*Sorry for the delay. This week isn't a good one for me on a personal level, but I'm still plugging along with the stories. I hope everyone is enjoying them. Please feel free to leave feedback. Things are going to start picking up shortly between Delilah and Sherlock. I should be posting the next chapter by the end of the week. Have a good rest of the week lovelies!*
A Day With Sherlock
"What do you mean they're dead?" My voice was soft and I was doing my best to control my emotions, but the machines I was hooked up to told a different story. Their beeping had grown shriller and more rapid. "I spoke to Olivia yesterday afternoon!"
"No," Agent Tomlin said sadly. "You spoke with Olivia almost five days ago. You've been unconscious since you were shot."
I felt the tears of anger stinging my eyes. "No, you're lying! Both of you! Get out!"
"Delilah, listen to us. Your father was onto something, something much larger than anything we've ever faced before. He was high in their ranks when his cover was blown. He was coming to collect both you and your sister, take you back to Ireland." The other agent, Agent Cormack, stated doing his best to keep me calm. "Can you remember anything from that night?"
"Well…I woke up and it was late. I hadn't been sleeping very well for some reason. I got up to go to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea when I heard what sounded like a gunshot. I went into my living room to look out the window. I saw flames and heard someone screaming two streets over…I thought it was the beginnings of a car fire, or maybe even a house fire. But…what you both are telling me is that my father was shot and my sister was burned alive?" I shook my head, leaning back against the pillow. "It can't be."
"Unfortunately, it is. Delilah, we have a proposition for you. We know that you're not feeling your best yet, but we wanted to give you time to think on it while you recover. If you wouldn't mind considering it, that is," Agent Tomlin sat down on the edge of the bed. "You have to know how much all of us loved working with your father. He was a good and honorable man."
"I know that. What's this proposition of yours?"
"We want to take you into the program, train you up enough to send you out in the field. Then we'll send you in to take your father's place. You can get revenge for your father and sister. You've nothing left to lose, right?"
I looked between Agent Tomlin and Agent Cormack. "I don't. But what if I don't want revenge? What if I want to disappear, cover my tracks, go home to Ireland and to my aunt and uncle?"
"Well, you can do that. But that's an awfully large hospital bill for you to be paying on your own. And that might be something that the government would be willing to cover. What do you say Delilah? Come join us, make your old man proud." Agent Cormack grinned at me and I felt a shudder run down my spine.
"I can't believe I'm considering this…but if it's for Olivia and Dad, I'll do it."
"I'll do it."
"What was that?"
I jerked upright, grabbing for the gun by the couch, finding the space empty. I cursed as I looked at Sherlock, holding the gun loosely in his hand. "John thought that I should let you sleep this morning. But we have much work that needs to be done and very little time to do it in." He handed my gun back to me. "Did you sleep well?"
"As well as I could I suppose," I mumbled, swinging my legs off the couch, standing up and stretching. "What time is it?"
"Quarter past eight. John made you a cup of tea on his way out. It should still be in the kitchen, although I doubt it's warm."
I folded the blankets, placing them on the back of the couch. I looked over my shoulder to see the vial still sitting on the coffee table where I'd placed it last night. I placed my gun next to it before I turned to Sherlock. "I…know we got off on the wrong foot, but I want to apologize."
Sherlock looked up at me, blinking a few times before saying, "Apologize for what?"
"For having to keep so many secrets."
"The way I see it, you are still a thief, even if you do work for the government. Which I'm still not sure of. I haven't had a chance to speak with Mycroft yet. I also haven't been able to check and see if the things you said were true or not. For all I know, you could be pulling mine and John's legs to get a place to stay and food in your stomach."
I felt my temper rising in my cheeks. "How dare you! I open up my heart and soul to you both and you throw it in my face. You're impossible!"
"Not impossible. Merely looking out for myself and John. Until I have hard, concrete evidence that you are on our side, I will believe you to be on the side of the criminals." Sherlock sat down on the couch, setting up his laptop. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to be looking over the documents. We'll be going to drop off the vial to Molly around ten thirty, so if you don't mind getting ready, I would appreciate it."
I bit my tongue to keep myself from shouting obscenities at the obstinate man. I couldn't understand how in the world John could tolerate such a toxic gentleman. Instead, I grabbed a handful of clothes from my pack and stormed to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, resting my head against the door. I could hear Sherlock typing away on the computer.
I set my clothes on the toilet before noticing the note taped to the mirror. I pulled it down, smiling as I read it. John had left me bandages, gauze, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol in the cabinet under the sink. I found it easily, setting it out so that I could clean my leg after I was done showering.
I undressed, turning the water on. I'd found out yesterday that the water took a while to warm up. As it did, I sat down on the edge of the tub, untying the gauze from around my leg. I winced at the sight. The gauze pad was covered in a greenish-yellow pus, the wound red and swollen. I'd have to ask John about antibiotics before I started feeling ill.
I stepped into the shower, dunking my head under the hot water. I watched the blood and pus circle the drain and I closed my eyes, feeling a slight wave of nausea wash over me. I could deal with other people's blood, but when it came down to my own, it made me feel ill.
Sherlock knocked on the door. "What in the world is taking you so long in there?"
I sighed, pulling back the curtain. "Sherlock. I am showering and we have two hours before we must meet your friend Molly. Let me have a moment's peace. Please."
He huffed, but I heard him walk away. I chalked this up as a small victory, but I felt that any victory was well-earned when it came to Sherlock. I washed my hair and my leg well before turning the water off. The towel was draped on the rack and I wrapped myself in it before sitting on the edge of the tub once more. I didn't want to look at my leg wound, but I knew that I had to if I was going to get it clean.
I retched. I couldn't help it. The sight was awful. I needed to do this though, as I couldn't walk around with it uncovered and I couldn't go without cleaning it. But I also knew that I wouldn't be able to handle cleaning it without getting sick, or worse, fainting. I bit my bottom lip before limping over to the bathroom door, unlocking it.
"Sherlock," I called, hearing nothing. "Sherlock, could you come here please?"
It was quiet as a graveyard in the flat and as I was getting ready to step out of the bathroom, his head popped around the corner. I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Jesus, Sherlock, you could have at least warned me where you were!"
"What do you want? Are you finally done with the bathroom?"
"I, erm, well this is a bit embarrassing, but I need help with cleaning my leg."
"Cleaning your leg?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "What do I look like, a nurse?"
"Never mind, I'll do it myself. Don't know why I even bothered to ask you." I went to close the door when Sherlock's hand stopped it. "What are you doing Sherlock?"
"Will it get you out of the flat sooner if I help you?"
I nodded. "I can't dress until the wound is cleaned."
The consulting detective sighed. "Fine. But this is the only time I'm doing this, understand?"
I opened the door, slightly relieved that he would help me. "Well, where would you like me to sit?"
"Edge of the tub. Do you have all the- ah, I see now. So this is what John was putting under the sink this morning. Well then, let's take a look, shall we?"
I sat down on the edge of the tub, turning my back to Sherlock as he sat down next to me. I twisted my leg so he could see the wound. Without warning, he used his fingers to open the wound, pouring the rubbing alcohol directly into it. I let out a howl of pain.
"How did you get this?" Sherlock questioned as I fought back tears.
"I was running from those gentleman whose briefcase this was. Managed to leap off of a roof, but the bullet grazed my calf as I leapt. I landed in a trash bin and ended up having to swim across the Thames to escape them and their dogs. More than likely, that's the reason why it's so infected."
Sherlock said nothing, only cleaning the wound again. This time I only whimpered, my hands clenched into fists. "Are you going to do that again?"
"No. But the wound is filled with pus. I'll call John, tell him that you need antibiotics. I'm surprised you can still walk."
"Well, when you get shot in the abdomen, all other pain tends to be mild to moderate," I replied, turning to see Sherlock wiping at the wound with a rag. "Sorry I needed help to do this. I've never been good with my own blood. Other people it's no problem, but my own and I feel queasy."
"Yes, well, as I said, this is the only time that I'm doing this for you." He began to wrap it. "I couldn't help but notice the scar on your inner thigh when you were standing in front of me and the towel shifted. How did you get that?"
I felt the blood rush to my face as I realized that Sherlock had seen much more than I had intended. He paused in his bandaging. "Well? Are you going to tell me or are you going to be embarrassed that you showed me your skin?"
"Why should I? You won't believe me anyway."
"Curiosity."
"Is that your answer for why you do everything?"
"My job requires that I be curious. If I don't want to investigate, to learn, to delve into someone's life and learn the how's and why's, then I am a very bad detective. And with you, you're new. You're something that I haven't seen, something that I haven't studied." I felt Sherlock tie the bandaging on. "You're all bandaged. Now, do you wish to tell me or should I go back to the documents?"
"I need to get dressed. I'll be ready in half an hour, then we'll head out."
I turned to look at Sherlock, surprised to see his eyes bright with curiosity. "I'll get the information out of you Delilah, one way or another."
He rose, exiting the bathroom. I also got to my feet, testing the weight on my leg, finding that the pain was there, but not unbearable. I quickly slipped into the black jeans and my bra before looking at myself in the mirror. I'd have to do something to hide my hair that was certain. I brushed it quickly, tying it up into a messy bun. I remembered the knit cap that I'd swiped yesterday. With that and the jacket I'd bought, I'd be able to disguise myself pretty decently on the streets.
I pulled the dark blue long-sleeved polo over my head before exiting the bathroom. Sherlock was still reading the documents when I entered the living room. He didn't even bother looking up at me as I shrugged into the jacket and tucked my hair under the cap. I tugged my trainers onto my feet, tying them quickly.
"Are you ready yet?" He asked me and I rolled my eyes, shaking my head.
"No, not at all. Thought I'd put my trainers on for no reason."
"No need to be snippy, I was only asking you a question. Rudeness doesn't look good on you."
I raised my eyebrow at him. "Since when do you care what looks good on me?"
"When I realized that I would be spending an entire day with you. At least try to look presentable."
"I'm not going to make myself stand out in public. Sorry I can't be more accommodating to your requests." I rose to my feet, careful not to put too much weight on my leg. "Are you ready?"
"I suppose if you're going to insist on looking like that."
"Not everyone can afford to be as stylish as you, Sherlock. Some of us would be shot with no questions asked in the middle of a street if they were spotted."
Sherlock didn't say a word and I grabbed the vial as he grabbed the memory stick. I tucked the vial into my shoe and the gun into the waistband of my jeans once more, making sure that the safety was on. The last thing I needed was to be shot in the ass. I covered it with my jacket and headed for the door. Sherlock followed close behind, locking it.
"Mrs. Hudson, we are leaving!" Sherlock called down the hall and Mrs. Hudson poked her head out.
"Will you both be back in time for tea?"
"Probably not Mrs. Hudson. If you hear anything strange upstairs, please call the police. And then call myself and John obviously."
"Alright dear. You and Delilah have a lovely time on your date. You both make a lovely couple." She closed the door before either of us could retort.
I only shook my head, leaving the house. I went to the curb, throwing my hand out for a cab. I managed to flag one down as Sherlock stepped next to me. The ride to Saint Bart's was quiet. The only reason I knew that that was where we were headed was because I'd actually paid attention when Sherlock spoke to the cab driver.
When we arrived, I followed Sherlock, limping behind him. We made it down to the morgue where I found a pretty woman in a lab coat standing at a computer screen. We both entered and she turned, a look of surprise on her face.
"Sherlock! I'm shocked to see you here. Have you come for a visit?" Her gaze turned to me and I immediately saw the suspicion and hurt in her eyes. "Oh? Who's this?"
"I'm Delilah. Delilah McKinley."
Her brown eyes lit up with recognition at my last name. "Wasn't your father Kyle McKinley?"
I froze. "How do you know my father?"
"I did the autopsy on his body. One day he was in my morgue, the next, poof, gone. It was as if someone didn't want me to look at the body." Molly seemed to realize that I was upset. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."
"You know who her father is?" Sherlock asked. I could hear the incredulity in his tone.
"Of course. He was one of the best undercover agents that England had in regard to terrorism. Who would have thought that an Irishman would be able to foil the plot to blow up Big Ben all on his own? A little hair dye didn't hurt anything of course."
My head was reeling and I could feel my legs wobbling underneath me. My father had saved London like that? And I hadn't ever known? "I…I need to sit down."
Sherlock grabbed a chair, placing it behind me. As he did so, he was leaning down, removing the vial from my shoe. I placed my head in my hands, focusing on my breathing, trying to get myself to calm down. But how could I when my mind was racing a mile a minute? My father, saving all of those people. He'd told my sister Olivia and I about missions, but nothing about saving a historic monument. And the agency had told me that his body had been cremated. Then again, it wasn't surprising given how things had happened.
My head was spinning and I felt that familiar tightness in my chest. A hand appeared in front of my face, a red inhaler with a white cap on it. I took it, looking up at Sherlock gratefully before taking a dose of the medicine, feeling the tightness dissipate.
"I need you to stay conscious long enough to tell Molly what exactly it is that we found, as you were the one to talk to Mr. Alling last night."
"First off, be careful with that vial," I warned. "Secondly, that vial is very important and there will more than likely be people searching for it, although they'll be looking in the wrong place so long as we weren't followed. Thirdly, that vial contains bubonic plague, measles, and ebola."
Molly nearly dropped the vial, face turning pale. Sherlock and I both lunged forward to catch it, but she managed to regain her grip, placing it on the work table. "S-say again?"
"That vial has some of the deadliest diseases known to human-kind. And the group that we're trying to stop is hell bent on turning that into a vapor to pump into the air vents of some building. I'm not certain where that is. But, should that happen, everyone will die and London will become a cesspool of some of the deadliest viruses and bacteria." I turned to look at Sherlock. "Am I missing anything?"
"Well, there is the fact that they said that there would be multiple different cocktails. That is only a sample I'm afraid."
"And what exactly do you expect me to do with this? We should be taking this to the military and the government. Take it to the group that your father worked for!"
I shook my head. "Unfortunately, that group no longer exists."
"Why is that? The government wouldn't get rid of something like that."
Sherlock looked at me, realization blooming on his face. "They're the ones behind this plan. It's genius. Why would the government believe anyone who said that the group that was meant to be protecting them from terrorists were actually the terrorists? That's how they have access to so much of the technology they need. That's how you knew them. That's how you acquired the information. You were with them."
"They convinced me to join them, said that I would be getting revenge for my father and sister's death. But now I realize that it was a way for them to keep tabs on me as they'd failed in killing me. They obviously still do their jobs as they can't let anyone catch on, but they use the groups they stop to recruit new members. After nearly two years of investigating, I realized that my father's cover hadn't been blown, it was that he had caught on and they discovered that he knew."
I looked down at my hands. "I was a fool and I know it. But I'm trying to make the situation right. When I found out who they were and what they'd done, I fled. It's why I began to live on the streets two years ago. I couldn't put a flat in my name, couldn't get a job anywhere. As you said, Sherlock, this isn't Ireland. Then, one night, I managed to stumble on one of them. I fought him, not realizing that he was going to a meeting. I stole the memory stick and the documents and ran. They came after me and I spent three days avoiding them until I wound up on your doorstep."
"We'll see how true your story is," Sherlock murmured and I shot him a glare.
"Why in the hell would I make that up?" I stood up from the chair, arms crossed in front of my chest. "Are you really implying that I would be so terrible a person?"
"It's either you've lied to us since day one or you're lying to us now. You cannot claim to be a simple thief and then claim to be an agent for an elite task force against terrorism. That's not how this works. You are either one or the other."
"I stole to survive!" I shouted, feeling all of the rage that I'd been holding back flooding out now. "I did what I had to do! I lied to save my life, I stole so that I would have warm clothes, food to eat. I've slept under bridges, in dumpsters. I've been jumped on those streets and I've nearly been raped. All because my father, sister, and I wanted to do the right thing. If you can't believe that then you can go and fuck off Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
I stormed out of the lab, limping quickly down the hallway of the morgue. I got out onto the street, not caring where I headed, only that I wanted to get as far away from Sherlock as I possibly could. I didn't care that it was pouring down rain or that my leg was aching. I wanted nothing to do with that impossible man so long as I lived.
I missed my family. I missed the simpler times. I missed my flat that I'd had, how proud my father had been that I'd gotten my own place. But most of all I missed being loved and I missed being at peace with myself and the world around me. My life had been in turmoil for four years now. I didn't realize where I was going until I was nearly there. It was my favorite chip shop, one that my father had taken me to once a month after we'd finished sparring or target practice. I hadn't been to the place since before my father had died. It had been one of the last places I'd seen my father alive.
"Delilah, get in the cab." I froze when I heard that impatient drawl.
"What do you want Sherlock?"
"I spoke with John and he...well, he's not happy about what happened, said that I needed to apologize." He looked at me and I knew that an apology would never happen. "Will you please get in the cab? My meter's still running."
I sighed. "Only if you promise not to say a single word on the ride back."
"Get in."
I rolled my eyes, knowing that arguing was going to be pointless. I opened the door, sliding in next to Sherlock. "Are we going back to Saint Bart's or to 221B?"
"The flat. There are some things that I still need to research."
The trip back was blessedly quiet. I kept my forehead pressed against the cool glass. I wasn't feeling well at all, but it was more than likely stress. We made it back to the flat and I exited the cab as Sherlock paid the driver. Instead of going upstairs, I decided to see Mrs. Hudson. I knocked on her door and she opened it, a look of surprise on her face.
"Delilah! What happened?"
"I got caught out in the rain Mrs. Hudson. I was hoping that maybe we could chat for a bit? I need a break from Sherlock."
Mrs. Hudson frowned. "I love that boy, but he can be a bit hard to deal with sometimes. Sit down at the kitchen table dear. I'll grab you a towel and then I'll make you some tea."
I took the hat off of my head, placing it in my lap. I was doing my best to not drip all over her floor, but it looked as if I was failing miserably. Mrs. Hudson came back with three towels. I took them from her, placing one on the floor, one on the seat of the chair, and then I wrapped the last one around my shoulders. The cold was finally starting to kick in and I began to shiver.
The tea was done about ten minutes later and I took a large gulp, not caring that it burnt my tongue and scalded the back of my throat. Mrs. Hudson watched me and I offered her a smile. "Thank you so much. I truly appreciate it."
"No problem dear. What happened? I don't mean to pry, but I've known Sherlock for a few years and, while he has difficult days, he has a heart of gold."
"Well...we're working on a case and I have a bit of a checkered past. He keeps throwing it back in my face." I sighed, taking another gulp of tea. "I know how he can see what I've done as wrong, but I'm not a bad person."
"Of course you're not. Do you think that I would let someone bad into my flat and give them a towel to dry themselves off or a cup of tea? Sherlock, he's a different boy. He's special. He sees things in black and white, where you and I can see things in shades of grey. It will take time for him to come and trust you and to see you as the white instead of as the black area. But he will, I can feel it." She smiled, patting my hand. "I was being quite serious when I said that I hope you both had a lovely date. You look wonderful together."
I forced myself to smile, not really wanting to think of myself and Sherlock together. "You're too kind Mrs. Hudson."
We chatted for another hour. I had heard Sherlock moving around upstairs from time to time and each time I did, I glanced up at the ceiling. I finally rose from the table, wincing at the pain that shot up through my leg.
"Well Mrs. Hudson, I should probably go and help Sherlock with deciphering the document. I'll stop down either tomorrow or the day after and we'll have some tea. Maybe if I can convince John to go down to the store, I can bake you a cake to thank you for your kindness."
"No need to Delilah. I'd do it for any good person." She gave me a quick hug and I was happily surprised by the embrace. "Don't be a stranger. And don't let Sherlock get to you. I know how he can be."
"Thank you again," I said, waving to her as I left her flat. I heard her lock the door behind me and I began the slow ascent up the stairs.
I knocked on the door to the flat. "Sherlock, if you wouldn't mind opening the door I'd appreciate it. Please, I'm cold and I need to change my clothes."
He unlocked the door, opening it without a word. I limped in, going to make a beeline for the bathroom when I caught the screen of his laptop on the desk out of the corner of my eye. I froze, feeling as if I'd been punched in the gut and my heart was shattering into hundreds of pieces. My father and sister's faces were plastered all over the screen, the last photo we'd taken together, the photos from the morgue, even a news article.
I felt my entire world crumbling around me as I began to collapse. I tried to stop myself from fainting, but the entire world went dark quickly. The last thing that I remember was the feeling of someone catching me.
"Sherlock, what in the bloody hell happened?" John's voice sounded far away, as if echoing down a long tunnel.
"She came up here, saw what was on the laptop screen, and fainted. She has been unconscious for almost an hour now." Sherlock paused and I could feel John's hand on my wrist, taking my pulse. "I did some research while she was downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. She was telling the truth about everything."
"Which I never doubted for a second. Sherlock, you have to start trusting other people's instincts as well as your own. We're not as stupid as you seem to think we are."
I forced my eyes to open, looking around, seeing blurry shapes. John's face appeared mere inches from mine and I winced away. "What happened?"
"You're sick, Delilah. I told you to stay off that leg." The stethoscope was pressed to my chest even as he listened to my heartbeat and breath sounds. "How is the pain? Scale of one to ten?"
"About a two."
"How about if you were a normal, not stubborn human being?" John shoved a thermometer under my tongue even as I looked at Sherlock standing at the window, looking out onto the streets.
I held up four fingers and John nodded. The thermometer began beeping and he shook his head. "You're confined to this couch, doctor's orders. You're running a fever of 39.5 and your leg is worse than it was yesterday. No running around, no working on the case, no nothing until that leg of yours is better."
I sighed. "I can't argue with doctor's orders I suppose. So what do we do?"
John handed me a pill. "Take this. It's an antibiotic, one of the strongest ones you can get. It may make you sick and you'll need to drink a full cup of water before you take it, but you should hopefully be right as rain by the end of the week."
"Sherlock," I said, watching as the man turned to look at me. "What did you find by researching my father?"
"That you were telling the truth." He turned back to the window. "John, don't worry about taking the next week off. I'll stay here and care for her."
Both John and I looked at him as if he were insane. John seemed to hesitate before he asked, "Are you certain Sherlock? She'll need help moving around the flat and she'll have to be brought her food."
"It's fine…we can get to know each other in that time. I'll give her my old phone as well so that she can stay in contact with you and I throughout the day."
I was flabbergasted. What had brought about this change of heart? John asked the very thing I was thinking and Sherlock only sighed. I could see his reflection in the dark, raindrop coated window. I could make out the irritation and frustration, but there was something else there, something that he was trying to keep hidden. If I weren't mistaken, it was a mixture of confusion and something else. Kindness? Regret? I'd never know, because when he turned to look at me, it was with that same aloof stare.
"I will take care of her. She will be of aid to us in the case and I trust her enough to let her stay here and help. I believe her."
I let my head fall back onto the pillows. After two days of fighting with this man, he was finally agreeing with me that perhaps I wasn't such a horrible person.
Thank God.
