No, this isn't happening." She turned around and raced back out of the hotel.
"Ellie," Mary called after her in despair, letting go of John's hand and also leaving the hotel. Tearing himself from the waiter's grip, John gave Sherlock a final glare and followed them.
"Sir?" a waiter asked Sherlock. "Sir, are you alright? Would you like us to call the police?"
"No, that won't be necessary, thank you," Sherlock said. He was still shocked from seeing Elspeth for the first time in two years. Why had she run from him? John's reaction, he suppose, he could understand, but he thought that Elspeth would be pleased to see him.
One of the waiters handed Sherlock his coat and he strode out of the hotel, following John, Mary and Elspeth. He lingered in the doorway, watching the scene from a distance; Mary was talking quietly to Elspeth, a hand rubbing up and down the teenager's arm in a soothing manner while her other hand held John's. It made Sherlock's stomach twist uncomfortably to see them act so naturally together, like they were a family.
But they weren't. Elspeth was his daughter, John was his friend.
Striding over, Sherlock frowned when Elspeth deliberately turned her head away so she wouldn't have to look at him. Mary gave Sherlock a sympathetic smile.
"There's a café around the corner," she said. "Why don't we go there and talk?"
"Yeah, great idea," John said stiffly. Elspeth didn't say anything as she turned around and walked down the street, slightly unsteady in her heels. It made Sherlock roll his eyes. Since when did Elspeth wear heels?
The four of them received a few odd looks when they walked into the café, probably because John, Mary and Elspeth were dressed very formally. Elspeth sat down at the first available table. Sherlock made to sit next to her but John beat him to it.
Apart from Mary ordering them tea – with extra sugar for Elspeth because she was in shock – no one spoke. Sherlock was the one to break the silence.
"I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I'd invited Moriarty onto the roof," he said. Elspeth put her head in her hand and turned away, still refusing to look at him. "I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible. The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling –"
"You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick," John interrupted.
"What?"
"I don't care how you faked it, Sherlock. I want to know why."
Sherlock looked bewildered. "Why?" he repeated. "Because Moriarty had to be stopped." He then saw John's expression, realisation dawning on him. "Oh. Why as in . . ." his voice trailed off, his eyes flickering between John and Elspeth. "I see. Yes. Why? That's a little more difficult to explain."
"I've got all night," John said darkly. Sherlock cleared his throat, glanced at Elspeth again and looked down.
"Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft's idea."
Elspeth visibly stiffened. One of her hands was on the table, slowly clenching into a fist at the mention of Mycroft.
"Oh, so it's your brother's plan?"
"He would've needed a confidant," Mary piped up. Sherlock smiled in agreement but John gave her a dark look. "Sorry."
"But he was the only one? The only one who knew?" John asked. Sherlock paused, closing his eyes before forcing out the next sentence.
"Couple of others," he said. John lowered his head. Elspeth bit her bottom lip. "It was a very elaborate plan – it had to be. The next of the thirteen possibilities –"
"Who else?" John whispered. He looked up. "Who else knew?" Sherlock hesitated. "Who?"
"Molly."
"Molly?" John repeated angrily. Elspeth shut her eyes. Keep breathing, she reminded herself.
"Molly Hooper – and some of my homeless network, and that's all," Sherlock promised.
"Ok," John said, sitting up a little and glancing at Mary, who gave him a sympathetic smile. "Ok. So just your brother, and Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps."
Sherlock laughed. "No!" he said. "Twenty five at the most."
He should've recognised the signs, really because seconds later, John lunged across the table again.
The kebab shop smelled of grease. It made Elspeth, who hadn't eaten all night, feel slightly nauseous as she leaned against the counter, her arms folded across her chest. John's actions got them kicked out of the café as well, so Mary – the only calm, rational one of the group – found them the kebab shop, complaining about her empty stomach. Somehow, John managed to throw in a punch when he lunged at Sherlock, who was dabbing at his bottom lip with a napkin. He grimaced at the blood.
"Seriously, it's not a joke?" Sherlock asked John, gesturing his own upper lip. "You're really keeping this?"
"Yeah," John said stiffly.
"You're sure?"
"Mary likes it."
Sherlock frowned. "Mmm," he said regretfully. "No, she doesn't."
Opening his mouth to scoff at Sherlock, John glanced at Mary. He did a double take when she saw her open agreement, and she made an incoherent apologetic noise.
"Oh!" John said. "Brilliant!" he turned to Elspeth. "What about you?"
Elspeth gazed at John apologetically, grimacing. "It kind of makes you look like an old man," she said quietly, the first time she had spoken all night. "A really old man. Sorry."
"This is charming!" John said sarcastically. He pointed angrily at Sherlock, who had been gazing at Elspeth with a happy shine in his eyes. She wouldn't look at him. "I've really missed this!" he looked down, then back up at Sherlock. "One word, Sherlock. That is all we would have needed. One word to let us know you were alive."
For the first time that night since the restaurant, Elspeth looked at Sherlock. He looked back at her. He could see the questions in her eyes, the pain and sadness and the way she couldn't comprehend why he didn't tell them he was still alive. Elspeth's eyes truly were the window to her soul; when Sherlock looked in them, he could see everyone and everything she loved – fluffy socks, art museums, take aways, old cameras, and him.
"I've nearly been in contact so many times," Sherlock said quietly. "but I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet."
"What?" John asked incredulously.
"Well, you know, let the cat out of the bag."
"Oh, so this is my fault?" John demanded while Mary laughed in disbelief. Sherlock glanced at Elspeth. The hurt in her eyes made him look away again. "Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong – the only one reacting like a human being?"
Elspeth turned an indignant and angry look at John, but he didn't notice because he was staring at Sherlock.
"Over reacting," Sherlock muttered.
"Over reacting?" John repeated. "Over reacting? So you fake your own death –"
"Ssh," Sherlock hissed.
"– and you waltz in here large as bloody life –"
"Ssh."
"– but I'm not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes thinks it's a perfectly OK THING TO DO!" John yelled the end of his sentence at the top of his voice, several people turning his way when he did. Mary sighed quietly, grimacing at Elspeth.
"Shut up, John! I don't want everyone knowing I'm still alive!" Sherlock yelled back.
"They're worse than kids," Mary whispered to Elspeth, who rolled her eyes in agreement.
"Oh, so it's still a secret, is it?" John shouted.
"Yes! It's still a secret," Sherlock replied loudly. There was a moment's pause as he looked over his shoulder at the other customers. "Promise you won't tell anyone."
"Swear to God!" John said sarcastically.
Finally, John realised that there were other people in the shop. He backed away from Sherlock slightly, having taken a few steps forwards without realising, but Sherlock closed the distance by taking a step towards him.
"London is in danger," Sherlock said quietly, his eyes flickering between John and Elspeth, who gazed back at him passively. "There's an imminent terrorist attack and I need your help." Sherlock's eyes rested on Elspeth. "I need help from both of you."
John stared back at him in amazement, throwing a look to Mary that said can you believe this guy? It was laughable, Sherlock's assumption that John and Elspeth would just accept he had faked his death and wanted their help, but neither of them felt like laughing.
"My help?" John repeated.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he deduced John's genuine surprise, a smile slowly spreading across his face.
"You have missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the three of us against the rest of the world –"
Sherlock didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before John grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, reared his head back and threw himself forwards for the third time that night.
His nose was bleeding. Sherlock tilted his head back a little, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to stop the blood from trickling down.
"I don't understand," he said. Mary handed him a paper napkin, which he gratefully accepted. "I said I'm sorry. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"
"Gosh. You don't know anything about human nature, do you?" Mary asked with a small smile.
Sherlock lowered his head, looking at her. "Mmm, nature? No. Human . . . no," he said.
"I'll talk him round," Mary promised. Sherlock took the napkin from under his nose and looked at her curiously.
"You will?"
"Oh yeah." Mary's smile was confident. "I'll give it a go with Ellie, but we both know how stubborn she is."
Sherlock looked at Mary closely – only child, linguist, clever, part time nurse, short-sighted, guardian, bakes own bread, disillusioned, cat lover, romantic, appendix scar, Lib Dem, secret tattoo, size 12 – and then smiled back at her.
"Mary," John called, standing someway down the road with Elspeth next to him. She had taken the pins out of her hair so it tumbled freely down her shoulders and she held her heels in one hand. She had no idea why she'd worn them. They were far too uncomfortable.
Mary turned to give Sherlock one last smile before joining John and Elspeth in the taxi.
"Can you believe his nerve?" John asked as the taxi drove away.
"I like him."
John did a double take. "What?"
Mary shrugged, smiling at John. "I like him," she repeated. John looked at her, completely bewildered, before turning away.
2 Years Ago
"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."
"Alright."
"Hand the phone to Ellie. Please," Sherlock said. On the edge of St Bart's rooftop was a dummy, dressed in a replica of Sherlock's coat and scarf. It had a dark curly wig and a life-side photo of Sherlock's face had been stuck onto the dummy's head. One of its hands were raised to hold a phone.
While Sherlock spoke tearfully down the phone to an incredulous Elspeth, leaning against a low chimney on the roof, Jim Moriarty sat next to him, giggling. In one of Sherlock's hands was a rope, holding the dummy upright.
"Ssh," Sherlock hissed angrily at Moriarty. Saying his final goodbye to Elspeth, he flicked the rope and sent the dummy toppling over the edge of the roof.
Sherlock and Moriarty laughed hysterically, pleased that their plan had worked, turning to look at each other. Their smiles slowly faded. Sherlock frowned a little, puzzled, and after a moment of gazing into each other's eyes, they both leaned in towards each other. Their lips were about to touch –
"What?" Anderson demanded, horrified. "Are you out of your mind?"
Laura, the dark haired girl in his living room, shrugged. "I don't see why not. It's just as plausible as some of your theories," she said stubbornly. Behind her, the walls of the living room were covered with notes, photographs and Post It notes, pieces of red string linking the notes together. There were several other people in the living room along with Laura and Anderson, three of whom were wearing deerstalker hats.
"Look, if you're not going to take it seriously, Laura, you can . . ." Anderson's voice trailed off and he made a furious gesture towards the door.
"I do take it seriously," Laura said angrily, then cast a disapproving look towards the three boys were deerstalkers. "I don't think we should wear hats."
"I founded 'The Empty Hearse' so like-minded people could meet, discuss theories –" Anderson choked on his words, taking another step towards Laura. "Sherlock's still out there. I'm convinced of it."
"Oh my God," Laura said, looking towards the TV. The headline shouted: HAT DETECTIVE ALIVE. Instantly, everyone's phones began to signal text alerts, and everyone scrabbled for their pockets. Laura's face lit up with excitement. "Oh. My. God!"
It was official. Sherlock Holmes was alive.
Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. SH
If inconvenient, come anyway. SH
Please. I need to talk to you. SH
Elspeth lay in her bed, reading and rereading the three texts Sherlock had sent her that morning. She knew he was repeating his words to John from years ago, and she knew he did it to make her smile, but it just made her sigh.
She scrolled through older messages, reading old conversations. Sherlock constantly texted Elspeth before – the thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she quickly dropped her phone on her bed next to her.
Rolling onto her back, Elspeth stared up at the ceiling. Half of her wanted to go, but the other half didn't.
Elspeth frowned, sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She looked over at the dress hanging in front of her wardrobe, the beautiful dress she had worn the night before, thinking she was going to have a normal evening with John and Mary. She knew about John's plan to propose to Mary. None of them knew that Sherlock Holmes was going to return from the dead.
She got dressed quickly, pulling on the first pair of jeans and shirt she grabbed when she opened her wardrobe, not bothering to check if they were clean. Tugging a brush through her hair, Elspeth tied it into a messy ponytail before leaving her room, picking up a hoodie as she went.
The door to John and Mary's bedroom was slightly ajar, and Elspeth lingered just outside, eavesdropping.
"The famous blog, finally!" Mary said. Elspeth didn't hear John's muffled reply; he was in their small en suite bathroom. "– ancient history, yes, I know. But it's not, though, is it, because he's – what are you doing?"
"Having a wash," was John's slightly clearer and agitated reply.
""You're shaving it off."
"Well, you hate it."
"Sherlock hates it."
"Apparently everyone hates it," John grumbled, making Mary laugh and Elspeth smile to herself.
"Are you going to see him again?" Mary asked.
"No, I'm going to work."
"Oh. And after work, are you going to see him again?" John didn't reply, but he must've done something because Mary giggled to herself. "Cor, I don't know – six months of bristly kisses for me, and then His Nibs turns up . . ."
"I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes," John told her.
"Oh! You should put that on a T-shirt!"
"Shut up."
"Or what?"
"Or I'll marry you," John said, and that was when Elspeth decided she had heard enough. Pushing herself off the wall, she walked through to the kitchen and scribbled a quick note on the pad attached to the fridge with a magnet. She knew they would see it.
Elspeth didn't look back as she strode out of the flat, pulling on her hoodie as she went. She was going to see Sherlock, and a feeling of dread followed her with every step she took.
Thank you TheDoctor'sAmazingCompanion, bellechat, tinuviel21, aorangeinboston, Aimee, WerewolfHybrid31, Starcrier, nakari ash, iwanttobeaneverdeen, Ello ello ello, quidditchandsonicscrewdrivers, Adrillian1497, ElizabethCullen08, xxxMadameMysteryxxx, GeorgyannWayson, Darcy, Tayla, ElisePotterFreak, Nostalgic Beauty, fmxc17, LoverofWords22, lauren6498, Greeting'sAndSaltations, Hannah Skywalker - Jedi Padawan, tardislover1, Ms Moonshoes Potter, youngblood killjoy for reviewing!
Hopefully Elspeth's reaction was satisfactory, I promise an emotional rant and Hurricane Ellie (thank you Georgyann Wayson for coming up with that phrase, it's fantastic!) will be making an appearance in the next chapter . . .