Six
Redemption

Eleven days passed.

For most of that time I had been obligingly busy at the museum, trying to show Professor Finlayson that I indeed could still work like a normal human being. It wasn't what it used to be. Before, I could have happily locked myself away inside my office, not emerging for hours, but now… Now I found it difficult to remain focused for one hour, let alone a day. It was repetitive. It wasn't thrilling or profound. Simply, it was boring.

That was no doubt the reason why I was spending so much of my free time at 221B. Sure, I'd pop back to my own flat at least twice a day in order to feed Inigo and had actually slept there for three nights, but I knew that I'd prefer to be in that messy, experiment-filled apartment in Baker Street.

It was worrying how quickly my obsession had grown.

That Thursday morning didn't seem like it was going to be any different from the recent others. I got up early, ignored the wild rants from Sherlock about some alphabet comprised of smilies he had found online, caught the bus back to my flat where I had gotten changed and fed the cat, before strolling my way into the V & A only two minutes after nine o'clock. For the last few hours I had simply been working. Normality and routine, it appeared, were returning to my life.

Well, that's what I thought before I walked casually through the lobby on my way to lunch.

I didn't notice it at first. Sure, it was odd for Finlayson himself to be spotted this far into the public world of the museum, but it was by no means unheard of. The rising level of his voice also wasn't that unusual, even if it caused me to glance briefly over and wonder what the face of the undoubtedly terrified employee whom was currently obscured from my view looked like.

What was curious, however, was one particularly noisy statement he made. So curious, in fact, that it caused me to stop and turn.

"Dianne, don't you dare pick up that phone! Not until this gentleman tells me what he wants with Dr Hunt!"

Now, over my life I had kind of learnt not to react to the sound of my surname in a crowd – the confusion caused by mistaking a common noun or verb for your name could occasionally be scarring – but this time I listened. Recently, the Prof. seemed to be reserving that sort of anger just for me. It was a special gift.

"Sir, will you kindly keep your voice down?"

Oh, I so recognised that reasonable tone. I doubted that I could ever forget it. That tone seemed like the soundtrack to everything crappy in my life over the last two months.

I picked up my pace again, this time in the opposite direction, closing the gap between myself and the two men standing beside the Information desk.

"Alright," Finlayson was saying in a much calmer and therefore strained intonation, "but can you please explain to me why you are looking for-"

I didn't even bother announcing my presence, launching straight into my worried question.

"What's happened?"

The men both jumped a little at the interruption. I didn't care. I just wanted to know what awful, life-altering event had ruined my week this time.

"Melanie." The visitor greeted, nodding slightly, a vaguely relieved expression on their face.

Finlayson recovered next, but suspicion was still clearly leaking from every pore in his body. "Why would you immediately ask that?"

My eyes remained on the newcomer, not really very interested in what my boss had to say at this moment in time. "Well the police wouldn't be here unless something had happened."

"Don't be so worried, Melanie. It's nothing like that." Lestrade swiftly said, attempting to reassure me. I remained unconvinced. This was New Scotland Yard, after all. They didn't deal with picnics and bunny rabbits... Well, not the type ending without bloodshed anyway.

"How do you know this man is with the police?"

I ignored my boss, biting the inside of my mouth nervously. "Then why are you here?"

"It's, uh, it's about what happened in March." Lestrade said. He shot a look at the Prof. "Maybe we should go somewhere private."

I felt a boulder land in the pit of my stomach.

"Hang on," Finlayson piped up, clearly getting annoyed that we weren't paying him any attention, "what happened in March? Weren't you sick? Dr Hunt, why on earth is this police officer here?"

Lestrade narrowed his eyes, his voice raising a step. He had obviously had enough of the Prof's attitude. "It's Detective Inspector, actually."

I grimaced. I wished I could have told Lestrade just how much worse that statement made this situation appear to any outsiders.

"Good God," Finlayson breathed, shock momentarily wiping the distrust from his face. Momentarily. "What did you do?"

I swallowed; seriously not keen on answering that question. Instead, I raised an arm and gestured to the stairs to our right. "We can talk in my office."

I had to force my knees to bend to as I sat awkwardly down on my chair behind my desk. Lestrade had taken the seat offered to him without batting an eyelid. My mouth was suddenly rather dry. The coming conversation could only bring despicable memories and torturous guilt out of the hiding place I had so bravely locked them in.

I couldn't speak. I doubted I could have even moved. My muscles had apparently decided they didn't want to partake in this little chat and had scarpered accordingly.

Lestrade must have sensed my anxiety. He smiled at me, but the pitying inflection it carried did little to soothe my worries.

"Look," he started, "what happened on the twenty-second of March – I'm not going to be asking you to relive it again."

That sentence, while intending to make me relax, both lifted a small trace of my nerves and caused my fear to run riot. It confirmed what I had dreaded. This was about the night of the twenty-second. This was about what I had done.

All I could do to answer was make a muffled squawk.

Lestrade sighed. "I did try to call, only the mobile number you gave us belongs to a phone that's currently in our evidence room and we couldn't get any answer at your house."

I managed to force out a small nod of understanding.

"And Sherlock… well, I don't honestly think it would be a good idea to entrust him with news like this."

News like what? There was news? What news? What had happened? Had they decided yet? Was that why he was here? Had all the paperwork finally gone through? Had one measly lawyer somewhere in an office at last agreed what my future would be – whether I could attempt to get on with my life or whether I'd be paraded on the stage of some court somewhere?

Had the CPS gotten back to him with a decision?

"I mean, I was in the neighbourhood anyway and I thought you might like to hear it from someone you've met before; you know – a friendly face and all."

I was pretty sure my heart had stopped ten seconds ago. When I had said I was bored at work, this was not the kind of excitement I meant.

"And?" the harsh whisper escaped my lips, a certain level of unwillingness behind it. At this point, I wasn't sure whether I was prepared for my judgement.

"And," Lestrade continued, giving a twitch of a nod to the side, "the Crown Prosecution Service has reviewed your case and come to a conclusion. What with the clear evidence that your and others' lives were at risk and the extenuating circumstances surrounding what you did, I glad to be able to tell you that there's no longer a chance that you'll be prosecuted."

Every inch of my body froze.

My heart lay still, my brain ceased to operate, my limbs were trapped by their own weight.

Very slowly, my consciousness began to return.

I was…

I was free?

Wow, sudden flood of reviews after my last a/n. To be honest, I was more expecting a backlash with people refusing to review to spite me for being such an arse. Thank you guys! You're all obviously much nicer than most people!

In response I was honestly going to upload this last night to reward all your kind work, only my internet chose a great moment to decide it didn't want to be my friend anymore. Very sorry about that. And after what I told you last time I feel like a massive tool.

BT helplines suck.

…

And tonight it ends.

Not just The Fall, but also Sherlock Season 2. All that waiting and now, three weeks later… it's gone.

Review?