Everything was silent for a moment. My heart didn't beat. My lungs didn't take in any air. My mouth refused to work, to proclaim the absurdity of the anagram, to tell Sherlock that he must have gotten it wrong. I sat in the corner of the booth unmoving and ready to explode with every emotion possible for a human to feel.
"Lucy?" Someone was touching my shoulder, but I couldn't tell who. Everything was much too numb. "Lucy!" The voice was more urgent this time. I wondered slowly who was trying to get me attention.
Someone started shaking my other shoulder, saying my name in harmony with the first person. Why were these two people trying to get my attention? Couldn't they see I was too far gone?
After what felt like an eternity my heart began to beat again, my lungs expanded to take in precious oxygen, and my mouth closed with resolve. Sam was looking my in the eyes worriedly. One of hands was on my shoulder; the other was on my face. I leaned into it unthinkingly. I couldn't help but be thankful for the comfort it gave. The Doctor's hand was on my other shoulder, not shaking it anymore. As I began to regain awareness, I noticed that everyone around the table was looking at me with concern.
My heart, stilled before, was now hammering in my chest. What did it mean? Why was the demon leaving me a message? Could it be referring to a different Lucy? I paused in my rapidly racing thoughts, to examine that last question. Logically, the message could be referring to anyone who shared my name on the planet. However, deep down in my bones, I knew the message was left for me.
The Doctor had removed his hand by now, and John had flagged down the closest waitress, asking for another cup of tea. Sam, however, continued to keep his hand on my face. While I appreciated the comfort, loved it really, I shook my head to clear the chaos inside it, making Sam withdraw his hands.
"That," I said after a moment, looking at Sherlock and Dean, "was absolutely brilliant."
"What?" Dean asked confused. Sherlock, however, responded with a gracious but curt, "Thank you."
The waitress brought over the cup of tea John had ordered. He thanked her and slid the tea across the table to me. I wrapped my hands around the white mug, letting them absorb the heat. It was soothing, and I began to relax again. After taking a sip, I saw Sherlock struggling to hold back a wave of questions.
"Go ahead Sherlock," I said, preparing for the onslaught.
"Do you know how you're tied into this?"
"Not any more than you do." That wasn't entirely true, but I really wasn't sure how I was tied into the murders. Until Sherlock had decoded the anagram, I hadn't known I was tied in at all.
"Did you witness the murder of Ally Johnson?"
"No."
"Have you been to the crime scene yet?"
"Not exactly," I replied, biting my bottom lip.
"Explain."
"Ally Johnson was killed in the house behind mine. There's a line of trees separating our yards, but I could see all the police lights as they came to investigate the scene from the front window."
"Who lives in that house?"
"No one, it's been empty for years."
"Do you know the person who lived there last?"
"It's been empty for as long as I can remember."
"We need to go there then." Sherlock went to get up, but John pulled his coat sleeve, making him sit back down.
"It's fine to go running off in the middle of a conversation when you're with me, but now we're working with four other people, all of whom are hungry. You're staying at this table until we've finished eating." There was no room for argument in John's statement. Sherlock gave in, sitting back down. John let go of Sherlock's sleeve, and I swore the detective looked disappointed.
"Here," I said, pulling my backpack out from under the table. "I told you, I'd give these back once we were in the diner."
I took out the folder with all the previous police reports and Sherlock's sparse notes. Handing the notes to him, I went back to sipping my tea. Sherlock wasn't content with having to stay in the diner, but he relented, leaning back into the booth's seat to examine facts he had overlooked before. John seemed grateful that he was actually going to get a meal.
"Are you okay?" The Doctor asked quietly.
"I think I'm doing pretty well, considering there's a demon on my tail." I laughed. Honestly, I was scared. It didn't matter that I could defend myself, if a demon was out to get me I was in trouble. For the first time, I acknowledged that I may actually need protecting.
The Doctor was going to ask me another question, but our food arrived before he could voice it. I turned my attention on the plate of Belgium waffles set in front of me. I wasn't really hungry anymore, the news had caused my stomach to twist into knots, but I had to eat to keep my strength for what I imagined would be long day.
"I think she's starting to take an interest in Dean," Sam said leaning forward. He gestured to the waitress with his head. I glanced up at her. The waitress was indeed paying more attention to Dean, but I noticed she fluttered her eyelashes at Sherlock.
"She's still hoping that Sherlock will pay attention to her. She keeps batting her eyelashes at him," I replied. He was absorbed in the files, oblivious to everything going on around him. Only one of his hands was holding the papers, though. I stretched my neck a fraction of an inch to see that Sherlock's other hand was resting on John's. I smiled to myself. The two of them were really incredibly adorable together. It was a shame that Castiel wasn't here. I'd love to see his interactions with Dean.
"You've got a point." Sam muttered.
"Do you think she's attractive?" I blurted out. I instantly regretted it, blushing furiously. I popped the collar on my jacket in an attempt to hide my cheeks.
"Yeah, she's pretty. Why?"
"Ahh.. I don't know the question just popped out," my heart dropped a little, but I couldn't pinpoint the reason. Changing the topic, I turned to John. "Thank you for the tea."
"Not a problem," he replied, before placing another piece of sausage in his mouth a bit awkwardly with his right hand. The corner of one of the slices of toast was missing, so I assumed, happily, that John had gotten Sherlock to eat at least a little.
I was finishing with my last bite when the waitress came around again to take our plates back to the kitchen. I realized that she was completely avoiding the Doctor's gaze and nodded jerkily when he spoke to her. I doubt Sam noticed it, because he began to taunt me about how I was only going to be leaving here with one sock. I told him to shut it.
Within the next few minutes everyone had finished their meals, and Sherlock had even eaten an entire slice of toast. The waitress came around once again to drop off the check. Everyone chipped in what they could, paying for each other's meals. In the end, Jennifer got quite a nice tip. Sherlock was up in a second, ready to rush off to the scene of the crime. The rest of us exited the booth at a more normal speed. As we were leaving I caught sight of Jennifer and walked over to her.
"Hey," I greeted. "I saw one you looking at one of my friends back there, but I couldn't tell which oneā¦"
Jennifer's cheeks flushed pink, quickly looking over at the group of fictional characters milling by the door, waiting for me. "The tall one," I barely contained an eye roll, all of them were tall, except for John, "with the leather jacket."
"Dean?" I replied taken aback. I was certain she was making lovey-dovey eyes at the Doctor.
"Do you think he would be interested?" She asked biting her lower lip.
"Probably."
"Here let me just jot down my number for you." She pulled out her pad for orders, ripped out a page, and wrote her number down quickly. Still blushing she handed the piece of paper to me, "there you go. Thank you!"
"No problem." I took her number, holding it gingerly. Looks like Sam won the bet.
I pivoted on my heel and walked back to the door. Seeing I was on my way, they all started to file out the door. Sam fell behind, wanting to know the result.
"She was interested in Dean, and gave me her number to hand over to him." I handed Sam the paper without looking at it. I pushed open the door, saying "Looks like you won both bets. So do I give you both of my socks now?"
Sam, who had been reading the number, started laughing. "No. I don't think so." He held out the piece of paper for me to read. "It says here: Sorry I didn't want to freak you out, but I'm not attracted to guys. Call me if you're interested!"
"Looks like I didn't win the bet either." Sam said glancing down at me.
"Guess we're switching socks, then." I responded, giggling.
We looked around the sidewalk, jogging to the closest bench. The rest of the group was a fair amount ahead of us by now, but we'd catch up in a moment. Sitting down, I took off my left converse shoe and pulled off my sock. Sam did the same, but with his right foot. We exchanged socks, quickly putting them back on along with our shoes.
Sam was laughing like a five year-old, and I wasn't any better. We ran to catch up with everyone else, slowing to a walk as we approached them.
"Sammy what took you so long?" Dean asked his brother.
"I was waiting for Lucy." He shrugged.
The Doctor, who had been walking nearest to Dean, looked at the two of us on the verge of tears from laughing. "Who won the bet?"
"We both lost. Jennifer told Lucy that she was interested in Dean, but then gave her number to Lucy."
"So she wasn't attracted to me?" Dean asked, faking a hurt expression.
"Apparently she doesn't swing that way." I responded to Dean.
"Are you going to call her?" Sam asked, turning to me.
"Probably not," I replied looking down at the number. "She's not really my type."
"What's your type then?" Sam asked, curiously.
"Fictional." I responded immediately. It was a joke between me and a few of my friends in high school. I never dated or paid attention to boys or girls, preferring to bury my head in a book or watch another episode from the television shows I always talked about. However, the second that word came out of my mouth I realized how strange that sounded with the current company I was holding. To keep from any awkward questioning, I hastily switched the subject. Posing the question to no one in particular I asked, "What are we going to do when we get back to the crime scene?"
"Look at everything the idiots, who call themselves police men, missed." Sherlock responded in a clipped tone.
"They're not the brightest bunch are they?" Dean joined in, smirking.
"Turn left here," I directed Dean.
"I know where your house is Lucy, you don't need to direct me."
"I'm not directing you, just reminding you." I replied sitting back into my seat. It had been a tight squeeze, but the six of us had managed to fit into the Impala. Sherlock, John, and the Doctor were all sitting in the back. The three grown men had left little room for me, so I found myself sitting in the front seat of the car between Sam and Dean. Dean didn't seem particularly pleased with the seating arrangements, but the only other option was to put me in the truck, which Sam had objected to immediately. I wasn't very keen on it either, so I was put up front, trying to stay out of Dean's way as much as I could.
Dean turned left, where I had directed him. The Impala rolled into the cal-de-sac, stopping in front of the abandoned house. The house stood on its own with no neighbors close enough to see through the dusty windows. The grass had been trimmed recently. One of the neighbors had probably done it. It was the sort of neighborhood where everyone was judged by the height of their lawn and the smudges on their windows. A house like this, foreclosed and unlived in for years, stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone tried to avoid it, until it grew into a problem. I had always enjoyed the house. I had snuck in through the back door, many a time to escape from the stress and depression my life at school often caused.
The first time I had gone in, I was fifteen. I thought I was old enough to make my own decisions, but my mother had disagreed. In an act of defiance, I had crept out of my bedroom window onto the roof. From there I had jumped onto the porch, which always sounded impressive when I retold the story. But in truth, the roof was only a few feet above one of the boxes on the deck. I had jumped onto that, hopped down onto the porch, and ran off it as fast as I could.
I was still mad at my mother, so I headed in the direction of the empty house. She had told me often not to go exploring there, saying it was too dangerous and I'd get hurt. What better way to get revenge on the woman? When I reached the house that first time, I found the back door unlocked once I had shimmied the knob a bit. I spent the next part of an hour inside the house, exploring the quiet rooms and dust covered furniture in the slanting evening sunlight. My mother's voice floated from our yard, calling for me. I had exited the house quickly and made myself look like I had been playing under the trees, as I sometimes did, by rolling around in a pile of pine needles and red-orange leaves. My mother had reprimanded me for getting so dirty, but she never found out where I had truly gone.
From that point on the house had been a place of retreat for me. I'd go there whenever I felt I couldn't handle my life anymore. As the years went on I would bring books and then my laptop. I read the beginning and the ending to Harry Potter in the rooms of that house. I had become a Superwholockian in that house. I had joined tumblr and spent many hours scrolling down its dashboard in that house.
Now my beloved escape was the scene of a murder. I feared that I would never feel at peace there again. Dean parked the car and shut off the engine, surrounding us in silence. He opened his door and emerged onto the street bathed in the afternoon light. Sherlock followed him quickly, opening his own door and climbing out of the car. The others got out in the back, but Sam didn't move. He was looking at Dean his face torn between guilt and agreement.
Dean ducked his face to look down at us, still sitting in the front. He blocked my path one way and Sam blocked it the other way. Why wouldn't they let me out?
"Lucy. The demon or whatever is in that house is hunting you. We can't let you go in." Dean said sternly, allowing no room for argument. "You need to stay safe until we know what's going on."
"Bullshit." I exclaimed, sliding over to the driver's seat of the car. I figured it would be easier to get past Dean than Sam from the sitting position I was currently in.
"He's got a point, Lucy." The Doctor agreed while he fiddled with his sonic screwdriver. "If the demon is after you, we should keep you away from the crime scene. I've lost too many companions doing reckless things like this."
"Plus, we need to get some research done. You and Sam can work on that while we investigate the house." Dean said, finishing up his argument.
"How am I supposed to investigate without any data or crime scene information?" I nearly screamed.
"Sammy always does a good job of it. He could teach you a few tricks." Dean shrugged.
John and Sherlock hadn't butted into the conversation yet. John's eyes kept flickering between Dean and me, trying to figure out which side to take. In the end, he looked up at Sherlock and decided to keep his opinion to himself. Sherlock seemed to think differently, "She'd be absolutely fine. Chances are she knows the place more than you do."
I have no idea how, but Sherlock had deduced that I had been here before. Dean, however, had no idea of my previous wanderings. "I doubt that Sherlock. I'm not going to argue any longer. Lucy isn't going and Sam is going to watch over her."
"I don't need to be protected Dean!" He ignored me, shutting the Impala's door in my face. The hunter gathered his bag of weapons from the truck. The car shook slightly as he slammed the hood. He continued without saying another word toward the house.
The rest of the group looked at my guiltily before following. Sherlock, who had been scribbling on to a page for the majority of argument, opened the driver's door to the Impala and handed me back the case files with his notes written in red ink. "I suggest you use these to conduct your research."
He shut the door quickly and, popping his coat collar up, strolled into the house after the others. His eyes were already darting around snatching at pieces of information normal minds missed and storing all the important bits in his mind palace.
"If I tried to make a run for the house right now what would you do?"
"I'd have to stop you," Sam admitted. "I'm sorry, Lucy. It's just too dangerous for you to go into that house. Hell, I think it's risky even having you outside the place."
I huffed in response. I didn't expect a different answer, but I had hoped that Sam would be on my side.
"Scoot over. You can have my seat, and I'll drive the car to your home."
"Whatever." I mumbled cradling the case notes to my chest. Sam looked dejected by my lack of enthusiasm, but I could hardly care. The most interesting adventure to happen in my life was going on, and I was missing out on it.
