AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, guys! Sorry this chapter has taken so long to be posted, I've been super busy this weekend with homework, projects, and other super fun stuff. But I finally finished this chapter, yay! I hope ya'll enjoy it :)
After living in London for two months, I'd learned to 1) always carry an umbrella with me and 2) always keep my wallet full of British pounds and other coins so I don't have to borrow and repay John again like I did on my first week.
As I had learned upon my first week, New Scotland Yard had the blessed tradition of not extending the work hours to Sunday, so that was my day off after six days of intense work, little sleep, and constant human contact that made my head spin.
So, I had mostly spent my Sundays at my favorite misanthrope's apartment – whoops, I meant flat, as they call it here – and just had idle chats or more in-depth conversations concerning Moriarty with Sherlock. John joined us when he wasn't spending time with his wife, Mary, whom I hadn't had the honor of meeting yet (honestly, I cared less if I ever met her or not).
Before long, the inevitable happened: I was no longer able to continue paying for my meager hotel room; it was just getting too pricey, which pissed me off to no end and even scared me a little. I was losing my only home here and even after two months of residence in the busy British Big Apple.
I tried my best to conceal my worry and incessant homesickness but Sherlock and John saw right through it. They were my closest friends now and they could read me like a book.
"Alright, I'm just going to come out with it," John said one Sunday morning, gazing at me with his brows creased in worry. "There's clearly something bothering you."
The rain pounded the windows behind the white, drawn curtains, casting a cloudy glow on the room, which added to my gloom.
Sherlock glanced up at me from his violin, which he was lightly grazing with his bow, filling the room with mournful sounds, like the kind of music you'd hear in a movie after an animal gets hit by a car or something.
I was about to use my automatic response of "I'm fine, get off my back," when I felt a need in my gut to spill my emotions. That irritated me, but I knew that keeping it bottled up wouldn't ease the emotional lump inside me.
I let out a sigh in defeat, which felt sucky.
"I can't afford my hotel room anymore. It's getting too expensive. If I settle for less then I may get a low-end hotel room full of bedbugs or something… I don't know what to do."
"You're staying here," Sherlock said decidedly. I stared at him, perplexed.
"Excuse me?"
"I currently have a spare bedroom and I am in need of a flat mate, so you'll stay here and assist me in paying the rent by being my assistant on cases, along with John."
I was awestruck. Had it been that easy all along? Damn.
"Wow, thanks Sherlock," I murmured, still shocked.
"More for me than you," he said matter-of-factly, sounding almost bored. "With John getting ready to have a child, I'll need a back up assistant."
I'd known John's wife was pregnant and would be giving birth in the next couple months or so, which explained why John was absent from our Sunday gatherings and sometimes from the New Scotland Yard all day. It didn't seem to bother Sherlock too much, but sometimes he'd sit all by himself in the Employee Lounge forlornly and I'd have flashbacks to my childhood.
"Well, I'm glad I can help… and that I won't be living in a cardboard box on the street," I said, earning a laugh from John and an eye roll from Sherlock.
We'd hit a dead end. The weeks of interrogations and background checks and absolute boredom were all to no avail: nobody we came across seemed to be affiliated with Moriarty.
Tension rose in the New Scotland Yard as a side effect to the sleep deprivation, to the point where fights were breaking out. Even Sherlock and Lestrade got in a fight, which John and I managed to break up, but not without injuries. Sherlock' nose had been spewing blood and Lestrade's left eye had turned a nasty purplish black.
My suggestion that had seemed brilliant at 221B Baker Street was turning the police station upside down. Someone had found out it was my suggestion after all, so I couldn't walk through the New Scotland Yard building without getting hateful glares from everyone.
Well, everyone except John, Sherlock, and Lestrade. My two closest friends and… honestly, sometimes I couldn't tell about Lestrade. We had coffee (and tea, of course) with each other at least twice a week at the same modern teashop near the police station (not the same quaint one I went to on my first day), almost habitually since his first text. just discussed random topics – anything but Moriarty.
Sometimes, I felt intuitively that maybe this could become something else, but then we'd continue on another random conversation topic and it just felt so… casual.
Comfortable. Not like how it feels in the movies, y'know? No pounding heartbeat, sweating, swooning, and all that Hollywood crap.
So I assumed that we were just becoming good friends and left it at that.
"Nikki?" John asked again.
We were in the Interrogation Chamber, watching Donovan grill a man on why he didn't pay his last five parking tickets. I'd been zoning out again, a habit I'd gotten into since sleep-deprivation had become a close friend of mine.
"Huh, what?" I said, looking up from my large cup of coffee to John, who was gazing at me with concern instead of methodical study. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
"I was saying," John began after taking a long sip of tea, "these interrogations are ridiculous. It's been a month and a half and we've come up with nothing."
Sherlock stood on my other side, gazing at the floor and nearly half asleep.
"Yeah, Detective A-Hole over here nearly got in a fight with Lestrade last week."
Sherlock's head snapped up at me and he narrowed his eyes in defiance.
"He started it, I merely fought back."
John snorted in derision.
"Please! You couldn't win a fistfight to save your life," John sneered. I shrugged in agreement with him.
Sherlock's jaw twitched.
"I would've won if you two hadn't broken us up," he huffed. He looked at me and said with a lofty grin, "I am deeply sorry for giving your boyfriend a black eye."
I groaned loudly.
"He's not my boyfriend!" I exclaimed, reliving a moment of middle school. John and Sherlock just laughed at my exasperation, which simultaneously pissed me off and lightened my mood.
"PAY YOUR PARKING TICKETS!" Donovan shouted from the other side of the one-way window.
"I'M SAVING UP FOR COMIC-CON!" the accused shouted back at her, clad in his Captain America T-shirt (oh, the irony, I thought) and Avengers baseball cap.
I'd decided to approach Lestrade about ending the interrogations and trying some new tactics.
I texted him: Hey, let's go out for coffee today.
Not a few seconds later my phone received the reply: Meet you outside at 12:30.
At 12:30pm, the two of us snuck out of work and took Lestrade's car to the nearest teashop, which turned out to be more modern and coffee shop-like than the quaint little place Sherlock and John had taken me to on my first day. This modern teashop looked more like a Starbucks in New York to me, which I loved upon first sight.
After waiting in line, I ordered my favorite Café Mocha and Lestrade ordered some fruit tea. Of course when I spoke my order I got a weird look from the barista and I assumed my accent had taken her off guard.
Wow, shocker.
After getting our drinks, we sat down at a table furthest away from everyone else.
"Man, I can barely keep my eyes open," Lestrade murmured after taking a long sip of his tea.
"Should've gotten coffee," I said loftily, gesturing to my lidded paper cup that emitted a small line of steam through the drinking hole.
Lestrade shook his head and grimaced.
"I can't drink that stuff," he said. "Too bitter."
I laughed.
"You know you can use creamer and sugar, right?"
Lestrade shrugged.
"I prefer tea. Wakes me up better… though this crap isn't doing anything for me."
I smirked and took a long swig of my coffee. The sweet, chocolate flavor brought my taste buds to life and the caffeine kick started my brain.
"Maybe I should've gotten coffee," I heard Lestrade mutter, obviously seeing how much I was enjoying mine.
I smiled and put my cup down. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair; time to pop the question.
"Hey, Lestrade-,"
"Nicole, call me Greg, honestly," Lestrade insisted.
"Sorry, force of habit," I said. "Anyway, Greg, umm…" I trailed off, not knowing where to start.
I mean, Greg is my employer, how do I ask him to change what we're doing? I don't wanna piss him off or anything.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his brows furrowing in concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine, but…" I took a breath. Just say it already! "I think… we need to change what we're doing. At the police station, I mean. All these interrogations and background checks… it's not doing anything for us. All it's doing is making people stressed – even you and Sherlock had a fight."
Greg nodded slowly. His black eye was nearly healed but it was still discolored on his eyelid and below his eye.
"I get what you're saying… but what else are we doing to do?"
I let out a breath and ran another hand through my long, brunette hair.
"I dunno," I murmured. "Maybe just… sit and wait for something to happen? Maybe Moriarty will see we've stopped trying to track him down and… just do something? I dunno, seemed to work for the Joker. He just blew up hospitals and stuff when he got bored."
Lestrade – whoops, Greg – smirked at my poor movie reference.
"Well, I suppose it's all we've go now."
He took a large gulp from his fruit tea.
Oh good, this was easier than I thought, I inwardly sighed in relief.
"Still nothing," Greg muttered in irritation, giving his cup a disappointed look.
I couldn't stop myself from giggling.
"Should've got coffee," I said in a singsong voice.
Greg looked up and tried to glare at me but his face broke out in a smile. He picked up his lidded paper cup and held it aloft.
"To doing nothing."
I picked up my coffee cup and clinked it with his.
"And to being bored."
We both drained our drinks. We sat in silence for a moment, trying to feel more awake.
"Hey, Nicole," Greg began uneasily—
Bloop, bloop went my phone.
"Sorry, hold on," I said, fishing out my phone. I turned it on and saw I got a new text message from a number I didn't recognize.
It read: Hickory dickory dock.
I sat in silence, staring at the message. What the hell?
"What?" Greg asked.
I turned off the screen.
"Nothing," I said. Must be somebody's idea of a stupid joke.
My phone went off just as I was putting it back in my pocket.
"Geez, somebody wants your attention," Greg joked, though there seemed to be some kind of disappointment in his tone. I just smirked as I pulled out my phone.
I checked my messages and saw another text from the same number.
The mouse ran up the clock, it read.
"Somebody's just trying to prank me," I assured Greg. He nodded in understanding and got up to throw away his cup.
I didn't even get to put my phone back in my pocket before it went off again.
Now I was pissed off.
I checked it, feeling anger heat my cheeks.
The clock struck one and out he run, hickory dickory dock, the text read.
Then it dawned on me. Is this… a Mother Goose poem?
Above the text message, my phone time read 12:58.
Wait a minute. This is too precise.
My heart started to pound. Sherlock had told me Moriarty was known for throwing puzzles at you when you least expected it.
The clock struck one and out he run…
Greg sat back down, saying something about the weather.
My phone went off again and I checked it immediately. This text said: If I were you, I'd make like a mouse and get out of there. –JM
My heart plummeted. Oh, my God.
"Greg, we have to go," I said suddenly.
"What?" he asked but I ignored him.
I stood up and flashed my police badge.
"EVERYONE GET OUT OF HERE NOW!" I shouted. When none of them moved I flashed my gun at them. "NOW!"
Everyone got up immediately and started running out the door. The baristas hopped over the counter and joined the crowd, casting me nervous glances.
I grabbed Greg's arm and dragged him toward the door.
"What's going on?" Greg shouted, resisting my attempts to pull him.
"There's a bomb in here!" I shouted back.
Greg ran along side me as we hurtled out of the teashop. We crossed the sidewalk and my foot touched the asphalt of the street –
I felt myself go airborne and heard a loud echo in my ears and felt heat tingle against my skin. My hair whipped around my face for a moment and then a hard surface met my face with a harsh thud.
My whole body ached and my skin tingled and stung. My ears rang loudly and I couldn't decipher sounds. Colors exploded behind my eyelids.
I opened my eyes a little and saw blurred colors running past me against blurred browns, whites, and greys.
A big blur covered my vision, all brown and white. I felt a light touch on my face and a murmuring of words. My ears kept ringing loudly, so I squinted my eyes in an effort to make it stop.
I felt a hard, gravelly surface beneath my hands. The ringing went down a little and I heard screams and loud, authoritative shouts.
A whisper entered my ear, "Are you bored now?"
A low laugh bordering insanity and cruelty echoed in my ears. Then it was gone.
Thundering footsteps came up to me and I heard, "Nicole, can you hear me? Speak, can you hear me?"
It was Sherlock.
"Sherlock," I murmured, my head throbbing. "I… I found him…"
"She's badly burned, she needs to go to a hospital now," came John's voice, authoritative and commanding.
"No… I found him…" I murmured into the asphalt.
I'm burned… it hurts…
The whisper echoed in my head.
Are you bored now?