Author's Note: Once again, I'm apologizing for the time it is taking for me to upload new chapters. As it is getting closer to the end of school, things have gotten very busy. Thank you for those who have stuck around. Your love and encouragement is always on my mind :D
She was drowning in salty tears and the pain of her heart trying to rip itself out through her throat. Her screams echoed off of the white walls, slamming back into her head, only stopping when she absolutely had to take in a breathe. Odella couldn't see through the agony, could barely feel the metal door under her hands as she pounded on it, her bones aching from continuously slamming against the cold surface.
The wounds on her hand reopened, her blood staining the grey metal and then trailing down the door when she couldn't stand any longer and slid to the floor, her wails tearing through her throat.
Dragging herself across the room, Odella made it to the window just as the tall, dark headed man ducked into a van, wiping his wet face with his sleeve. She pressed herself against the glass, her sobs fogging it up as she yelled his name. Whatever was left inside of Odella shattered while she watched the car pull away.
Blind with pain and fury, she turned away from the window, stumbling to anything she could reach. She over turned things and threw them against the wall until everything was in shambles.
Never had she wanted to die so badly than she did now. She fell, giving up, and let her head bounce against the tiled floor, a small feeling of satisfaction at the jarring physical pain. Lifting her head, she did it again, her insides numb.
Odella heard the door open and footsteps but she kept creating the dull smacking sound of her skull against the floor until she felt hands on her. Shrieking, she dug her fingernails into warm flesh, uncaring of who it was and thrashed out of the nurses' grasps. Odella felt her elbow connect with a gut just as something was poked through the skin of her arm.
Her movements slowed and her knees buckled, her body landing into the awaiting arms of a large man in scrubs who scooped her up like the rag doll her limbs imitated and gently shushed her quieting wails.
The last thing Odella remembered was whimpering at the unfamiliar blue eyes, the pieces of her heart twisting in response to the color nonetheless. She never wanted to see blue eyes again.
"John, I'm coming home." Sherlock was doubled over himself in the car seat, the phone shaking in his hand as he held it against his ear.
"What's happened?" John had never heard Sherlock's voice crack in pain like this.
"I- I can't, John. I'm coming home." He swallowed the bile in his throat, hanging up.
He closed his eyes but his nausea increased when the image of Odella screaming his name through the window as he watched her destroyed face grow smaller in the rear view mirror was replayed behind his lids.
"Pull over." Sherlock had the car door open before the driver had made a complete stop. Stumbling out, he made it to the grassy ditch before his stomach hurled itself into his mouth and bitter acid was heaved past his lips. Even when he had nothing else to remove from his stomach, he continued to retch.
His head pounding, Sherlock finally stopped choking, finding himself on his hands and knees in the grass. Hanging his head for a moment, he gathered his remaining composure, taking deep breathes and fighting against the sobs that wanted to erupt from his throat.
Spitting one last time, he stood and made his way back to the car, slamming the door behind him and pulling out a packet of cigarettes he had put in his coat pocket the day the three of them left Baker Street.
The driver looked at him through the rear view mirror, pointedly glaring as Sherlock lit the first cigarette.
"Drive, dammit." Sherlock let the smoke curl out around his threatening tone, his eyes flashing murder.
John stared at his phone for a minute before dialing the only other person who may know what is going on. He cursed when he got Mycroft's voice mail.
"It's John. Something is going on with Odella; Sherlock just called me to say he was on his way home and he didn't sound good. I was hoping you would know. Just give me a call back as soon as possible. Please." John added the last word as an after thought, more focused on trying not to scream into the speaker in worry and frustration.
He hung up and was just about to dial the psychiatric ward when the phone began vibrating in his hand. Mycroft's name was displayed on the screen.
"Hello?" John was surprised at how fast he had called back.
"Hello, John. I suspect you are wondering what has transpired down at Butterfield. I have just talked to Dr. Matthews and she has told me that she requested Sherlock's departure. She is convinced that by completely isolating Odella from any sort of reminders of why she is there, Odella will be able to recover quickly. So far, they have had to sedate her after she caused herself a minor concussion and lashed out at a few orderlies. But the day is young; perhaps this truly will help her." Mycroft did not seem particularly pleased about the turn of events.
"...I don't really know how to respond to any of that. Thank you for calling me back..." John's voice was distant.
"You're welcome. And John: call me if you or Sherlock need anything, even if it is just for an update. I will try to talk Dr. Matthews into permitting you to phone Butterfield personally instead of going through me but it may not do any good. Goodbye, John. Look after my brother and yourself."
John still had the phone held to his ear long after it had gone silent.
Odella woke to find she couldn't move her arms or legs. She attempted to move but her limbs felt sluggish and weighted down. Her heart rate picked up slightly but even then it was a slow drawn out sound in her ears.
Letting her head roll to the side, Odella squinted at the woman sitting next to her. Dr. Matthews was watching her with a tense expression.
Looking around her, she tugged at her limbs again, only to realized she was strapped down to her bed. And then she remembered.
Sherlock was gone. She was all alone. Again.
She felt the hot tears roll down her temples into her hair as the ceiling above her blurred.
She hated him. She hated John. She hated everyone who had ever left her.
"Odella. I need you to know that Mr. Holmes did not leave on his own accord; I made him. And he was just as broken up about it as you are now." Dr. Matthew's voice was soft but firm.
"Why? Why did you make him leave me?" Odella had meant for there to be menace behind her question but there was only sorrow.
"You need to realize that you do not need anyone to lean on. You can do this on your own. You are strong enough."
Odella just shook her head and made to wipe away her tears but couldn't.
"Why am I strapped down?" She tried not to wail as she asked.
Dr. Matthews thinned her lips. "You became...distraught. So much so that you turned destructive." Odella turned her head and finally noticed the room. Chairs were strewn on their sides, dark red prints were smeared down the window, and her head made a point to pound as she tried to recall her actions through a haze of grief.
Her face became pained. "I...I didn't hurt anyone, did I?" She briefly recalled lashing out at restraining arms.
"Nothing my staff can't handle."
"That's not the point, though. Is it?" Odella sighed but it sounded more like a sob.
"Odella. You need to realize that you are out of control. You may not be at this precise moment but from what I've seen, you're a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. Luckily, others saw that too, and so you are here. As soon as you are willing to accept your current mental instability, we can begin. But if you continue on the path you are on now, you and your child may be at risk."
Odella sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She had forgotten there was a tiny little life growing inside of her. How could she be so selfish?
"Just tell me what to do. Please."
"Jesus, Sherlock. You smell like a freight train. What did you do, smoke a whole pack of cigarettes?!" John could practically see the nicotine filled smoke roll of the man as he staggered through the door.
"Where did you put them?" Sherlock ignored John's question and began rummaging through desk drawers.
"Put what, Sherlock? Just calm down." John could see Sherlock's hands shake when he lifted papers to look under.
"The cigarettes, John. The cigarettes. You must have moved them somewhere; they aren't where I left them." He straightened up and looked at John accusingly, his hair in disarray and his pupils blown wide.
"Even if I had moved them, I wouldn't tell you. You've had enough. Now, sit down." John spoke calmly, trying to coax Sherlock into settle down.
"I refuse to do anything without a cigarette. All I need is one." Sherlock made towards the kitchen but John grabbed his arm.
"Sit. Down." He used the voice Sherlock really had no choice but to listen to. "Now, tell me what happened."
"Could I...I'd like to apologize to the nurses and orderlies. If that's all right." Odella twisted her hands in her lap.
Dr. Matthews watched her fidget in the chair opposite her own before she reached over and placed a hand on Odella's arm. "That is more than all right."
Odella's lips flinched up into a small smile but it was just a fleeting movement.
Standing, Dr. Matthews walked into the hallway and motioned for the nurse at the closest desk. Giving her a few names she waited until the nurse nodded before she returned to Odella's room.
"Would you like to do this one by one or altogether?" She held her clipboard to her chest as she watched Odella chew the inside of her cheek thoughtfully.
"Well, it depends on how many I have to apologize to." She let the leg she had been sitting on fall to the floor.
"Four. Roughly." Odella flinched a little in shame.
"Altogether then."
"Odella, there is no reason to feel too guilty. My staff knew what they were signing up for when they took this job. Besides, you weren't in the right state of mind. Not that I'm making excuses for you, but there is no need to be so hard on yourself. This is progress, really."
"What was your childhood like, Odella?"
The younger woman frowned in thought. "Ever since I can remember, it was unpleasant. My father always seemed to reek of alcohol and my mother was always tiptoeing around him. Every night when he came home from work, the screaming started. It was over little things like whether or not my mother had moved something of his to a different place, nothing that mattered. I can remember him grabbing her so hard that he would leave purple marks, only getting angrier the more my mother cried and apologized for whatever she was accused of doing."
Odella looked out the window, pausing before continuing. "Pretty soon, it would escalate from there, usually ending with my father hitting her or shoving her into something. For years, all I could do was huddle in the dark hallway, the hate for that man who helped create me eating me up. It wasn't until I was about seven that I couldn't stand it anymore."
Her once dry eyes were swimming now, this being the first time she had talked about this.
"Take your time." Dr. Matthews passed over tissues and refilled Odella's tea cup with more herbal tea.
"My father came home late that night and Mom had spent all day with me; I was home schooled then. I had tried public schools but I wasn't a normal child- quite violent, actually- and was quickly taken out of the system. I think it was more out of my father's selfishness than for my own well-being. He was probably too much of a coward to allow his daughter to accidentally draw attention to herself and her home life." Odella sipped her tea, pulling her legs up into the chair to place her chin on her knees.
"Mom had spent so much time trying to get me to understand some lesson I was having difficulty with that she had forgotten to move the basket of unfolded laundry out of my father's chair. I don't think I could ever understand why something as small as that could make someone so furious. He started yelling, calling my mother a number of names, like lazy and unappreciative. I was already frustrated with not being able to understand what Mom was trying to teach me and I burst. All I can really remember was that I threw my calculator at him just as he was about to draw back to hit Mom. It was a reflex, really. Everyone went still for a minute before Mom started apologizing and trying to distract him from my physical challenge. She was shoved aside and he stalked towards me and grabbed me so hard I thought my arm was going to snap in two."
Dr. Matthews noted Odella absentmindedly rubbed her upper arm before she caught herself and placed her hands back in her lap.
"I wasn't even sure what he was yelling in my face. All I knew was that it made my blood boil. I could smell the beer on his breath and cigarettes. I hated it. I hated everything about that man. He sure wasn't happy when I told him so. That was the first night he hit me."
She dipped her pointer finger in her tea cup and swirled the liquid around. Cocking her head, she made eye contact with Dr. Matthews, "I don't regret getting hit. I would rather it have been me than my mother. It seemed as if my father was only capable of one good slap or punch, and every time I saw it aimed at Mom, I quickly stepped in. It was an impulse and I know it hurt Mom to see me take blows that were meant for her. But it was the only thing I knew to do to help her. She didn't deserve pain."
"And you did?" Dr. Matthews was surprised to find this young woman such a martyr.
"Sometimes, yes. I hated him so much I would purposely do things just to piss him off. I knew how to get under his skin like no other and I used that to my advantage. He had made my mother's life a living hell, so I in turn made his just the same. He would get so mad that he would drink half a case of beer a night sometimes and pass out on the couch. Every time I saw him drooling onto the couch cushions I had the urge to drive something- anything- into his heart. I was just a child. No child should have those thought, especially towards the man that was supposed to care for you."
It was days after Sherlock had come home that he finally seemed to come out of whatever shock he was in. It was the same shock that John had experienced after hearing Odella's threat as he stormed out of Butterfield. But he had left on his own accord, Sherlock was forced.
Neither of them spoke to each other, lost in their own thoughts. Occasionally, one would find the other gazing at the spot on the couch Odella would have usually been curled up in or pause in the middle of the room and look around in confusion at the lack of the woman. John would make tea and realize he had made three mugs instead of just two. Sherlock would have a highly intelligent comment but would look around and see there was no one to share it with. The detective would barely drink his own tea, let alone the third mug and John wouldn't find random scientific observations interesting. It was awful. How had they lived before?
John slept fitfully every night, rolling all over the bed restlessly, only getting comfortable when he would find a small patch of fabric that smelt of lavender. Sherlock just didn't sleep. He would pace but never get anywhere; tune his violin but never play; open the laptop but never type. They were lethargic.
Mrs. Hudson would climb the stairs occasionally and cluck disapprovingly, straightening the flat around them. They let her, either because they weren't aware of her presence or because they just didn't care.
"You mentioned that your mother passed when you were young." Dr. Matthews looked up from the chessboard. She had recently discovered that if Odella had something to exercise her mind, she was more open.
"Mm. It was probably two years after I asserted myself as her human body shield." Odella sighed and dropped her hand from where it was poised above a chess piece. Tilting her head, she studying the board. "I was back in public school for a few weeks by then. I remember as I got on the bus, I could still hear my father screaming at Mom. I don't even know what it was about."
She plucked up a pawn and set it down on a black square. "I don't know if I really had a bad feeling about leaving Mom alone or if that's just how my brain chooses to recall it but I went through the whole day feeling like I was waiting for something to happen. And when I got home, my father was sitting in his chair with empty cans scattered around him. He didn't even look up from the television when he he told me Mom had had an accident." Odella crossed her legs underneath her and, even though it was her turn, just sat back and closed her eyes.
"Odella, don't fight any emotions you are feeling. That's why you're here and that's why I'm here." Dr Matthews clasped her hands in her lap, softening as she saw Odella's eyelids quiver to let a tear pass through.
"I...I could see her arm sticking out at an odd angle from where I was standing in the living room. It felt as if my stomach hit the floor, my heart right behind it." She wiped the wet trail on her cheek. "Everyone thinks that they would have ran to their mother's side but it seemed as if I could barely move. When I reached her, she was crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, blood matted in her hair." A sob quietly broke past her lips.
Taking a deep breath, she continued, "It must have just happened; her body was still warm. She still felt alive when I threw myself on her, trying to make her wake up. I remember just screaming. I screamed and screamed until I couldn't breathe. By then, my father had yanked me off of the floor and was shaking me, trying to settle me down."
Odella accepted the tissues offered to her, her face now streaked with rivulets of salt water.
"He told me it was an accident. That she fell. But we both knew that I knew what really happened. I didn't think I could hate him any more than I did. Turned out that I was barely even aware of how much hate I was capable of."
She blew her nose and set her feet on the floor, bracing her elbows on her knees and putting her forehead against her clasped hands.
"The paramedics came after my father straightened his story out. I was numb for a very long time after that. Roughly ten years, give or take. I shut off emotions and put every ounce into breaking the man I lived with. I could have very well just turned him in, but it wouldn't have satisfied me. Not the way that watching him watch me with fear in his eyes or how he only slept when I was gone satisfied me."
"You have revenge issues. It's natural. But revenge isn't everything; by exacting your revenge on your father, you dug yourself farther into this dark pit. It isn't healthy to harbor all of that for so long."
Odella shrugged. "It's just who I am. I can't change it. Besides, he deserved it, that damn bastard."
Dr Matthews sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I know you can't change who you are but you need to learn yo manage the...darker tendencies that come along with the wonderful other elements of your personality."
"You're right. I think it will be much easier to control my revenge streak from now on." Dr. Matthews didn't miss the complete sincerity and was perplexed at the ease in Odella's smile.
Odella watched the pastures fly by as she stared out the window of the ward's car. She rubbed her small tummy and sighed, missing John and Sherlock so much it seemed to make her morning nausea worse.
Today was her first ultrasound and it made her want to burst into hysterics that the two men she loved with her whole being couldn't be by her side. Blinking away tears, she got out of the car and walked beside one of Butterfield's accompanying nurses into the clinic.
Sherlock was talking lowly into his cell phone as if John couldn't hear him from his position on the couch. He had taken to sleeping there during the day, feeling like a love sick teenage girl when he didn't even want to get up because he missed the fiery woman that once lounged in this very spot in various forms of undress so much.
Sherlock was moody, scowling at everything and everyone until he finally gave in himself and gazed at nothing in particular, a sad smile appearing for seconds at a time.
"I need something more than just this regular report, Mycroft. I need to know what is going on in that hellacious place and I need to know now." He was scrunched in his chair, his great coat pooling off the seat. He had put it on two days ago to go out for something or another and hadn't seemed to realize he still had it on.
In fact, looking down, John noticed that he hadn't changed his clothing from the last couple of days. He frowned, thinking how odd it was that neither of them seemed to be in control of their regular thought patterns.
Sherlock growled from across the room, breaking John out of his thoughts. "That woman is driving me insane!"
John couldn't be sure if he was talking about Odella- whom they both had come to an unspoken agreement not to say her name- or the head doctor at Butterfield. Either way, John nodded, fully agreeing.
Odella bit her lip as the doctor squirted the warm gel on her stomach. He smiled when he noticed how nervous she was. "Is this your first?"
Odella nodded, squeezing the nurse's hand in her own. She too, smiled at Odella, as she returned the gesture.
"Okay, here we go." The doctor placed the device into the pile of gel and spread it while watching the ultrasound screen. The whooshing sound of her heart filled the room until the man sighed. Turning the screen, he pointed to a small mass. "There it is."
Odella gazed at the screen in wonder at the bean shaped being cradled in the pulsing darkness. The doctor leaned closer to the screen and moved the device again on her stomach.
"Correction. There they are." He adjusted the view and pointed. "Looks like you're having twins."
Odella forgot to breathe. Staring at not one, but two, little beans she felt numb. After everything she had been through, she had never been as scared as she was at this moment laying on this warm table in this darkened room.
It wasn't until she lurched over and threw up into a nearby bin that feeling returned to her body.
Odella laid in her bed, looking at the print out of the ultrasound. She had been there ever since she had returned to Butterfields, telling Dr. Matthews that she needed time to process everything. The doctor had not prodded but hadn't left her bedside as of yet.
Sighing, she rolled over and looked at Dr. Matthews in the dark. "I'm having twins."
It didn't need to be stated, everyone knew already, but the words felt weighted anyway.
"That you are."
"I...I don't even know what do to with one child, let alone two." Odella rubbed her face, tears of frustration leaking out.
"Shh." Dr. Matthews held her hand, and offered comfort to this woman who seemed to capture not only her own affection, but from the passing nurses who stopped in to check on Odella.
"I have something for you." Dr. Matthews laid a set of stationary on the chess table, along with a decorative pen.
Odella gaped, her mind processing what the lavender scented paper, envelopes, and stamps could mean. "You don't mean...?"
Smiling, Dr. Matthews pushed them closer. "I think it's high time you write those lovesick boys of yours."
Before she knew it, Dr. Matthews was almost toppled over by a sobbing Odella, the thank yous getting lost in happy tears. Giving in, she wrapped her arms around the girl. "You've earned it."
"SHERLOCK!" John ran up the stairs, only to be met by a panicked Sherlock at the top.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Sherlock was tense, his eyes frantic.
"We have a letter! She sent a letter!" John waved the envelope, fast enough that Sherlock could barely identify the large, feminine handwriting.
Neither knew what to expect as they huddled around the papers. There were pages of Odella's words, all the letters running together in her usual style of penmanship.
Dear John and Sherlock,
I know I didn't leave off on the best footing the last time I saw either of you. I want to apologize for not only my behavior but for putting both of you through this. It was nothing either of you could prevent from happening, but rather, something I should have removed myself from before it got out of hand. Every day I wish you both were here with me but I think this distance will be good for us. Eventually. I have never felt like parts of me were missing until I watched both of you walk away. It hurt so bad, I wanted to die. In no way am I telling this to you to make you feel guilty, I just have no other way to express how I have realized that I cannot possibly live without my ex-army doctor and my high functioning sociopath. I miss being handed a perfect cup of tea; I miss having a conversation that I can only barely follow because I don't recognize half of the words coming out of an amazing mind; I miss waking up with the sight of curls peaking out from under the covers and the feeling of being tucked against warm, tan skin; I miss the sound of aggravation that we were out of milk and the sound of violin music reaching every corner of the flat. But most of all, I miss you, John, and you, Sherlock. Not just the things you do, but who you are. Never have I thought that I could fall in love once, let alone twice. Deep down, I know both of you deserve better than what I have given, but I have come to realize that- in time- I can be better than I have been.
I'm so glad I have been given the chance to write. It is not the most convenient method of communication, but even if I had to type this message out in Morse code, I wouldn't argue. Dr. Matthews has allowed me to write for several reasons,, one being that every day, we sit down and talk. She seems to think I'm doing better and I'm starting to believe that too. Because I feel as if both of you need to know how I came to be who I am, I have asked that the recordings of my sessions be sent to you. I knew that the regular check ups over the phone with Dr. Matthews would not be enough to reassure you, so the videos should arrive by email any time now. From now on, everything I tell Dr. Matthews, you will have access to soon afterwards, if not a day later.
The only thing I will not reveal is hidden in my journal upstairs. There, you should find answers to the question John had asked me in the living room the day that I made this deal with Mycroft. As of yet, I have no regret of what I have chosen to do, regarding both my actions before talking with Mycroft and after. Except for what I had said to both of you. I had every intention of making you feel pain and I know I succeeded. I was completely lost in the anger and hate that was inside of me that I said things that were unfair. And for that, I'm sorry.
Finally, inside of the envelope that this letter came in, is a sonogram. I'm only about two months along, but so far, everything is normal. Even though I would rather tell both of you this in person, I couldn't possibly keep this from you for an uncertain amount of time:
We are having twins.
I won't lie and say I'm not slightly panicked after writing those words but I also can't say that I'm unhappy about having another child. Lord knows what we are going to do with two babies, but my love for them is already as great as for you two, who have changed my life with more kindness than I have ever known.
And so John and Sherlock, even though I could write until my hand goes numb, the possibility of the feeling of missing both of you will never go away until I am within arms reach of you. But until then, know that I think of you both everyday and how much I thank you for giving me another chance at having a loving and safe place that I can finally call home, not only at 221B but where ever you both may be.
Love,
Odella