Author's note: thanks for the reviews... Re-reading the couple of chapter's I've written so far and realised how predictable it is. Please forgive me!
Sally sat behind her desk, pen in the edge of her mouth, thinking. They hadn't told anyone. She had hardly spoken all day. All she could think of was…
It was on a loop, flashing images and snapshots of conversations.
"Daddy, stop it, you're hurting me!"
"You're sorry? Now you're sorry!"
"Yes, and I bet he got an absolutely horrible feeling every time someone called him a freak…"
"You're sorry, huh, you little freak?"
"Got your name in it, freak"
"We're not all freaks like you."
"I'm talking, freak,"
"Freak? It's for you."
"You're not gonna hurt us again!"
"Hello, freak."
"I'm sorry Daddy, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it-"
"You. I'm laughing at you. It's so ironic. That poooor kid."
"Daddy!"
"Freak!"
Sally buried her face in her hands. She could see herself mouthing freak at him, and now she could remember every little detail about his reactions. Slight tightening of the knuckles. Roll of the eyes. She had never, ever seen him break his focus, his concentration. But the signs had all been there. Then she remembered his expression as he saw the picture of the father he had hated and feared for years. She had thought it was surprise. She realised now it was terror. He had actually been scared. All those times he had been surprised, scared, and he hadn't reacted at all. But he'd seen that picture and practically fainted. She wiped her eyes, and tried to concentrate.
There was a buzz in her pocket and she slipped her phone out.
Stop crying. I can't come over and talk to you if you're crying.
SH
She looked at her phone in confusion. She looked around, to see Sherlock waving pointedly at her through the window. He gesturing at her face, and she hurriedly relieved her face of all tears. Sherlock talked quickly and quietly to Lestrade for a moment, and Sally's phone buzzed again.
Thank you. That would have been embarrassing.
Her breathing quickened.
What do you want?
She saw Sherlock fish his phone out of his pocket, still talking to Lestrade. She waited for her phone, pretending to be typing on her computer. She quickly read his reply.
You to stop crying. It's embarrassing.
Her phone buzzed a second time, with a follow-on text.
There's a new lead. I think I know where he is. We can't take too many people. Might as well take familiar faces.
There was another buzz.
Believe me, I fought that decision tooth and nail.
Sally held her head in her hands, as Sherlock and John made their way over, Sherlock tucking his phone back into his inner pocket. John held back a bit, and Sherlock leant on her desk. She didn't raise her head.
Sherlock glanced at her. John exchanged confused looks with him. Sherlock shrugged, and poked her.
"Donovan, crying really doesn't suit you."
She squeezed her eyes together, trying not to let out tears. It wasn't working.
"Sally Donovan. Hello."
She couldn't bare it. She kept her head in her arms. Sherlock's voice changed in tone.
"Are you all right?" he asked in confusion. Her mind reeled. He actually sounded worried. Worried!
She heard him turn to Lestrade, "What's wrong with her? She isn't-" his voice was cut off as Lestrade guided him away. Sally looked up. He looked genuinely confused. She held her head in her hands.
"why would she care?" she faintly heard him ask - in bemusement. Genuine bemusement, she was sure of it. He genuinely had no idea why she would be distressed.
"Because," she heard Lestrade explain patiently, "she's feeling guilty."
"About what? It's not her fault. Why should she care?"
"Because she's a normal human being."
"Ahhh…" Sherlock said in mock understanding, "I get it now. Fair enough. Now what do I do?"
Sally stood up and walked quickly to the toilet. She could feel Sherlock's eyes following her. She locked herself in, and sat on the seat. She couldn't bear it.
Sherlock stood outside the toilet awkwardly. Lestrade made a shooing gesture at him, and he sighed, and knocked on the door. What was with her? She hated him, didn't she? Surely she shouldn't be sad about… things that had happened.
"Occupied!" he heard her call. He hesitated, and knocked again.
"Nope! I'm in here!"
He winced, and knocked a third time.
"I said I'm in here!" she cried as she wrenched open the door. She nearly screamed when she saw who it was.
Sherlock stood back, as if waiting for her to punch him.
"We're leaving now, and if you're coming, you're… going to have to… come." He concluded lamely. He grimaced uncomfortably, and turned on his heel. Anderson avoided his eye, and he shrugged.
"Are you sure they should be coming?" he asked Lestrade under his breath. Lestrade nodded.
"Yes, they should, trust me."
"I don't particularly want them coming. You will owe me big time. Huge time. You will owe me free passage to at least three crime scenes. At least."
The DI stood his ground. Sherlock pleaded and threatened, but found himself getting nowhere. Lestrade shook his head stubbornly. Sherlock harrumphed and snatched the detective's keys from him, "Then I'm driving. Deal?"
Lestrade rolled his eyes, and tried to snatch his keys back, but Sherlock held them over his head, grinning. "See, this is why I have short friends," he said to no-one in particular, "You're all so easy to torment."
Lestrade bounced back on his heels and shrugged, defeated, "Fine, deal. Drive."
Sherlock smirked for a second, then turned on his heel, "Let's go."
