Chapter 21: Facing Demons

"It's too easy. Something must be out of place, something just doesn't seem right about all this."

As I step out of shower, I immediately hear Sherlock's ranting. Ah, he most definitely is back to being himself. As I walk down the hall from the bathroom, I slip on my black sweatpants and listen:

"Sherlock, there is nothing out of place. Just relax."

"Relax? John, I really don't understand it."

"What?"

"How can you function properly with such a simple brain? Honestly, John, it baffles me."

Yeah, he's definitely back to being old Sherlock.

I pull my grey sweatshirt up over my head and peer around the corner to see Sherlock pacing back and forth in front of the front room window, his red bathrobe whisking up behind him like a cape. John is sitting quietly in his chair, half reading his paper and half making sure the consulting detective doesn't wear himself out. It's an odd scene for anyone who doesn't know these two, but to me this is perfectly normal.

"Sherlock, your girlfriend has a plan, why not just go with it?" John says, flipping the pages of his paper, "I highly doubt she's making a foolish decision bringing her mother into this."

"You only met the woman for a few moments, John." Sherlock says, "She's...aggravating, manipulative, self-centered. I could go on."

"You only talked to the woman for about 5 minutes," John counter points, "How could you have possibly made all those assumptions?"

"Because I'm me," Sherlock replies rather matter of factly.

Chuckling at their banter, I decide to enter the living room fully. Sherlock sees me out of the corner of his eye and immediately bolts over to take my hands into his: "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, "Because I know how difficult it is for you to speak with your mother."

"Honey, I'll be fine." I say, smiling at his genuine concern, "She's a pain, but nothing I can't handle."

"You see," John adds in, "She's fine. You're the one who panicking."

"I'm not panicking, John. I'm…concerned." Sherlock replies, going back to his pacing, "Elfie's mother could not know anything at all. This could be a waste of time as well as an unnecessary nuisance bringing her here."

"Do you have another idea?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest, "Because if you do, please share it." Sherlock lets out a deep sigh and runs his hands through his mop of curls. John and I exchange a glance of annoyance; he doesn't have an idea, he just feels the need to micromanage everything.

"Shouldn't you be in bed instead of nit picking every aspect of Fee's plan?" John asks, facing Sherlock again, "You shouldn't rush your recovery."

"I'm not rushing anything, John, I'm fine," Sherlock replies, stopping to look out the window, "and besides I've been lying in bed all day. I need to get my body in motion. I was beginning to ache."

"You were doing a bit more than just lying in bed awhile ago," John teases, "or at least it sounded like you were." My cheeks turn a bright red and playfully hit John in the arm, "Hey, I'm just making a statement," he chuckles, "Not my fault you two decided to have a little romantic rendezvous and be all loud about it."

"Shut up." Sherlock hisses, clenching up his fists, "It's none of your business, John." Rolling my eyes, I join Sherlock at the window, wrapping my arms around his waist and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. He gets so defensive when he's embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, relaxing his body in my hold.

"I know and I appreciate your concern, love, I really do." I whisper in his ear, "But you have to trust me on this. I know what I'm doing."

"I know you do," He softly replies, tangling his hands in mind, "It's only…there are other ways of finding Hattie, that is if she has in fact left London."

"I know, Sherlock, but this is the fastest way. Plus, I have to face her at some point."

"Hattie or your mother?"

"Both."

Sherlock chuckles slightly and turns his head to look at me. A small, proud smile grows across his face: "Look at you." He says, "My darling historian turned into a clever detective. I always told you your mind would be put to better use in the real world, not at a museum."

"Hey, I like my job," I say with a smirk, "But I won't lie; this whole solving a case thing...I kind of like it."

"Stop while your ahead," John adds in, not looking up from his paper. Both Sherlock and I chuckle then look one another in the eyes. Slowly, Sherlock wraps his arms around me in a tight embrace and kisses the top of my head.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asks into my hair.

"Yes, Sherlock," I reply with a playful roll of my eyes: he can be so over protective sometimes.

"Good, because they're pulling up now." He says. I lift my head from Sherlock's chest and look out the window. Sure enough, a police car has parked along the parallel curb of 221b Baker Street. Stepping out from the driver's side is Detective Inspector Lestrade, looking extremely agitated and frustrated.

Yeah, he's definitely picked up my mother then.

He goes to the passenger side and opens the door. Like an old movie star queen, my mother steps out and-even though we can't hear her-starts to scream about how dreadful the weather is.

"Lestrade looks distressed." Sherlock comments, gingerly pulling the curtain back so that we can get a better look.

"Can you blame him? He just had to ride in a car with my mother." I reply.

"Right, well, I'm going to make tea." John says, quickly getting up from his chair.

"Don't you dare go hiding in the kitchen," Sherlock says with a stern look, "You have to go through this too."

"She's not my in-law, Sherlock, she's yours." John smartly replies, closing the sliding doors, "I'll be back in a moment."

"In-law?" Sherlock asks, looking at me confused. "But we're not married."

"He meant it just as an expression, dear," I chuckle, "Trust me, I wouldn't make you go through the hell of having my mother as an in-law." I place a kiss on the baffled detective's cheek and head to the door to "welcome" my mother. Suddenly, Sherlock takes a hold of my hand and utters the most interesting thing I think I've ever heard him say:

"What if I'd like you to?"

I freeze in the arch of the doorway and turn around on my heel. I furrow my brow at him, confused and shocked by what he might be implying. Sherlock's face is soft and caring as he steps closer to me; His eyes are sparkling and gazing deeply into my own.

"What…what do you mean?" I ask, a bit taken back.

"I mean" Sherlock says; now so close to me that our toes are touching, "I'd be willing to take that risk of having your mother as an in-law. That is if you would have me."

"Are you-what are you trying to say?" I say, gulping my nerves down.

"What do you think?" Sherlock whispers, softly taking my wrists into his hands. He pulls me back into the room with him and nuzzles his forehead against mine; "Think."

I open and close my mouth trying to formulate the right thing to say. Is he asking-no, no way! I mean, I wouldn't say no, but…is he really asking me for my hand in…Seriously?

We had always assumed that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together but we've never discussed marriage. I didn't think it would be something he would want to go through and, to be honest, I didn't think I would want to go through it either. Of course, I love him more than anything and I'd do anything he'd ask me too. But at this moment, I don't know how I feel. Am I ready for marriage? Is now the right time to be married? Is now even the right time for him to be asking?

Is he asking?

"Well?" Sherlock whispers, breaking my train of thought.

"Well what?" is all I can muster to reply.

"What do you think I'm trying to say?"

I look into his eyes, as if to find the answer in those perfect orbs; Oh God, he is asking.

Before I can muster a reply, we hear the street door open and immediately my mother's voice is bounding off of the walls:

"You haven't fully explained to me what's going on, officer! Why on earth did you see the need to drag me out of my hotel room and bring me here? Is there something wrong with my daughter? Oh my good Lord, was it that man? That…Holmes individual! I swear to God if he has laid a finger on Elfie, I'm going to make him dread the day he was born!"

"I can assure you, ma'am," Lestrade replies, wearily, as he reaches our door, "Sherlock Holmes has done nothing to your daughter. Now, if you will just come up these…"

"I will come up in my own time, officer!" she snaps back, "I don't need a police escort to walk up a flight of stairs."

"Bloody hell, this woman." Lestrade says to himself as he shakes his head. He then looks at Sherlock and I, standing the middle of room with hands still intertwined. "You look like you've been through hell and back," He says, nudging his head to Sherlock.

"I'm on the mend," Sherlock replies, snapping back into his normal self and taking a seat in his arm chair, "John's putting the kettle on. Care to stay, detective inspector?"

"I was hoping to drop her off and leave," Lestrade whispers, "Who is she?"

"Unfortunately, my mother." I reply, coming to my senses, "Thanks for putting up with her."

"Your mother? Then, my apologies Ms. Stegerson," he says, a bit ashamed,

"Because she's her mother or because of what you just said?" Sherlock asks with a smart-alecky smirk.

"Um, can I say both?" Lestrade says. I laugh and take a seat on the armrest of Sherlock's chair. He gently sets a hand on thigh and taps a light beat with his fingers. Our eyes meet for a moment and I can see that our previous conversation has ended just as fast as it had began. Phew!

Just then the stomping of my mother's heels becomes louder and ceases at our door: "Honestly," She exasperates to herself as she enters the living room, "a police officer bursting into my hotel room, demanding I come with him to my daughter's apartment! I have never heard of anything more ridiculous!"

"Hello to you too, Mom." I say. My mother whips off her Channel shades (really? She's wearing sunglasses in the rain?) And glares at Sherlock.

"You." She hisses, pointing an accusing finger at him, "Do you know what I was doing before you had this idiot officer come pick me up?"

"Oi, you watch it miss." Lestrade warns, "You're in my city right now and I do not tolerate…"

"Oh please, I'm no threat." She snaps, turning her cold expression to Lestrade, "Anyway, you've done your job. You've brought me here and now you can leave."

"Mom," I say, "please he was only…"

"Lestrade, would you mind waiting downstairs?" Sherlock interrupts, placing his hands under his chin in his signature way, "You're obviously agitated. A bit of fresh air will do you good." Lestrade looks to Sherlock as if to sub-consciously ask if he was sure about that. Sherlock nods to him and the detective inspector takes his leave.

"Now, Ms. Stegerson, you were saying?" Sherlock says, " And please, do have a seat."

"I don't want to have a seat." My mother snaps, "I want to know why you had a police officer burst into my hotel room while I was in the middle of a business meeting and drag me to this place? Did you have an itch to pry into my personal life again?"

"Mom, Sherlock didn't call Lestrade I did." I say, adding in my say before she starts accusing Sherlock of anything else, "well, John did, but it was me that asked him too."

"Elfie Marie, what on Earth for?" she asks, placing a hand on her chest in shock, "How could you do such a thing?"

"Mom, your acting like he cuffed you and dragged you here." I say with a roll of my eyes.

"Alright, I may have been over reacting right now," she admits, "But that doesn't take away from the fact you had a police officer bring me here. Honestly, Elfie, if you wanted to talk to me you could have phoned."

"I couldn't have," I reply, "I needed to talk to you in person and…and I've had an eventful afternoon."

"As did you, Ms. Stegerson," Sherlock adds in. We both look at him in confusion, but I quickly understand. He noticed something, deduced some small, yet crucial, detail like he always does. I look back at my mom and watch in wonder: What did he see?

"Did you now?" My mother asks sarcastically, "So busy that you couldn't have managed a simple phone call?"

"Please, take a seat." Sherlock says, "John should be out with tea in just a moment." And as if on cue, John reenters the living room. He looks at us and then at my mother.

"Oh, um, hello again." He says with a polite wave, "Would you, uh, like some tea?"

"Ah, the polite doctor," my mother says, reluctantly sitting down in the chair opposite from Sherlock and I, "the kinder of my daughter's two new roommates. Tea would be wonderful, Doctor." John nods and scurries back into the kitchen; Good Lord, is the brave army doctor scared of my mother? Then again, I can't really blame him.

"So, tell me. Is this an interrogation?" she asks, addressing me, "Who's the good cop and the bad cop, Fee?"

"Mom, please," I say, "this is actually really serious."

"And so it is, but you've failed to tell me what is going on."

I take in a deep breath and roll my shoulders back: 'Okay, Elfie, here we go. Just like when you were talking with Robert. Keep absolutely calm.' Sherlock gently starts to rub his hand up and down my back as if to tell me that it's going to be all right. I take in another breath and begin:

"Mom, did you happen to see Hattie this afternoon?"

"I did, in fact," she replies, sitting up straight, "Why? Is everything alright between you two?"

"Well, no, not really. Not at all." I say, gulping down my emotions, "She…she's done something wrong, horribly wrong." I quickly look down to the floor to hide my on-coming tears.

God, this is actually harder then I thought it was going to be.

"Tell me, sweet heart," my mother says, leaning forward, "What's happened?"

Seeing my difficulty in speaking on this topic, Sherlock speaks for me: "Hattie Weston participated in the murder and set-up of Jonathan Monroe, a former accountant for her fiancé Robert St. Simon. Its actually more accurate to say that she was the one who initiated it."

"Oh good God," my mother breathes out, "are you…are you certain?"

"Absolutely," Sherlock goes on, "I had investigated the matter myself and although it was Robert St. Simon who had committed the initial crime of embezzlement, it was Ms. Weston who is responsible for the accountant's murder."

I listen intently as Sherlock explains, in detail, this whole mess to my mother. I just stare at her face, hoping that I can pick up some sort of a comforting, motherly reaction. It's no surprise really when she clearly doesn't give me one. I can see the hurt in her eyes, but it's not for me it's for herself. She's upset because her favorite daughter turned out not to be so perfect after all. She doesn't care that I'm hurt. She doesn't care that I've lost my best friend. She doesn't care about me.

"Hattie would never poison someone," she says once Sherlock is done, "She's…She doesn't have it in her to kill. She won't even swat a fly."

"People do crazy things when they're in love, Ms. Stegerson," Sherlock says, "Ms. Weston believed that her chance at happiness with Robert St. Simon was in jeopardy so she did everything in her power to keep that happiness from fading."

"But…murder?" she asks, "That's just…not her."

"Oh for God sake, Mom, she did it!" I suddenly exclaim, taking both Sherlock and my mother by surprise, "Don't you see? Your dream child isn't so perfect after all!"

"I…I don't know what you mean, sweet heart."

"Don't! Just don't give me that crap right now! You've always favored her over me, ever since I introduced her to you."

"That's not…"

"And you can't bear to hear that she stabbed me in the back; not because she's my best friend, but because she's not the person you thought she was. Well, guess what mom? It hurt me too! It hurt me to find out that Hattie would call a consulting criminal to help solve her and Robert's problem. It hurt me to learn that she would stoop that low. Sherlock didn't even tell you the real kicker of all this."

I look to Sherlock, who is just looking at me stone faced: "Shall I say it then?" I go on, "Fine! Hattie tried to kill Sherlock! Poisoned him just like Monroe!"

My mother looks to Sherlock in shock and then back at me: "But…Hattie…" she begins but I cut her off again.

"Hattie was acting on her own terms and didn't give a damn about anyone else besides herself!" I shout, "Sound familiar, Mom? Maybe she really is the daughter you always wanted. The self-centered woman who doesn't care about those around her; she only cares about herself and doesn't give any thought in the world to the one person who maybe once looked up to her." I catch myself before I could go any further. I just compared my mother to a murder. Even I know that that is too low.

Suddenly unable to sit through any more this, I rise from my spot and exit to the bedroom. I sit down on the bed and rest my back against the headrest. Afraid that I'm about break out into tears, I pull my knees up to my face and rest my forehead against them.

I shouldn't have brought her into this. Sherlock was right; I can't handle her and she doesn't know anything. She just lives in her fantasy world where Hattie is perfect and could do no wrong. If Hattie did come to her for help, my mother would have gladly obliged.

"Elfie,"

I hear a voice from the archway and I slowly raise my head to look and see my mother standing there. She looks as if the world has just ended; Of course, her fantasy has just been shaken.

"Just go." I say, looking straight ahead and resting my chin on my knees, "I've said what I needed to say."

"I doubt you had a police man bring me here just to tell me what a horrible mother I am," she says, taking seat on the edge of the mattress. I don't acknowledge her; I just stare forward.

"She's at the apartment." She says and I snap my head to look at her.

"What?"

"Hattie is at your guys' apartment, packing." She explains, "She came by my hotel room; crying and begging for my help. She told me the whole story-the money, the dead accountant, even about this James Moriarty. She asked me for some money, but I told her that I had none to give. I lied of course, but I wasn't about to help a fugitive, no matter who they were."

"You…you knew?" I ask, becoming tense, "And yet you were still in denial just now?"

"Because you were right," she goes on, "I didn't want to believe it. I still don't." To my surprise, my mother rests a soft hand on my cheek. I don't pull away. I just listen to her. "Hattie was someone who reminded me of myself, or rather the girl I wanted to be." she admits, her voice becoming shaky, "I was relieving my youth through her in a way, that's true, but she was never my daughter. You, Elfie Marie, are my daughter. You have become a woman that I could never dream of being. You have a wonderful job and someone who loves you with so much of his heart. I always wanted the perfect life for you, but I never thought it was going to be this life. You have made me so proud and…and I am deeply sorry that I wasn't there to help you along the way."

I gulp down my emotions and blink my eyes to keep them from watering. She's being honest. This woman, the person who raised me and was so absorbed with work is apologizing. Has she finally noticed me? Does she finally see that I am who I've always to be? And she's accepting of that?

"M-mom," I say, "I…I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"Elfie Marie, you never were an apologetic child, don't start now." She says with a smile. We both chuckle and for the first time in my life, I can see eye to eye with my mother. "Now, go." She says, cupping my face in her hands, "Hattie should be almost done packing by now. She said that she was catching a 9:45pm flight to San Francisco."

"Th-thank you." I say to her and for the first time, we genuinely embrace: just like a mother and daughter should. When we part, I quickly jump out of bed and bolt to the door.

"And Elfie Marie," my mother says, standing up and readjusting her skirt. I freeze and turn around to look at her, "That Sherlock of yours, he's…he's perfect for you."

I give her a nod and quickly bolt back to the living room.

Phew, that took awhile!

Hope you all enjoyed that chapter. I wanted to get it up before the weekend because I have a crazy next few days planed. I wanted to have some sort of closure with Elfie and her mom, but at the same time not have the basic 'hug-and-everything's-okay' kind of resolution.

And did Sherlock propose? In a way…

Will I bring it up again? Maybe… :)

Thanks as always and please, if you haven't already, check out the prequel I posted. I have ideas for the next segment, but I want to know if you guys would be interested.

I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks!