A/N: This story has been getting more hits than I ever imagined, so thank you! Also, this was my first attempt at writing fanfiction of any kind, so I'm glad someone other than myself is enjoying it. Reviews would be cool though... Wink wink nod nod. Anyways, on to the story.
The Next Afternoon
I tossed my phone onto the table top. I'd just gotten off the phone with Lestrade apologizing for my reaction at the crime scene yesterday. I assured him that I've found something that helps, but I haven't yet put my plan into motion. Despite my best intentions I never got around to explaining to Billie last night. She is sitting on the couch watching me pace back and forth calmly. I envy her composure. I'm a right mess. Just as I'm working out the words she kicks her boots to the floor from the table.
"I know some about Moriarty. So let me save you the pain. I know he self-titled himself a consulting criminal. I know you and Sherlock were on his tail. I know he is responsible for a great many crimes, and I know he is the reason for Sherlock's... fall. I'm sure these two killers are a part of his crime ring. But I don't know why they are still acting out in his name. You and Lestrade both think he is dead, even though a body was never found. So what I want from you isn't a back story, I want to know why his name affected you like that", she ended her speech with a toss of her hair and then stared at me almost defiantly. I dropped into my chair next to the fire. I was relieved I didn't have to relive those last months when Sherlock and Moriarty danced around danger. However, she wanted to know why I had gone full on PTSD yesterday. I sighed and turned to face her.
"Before I met Sherlock I had just returned from Afghanistan, wounded. Suffering from PTSD and depression. I had a psychosomatic limp and I was about to eat the muzzle of my gun. Then I met him. He cured my limp, he brought light back into my life. Gave me a purpose to live again. I felt like I was doing something useful, helping him on these cases. I still had flashbacks, mostly at night, and looking back those were the nights he would wake me up with his violin at three in the morning. Then Moriarty happened. And the world believed that he was a fake, and he jumped off of the damn building. I was alone again. I had lost my best friend, and my savior. Because of Moriarty. I nearly died multiple times. Now in my mind he is tied up with all of the bad from Afghanistan, and the PTSD has been coming back worse than ever lately." I paused there. She was watching me with that same carefully crafted calm look on her face, but I caught a glimpse of sympathy and complete understanding in her eyes that I wasn't expecting. "I also need to thank you. For pulling me out of that yesterday, I've never had an attack so badly before. I don't know if you did it on purpose or on a happy coincidence." She was still staring at me, then she shook herself slightly.
"It was intentional. A long shot, but I did it very much on purpose. My father was a veteran, and he suffered PTSD too. Music was always something that could pull him out of an attack, or stop one in its tracks. Eventually, he got past it and moved on with his life. Something about the music he said. So I took a shot, I didn't know what else to do. I knew enough that I needed to present myself as a non-threatening figure. And not to touch you. So I sang. I don't have the greatest voice ever, but my dad always said that a real person is better than a recording." She had curled slightly in on herself. I know she didn't like to reveal that much of herself, and that she was putting her trust in me. I appreciated it, talking about Sherlock and Moriarty was rough. I sighed and then smiled at her.
"I know this is awkward to ask but, do you think you could help me with these attacks. Maybe, sing to me or...", I trailed off, this was incredibly awkward, and stared at the floor. I heard the couch shift around and looked over. She was sitting forward on the cushions, and she had her iPod in hand, and she was grinning at me.
"I'll keep my iPod on me at all times. And you'll have to put up with my singing. I pity you that. But of course I'll help you, and this way we can work the case without another repeat of yesterday. We'll just tell the police that I'm an eccentric American, because I am, and that I sing when I think." She had not only answered my question, offered her help, and given me an explanation that wouldn't incur the ridicule and pity that I would of any other way. I was more deeply in her debt than I realized.
"Thank you", I smiled back at her and at that moment a resounding knock boomed up the stairs from the door.
"Three hits, sounds like he almost put his fist through the door, Lestrade must have something for us", she kicked her feet back up on the table and slid a headphone in one ear. I noticed that she had at least two sets, one that were simple ear buds, and one that covered her ears completely. She uses the earbuds almost all the time, except when she needed to focus her attention on something.
"I'll let him in before he breaks the door", I turned and started down the stairs.
Journal
She's agreed to help me. Turns out she has had a past experience with PTSD, her father apparently. Now she carries her iPod everywhere, and bursts into song randomly. She's even gone so far as to follow Donovan around singing random bits of the musical Cats. Her taste in music is eccentric at best. From classic rock, to country, to modern rock, even musicals and movie soundtracks don't escape her. Even when I'm not in danger of an attack, she's just laying the base so people don't question her singing when I'm actually having an attack. She knows something about Moriarty that she isn't letting on, perfect pronunciation on his name the first try. And that question about his first name. I guess I'll have to delve into that another day. Today has been too tense already.
Lestrade came over. Turns out the second body was one Thomas Andrews, and his widow is out of the country. They were on the verge of a split, and she had taken some time off. As soon as she gets back Lestrade is going to interview her and offered to let me ride along. Other than that, we haven't found a connection between the two victims yet. Billie keeps cooking, she's let me in that cooking is what she does when she thinks. Also, she is a good cook, and for once during a case everyone in the flat is well fed.
Sherlock, if you've been reading these, please look into the case. Show us the connection, help us stop these killers. They are Moriarty's underlings, and if you are still out there, isn't that the type of people that you are hunting down? Come home. Please. The sun has finally burned away most of the fog, the shadows reside in deep valleys.
