Chapter Thirteen: Voices

I ran up my apartment steps and threw open the door, tackling the small boy into a hug. However, Isaac was in Sherlock's arms at the time so I ended up tackling them both.

"And what exactly caused such a sudden desire for physical affection?" Sherlock asked as I had latched onto him in order to embrace the child now sandwiched between us.

"I don't think that came out the way you intended. But that doesn't matter. Isaac is in more trouble than we thought!"

Sherlock handed him off to me and straightened his jacket. "Now explain what you mean by that? We were already aware that he was in danger."

"From being found and taken back by an abusive father, not killed!" I knelt on the floor and reluctantly let Isaac go so he could go back to the crayons that were scattered on my coffee table. The small hands picked up a black stick and started scribbling. Judging from the assorted papers on the floor, he'd been trying to draw something all day. "Sherlock, those people who were killed, it wasn't about them. Well, it was, but it was mostly about Isaac. He was the target."

"The target you say?"

"His mother had marks on her arms that didn't match the others. She threw her arms in the way of the blade. She was protecting her son. He was going to be killed right in front of her, Sherlock."

"A final act of love, wasted."

"Wasted? Are you serious? She did it to save him! If she hadn't, he would have been killed and we would have found four bodies instead of just three!" I couldn't believe he didn't understand what love could bring someone to do. "Sherlock, do you remember what happened with Moriarty last year?"

"Of course." I saw his jaw clench slightly and his eyebrow twitch in frustration. He had let him go in order to help me and to save John and my brothers.

"Why do you think I, oh, I don't know… Shot myself? If you truly care about someone enough to yourself in harm's way to save them, you end up doing some stupid things in order to protect them. This woman was no different. She was me, and the assailant was Moriarty."

I saw his eyebrows furrow more and he locked eyes with me. "Which is your way of saying you agree with her dying to save the boy? Turn the tables, Zoey! You could have died as well! Then where would you be?"

"You're not still hung up about that, are you? That doesn't matter anymore because I survived! This isn't about me, it's about Isaac!"

"You just said that she is you, Zoey. You're making this case personal!" Sherlock's eyes were like ice as they glared at me. "Nothing good comes from bringing emotion into cases like this, you should know that well enough by now."

"I'm taking care of a child whose mother died saving him! How am I not supposed to take that personally? Someone wants to kill this child, Sherlock! Some man out there, who has no problem killing others in a very painful and violent way, is hunting this child!"

"After killing those people you don't think he gave up and just let the child go?"

"If you had seen her body lying on the table, you'd know that there's no chance he gave up on this boy. All his anger was caused by the boy. For Christ's sake, Sherlock, he turned his mother's reproductive organs into hamburger meat! He wants this boy. And he will not hesitate to get rid of whoever gets in his way."

Sherlock sighed and scratched his head, ruffling his own hair so the curls fell a bit more wildly. "I have a plan but I feel that you'll be quite vehement against the idea…" I saw his eyes dart over to Isaac who was still coloring.

"Why do I have a feeling that I really won't agree with whatever it is you're thinking?"

"He's after Isaac, correct? There is the option of putting him out in the open."

"No! no way in hell will I put him in danger! You want to use him as bait to lure him out! I agreed the first time because I didn't think he would try to kill him, only try to take him so he wouldn't talk to anyone. But this? No. I won't allow it."

"I told you you'd be vehement against it. But what alternatives can you come up with?"

I was silent as I thought for a moment. "I'd suggest taking him to the station and doing a DNA comparison, but seeing as how we've already agreed that he doesn't share any genes with his attacker… It would be pointless."

"That would take far too long even if it was feasible. Other ideas please."

"Im out of ideas, Sherlock. But I don't want to put this boy in danger!"

"I can see that, However, I'm not seeing much of a choice. This man is most certainly driven by revenge, and will only be attracted by way of this boy. I can find no other option, can you?"

"No, but you're supposed to be smart and figure it out!" I felt like he was putting all the pressure on me. This boy was just as much his responsibility as he was mine. The answer to the case all rested with what was in the child's mind.

"And you're supposed to be clever!" He snapped back, obviously not liking me putting all the thinking onto him for once.

"I never claimed to be clever! That's just your observation!"

"Which, need I remind you, are always right!"

"No, no you're not! You've been wrong about me before!" I was shouting now, probably because with each comment we were both getting louder. My body was growing hot from the aggravation and my eyes were stinging from growing tears of anger. Why was it that only Sherlock or my mother was able to make me this mad?

"Fine, then; almost always right. But still, you're the one who should come up with the obvious route! The one who will try anything to do so! The only one out of either of us who really has a heart to truly give a damn about this boy!"

"You do too have a heart so stop pretending you don't! I've seen and felt it myself! Good lord, would you try to act like a normal human for once?" I poked him in the chest with my finger harder than I had intended and he suddenly grabbed my wrist, pulling it to the side.

"I would if I knew how!"

"Stop it!"

We both froze as an unknown voice rang out loud and clear. It was a small voice, but it had so much power behind it. I turned, as Sherlock did the same, releasing my hand as we both looked at the little boy standing by my couch, a drawing clutched tightly in his hand.

"I-Isaac..?"

"Benedict…" the little boy said quietly. "Mummy called me Ben."

Sherlock stood confused at his sudden outburst as I ran over and pulled the child into a hug. "Why didn't you tell us before? Why didn't you say anything?"

He wrapped his arms around me and started to cry. It was a sound that was so sweet, yet broke my heart. I cradled his head against my shoulder and wrapped my arm around his back, holding him close as I held back my own tears. "Oh, Ben…"

"I was so scared… I thought that if I didn't say anything that he'd go away!" he sobbed and I looked up at Sherlock.

"Who would go away?"

Sherlock took the drawing from his hand and looked at it, his brows furrowed once more and he turned it around to show it to me. I saw a red scribbled mess around and on a large figure. The figure had red eyes to match his surroundings and jagged teeth. If it hadn't been for the shirt and combed grown hair, I would have thought it was a monster. Possibly something that lived in his closet.

I was wrong. This monster lived in his everyday life.

"Ben… You thought who would go away?"

He sniffed and clung to me tighter, his body shaking like when we had first met. "My daddy…"