Hunted Detective ΙΙ
The Meeting at Speedy's Café
Dear Journal,
I've escaped the manor, but I don't know how much longer I can run. My feet feel like jelly and the ache in my head hurts horribly. Oh, Doctor, please be there. Please don't let me down.
-SH
The cool silent night in London was as peaceful as the sound of a cooing mourning dove. The wind was soft and warm to the touch like a gentle kiss and the sunset glittered with purples and fine oranges. Most people would stop and stare at the beautiful sight, but Sherlock Holmes wasn't most people and he certainly couldn't stop with a Slitheen chasing after him.
The Café was doing well tonight. It wasn't packed, but at least they had a few costumers tonight. Everyone was eating their dinner peacefully when the doors burst open, sending harsh wind through the café. Sherlock collapsed to the floor, breathing heavier than he had ever done in his life. People glared at him over their menu's and the owner stepped over to his side.
"Boy, this isn't some playground. You better get yourself back-"Sherlock clutched his long skinny fingers around the man's coat caller.
"Please, I need The Doctor! Where is he?!" he cried. The owner of the café frowned at Sherlock, glancing worriedly at his other customers, who were all watching the terrified teenager. Bruising was visible all over the teenagers body and blood was slowly dripping from the side of his head, but the strange angle his ankle was twisted is what made his gut twist. Child services were going to get a phone call tonight for sure.
"You better come with me, Son," the owner stated, grabbing Sherlock's wrist a little too tightly. The child pulled away, shouting for The Doctor with all his might. No, this can't be. He was right on time! Where was he? Had he deserted him too now just like everyone else?!
"I'm here, Sherlock," said a familiar voice from behind. Sherlock looked up to see a man in a bow tie and dark coat walk over from his chair in the corner of the cafe.
"Doctor!" Sherlock gasped, flinging himself into the man's arms. The Doctor caught him, holding the child tightly in his grip. His hands gently rubbed circles into the teen's back in attempt to calm him, but Sherlock only kept trembling. He had no strength left to keep up his mask and hide his emotions. That jump from the window had not only busted his ankle, but also wore him to the point of exhaustion. The Doctor glanced around the café, realizing that all eyes were on him. They had to get out of here and fast. He made his way towards the door, holding Sherlock's face into his shoulder.
"Hey, stop!" the owner of Speedy's shouted, reaching a hand out. The Doctor turned, smiling gently at the owner of the café. Humans; they all are so protective of children even when the child isn't their own. "Who are you?" the owner asked.
"I'm the Doctor," the madman stated before disappearing from the café. Sherlock looked up from The Doctor's shoulder as the madman ran down the alleyway behind the café to the safety of his blue box. On entering they found themselves running into a girl with brown hair and a cup of tea in her hands. All three of them toppled over, landing on the floor of the TARDIS. Sherlock looked up from the floor, staring blurry eyed at the girl now hovering over him. Her blouse was stained with tea, but her attention was focused on him.
"Is this Sherlock when he was…" She trailed off when The Doctor nodded and slowly reached out towards the boy. Sherlock looked up at her with big frightened blue, and the girl smiled. "Hello, Sherlock, my name is Clara Oswald," she said kindly. Sherlock looked her over. Unlike The Doctor she was simple to read. She works as a governess, makes soufflés, lost someone she loved long ago…it's a never ending story. Still, her eyes are honest and trustworthy. She didn't look at him like he was some freak like most people did. Clara held her hands out again and this time Sherlock let her scoop him into her. He buried his face into her shoulder, breathing in the faint smell of flour and other baking ingredients. He didn't know why he felt like he could trust her. It was like something tied the two of them together somehow. She ran her fingers through his curls, trying to calm his shivering body. He swore to himself. He couldn't stop shaking, the image of his dying butler and maid still playing over and over through his mind like a tape recorder.
"Doctor, he's bleeding!" Clara gasped, pulling her now red fingers from Sherlock's hair. Her eyes scanned the rest of him, falling on the boy's broken ankle. Her eyes widened, mouth falling to the floor. Sherlock looked up at the two, swaying in Clara's arms. "What happened to him?" The Doctor took him from Clara, carrying the boy down the hall to one of the guest bedrooms.
"S…Slitheen," Sherlock gasped, trying to stay awake. Clara and the Doctor's eyes widen in surprise.
"So…it's begun," The Doctor hissed, racing out of the bedroom and leaving Clara to care for the teenager.
Dear Journal,
I found The Doctor and a girl named Clara. I don't understand why, but I feel like I can trust her. Maybe even more than I can trust The Doctor. The madman is younger than the first time I met him years ago, but I'm too tired to try and find the answers. Everything is swirling. I don't think I can stay awake any longer.
-SH