25.
In a monastery in the mountains, the Buddhist monk lit the last of many candles, the light flickering in the darkness of the room. Close by were several other monks, their bowed heads covered by cowls and their hands raised in front of them, and not one of them looked up as the abbot entered the room. Leaning on his walking stick for support, the cowled man hobbled towards each of them in turn and murmured, "Tashi delek," as he ran his hands over each of their heads, briefly clasping his hands. Finally, when the abbot reached the final monk in the row, he paused.
After a second of deliberation, the abbot held his hand over the monk's head as he had done with the others. Rather than repeat the gesture and murmur, "Tashi delek," he took hold of the cowl and flipped it up, revealing a blonde woman.
The other monks pulled back their own cowls, gazing at the woman in shock and surprise – how could they have not realised? Her identity now revealed, the blonde woman lifted her head and glared furiously at the abbot who seen past her disguise, her lips pulled back into a scowl as his eyes stared back at her with a triumphant shine. The smug git was mocking her.
"You bastard!"
Time dragged by for Elspeth.
Moriarty worked and Sebastian popped round occasionally to play games on the console or ask Elspeth if she fancied going down to the shooting range – she was getting a lot better – but most of the time, Elspeth was left at home with Gladstone. They went for regular walks and Elspeth was even teaching her puppy some new tricks, much to Moriarty's amusement. He didn't think it was quite so funny when he came home to a floor covered in dog treats because Elspeth had been throwing them across the room while trying to teach Gladstone how to catch them. They'd had a huge row that resulted in Elspeth breaking a glass and Moriarty sleeping in his own room that night.
Other than Moriarty, Sebastian, and Gladstone, Elspeth was fairly lonely. She tried to get back in contact with Bonnie but the pair had drifted apart since the party, and neither of them could work out why; Elspeth never thought their friendship would have an expiration date. They'd made awkward conversation over Facebook that ended after five minutes and plans for a catch up lunch that never happened, and it made Elspeth sad when she realised just how many people she'd lost after Sherlock died. She couldn't even see John because of Mary – the mere thought of the other woman made Elspeth scowl. She was tempted to see Lestrade, maybe ask if he had any cases she could tag along to, but after their close encounter at the restaurant, she didn't want to risk another one.
"Drug smuggler infiltrated Buddhist monastery," Elspeth read, picking up the newspaper that Moriarty had left behind. She frowned and looked down at Gladstone. "A blonde woman amongst a bunch of bald men – it hardly takes a genius to work that out." It would've been the sort of thing Sherlock would've been interested in, though, she realised with a smile. "Ok, let's have some breakfast."
Gladstone perked up at the word breakfast, letting out a small excited bark when she followed Elspeth through to the kitchen. Elspeth poured the dog food into the bowl and told Gladstone to wait, hoping that she would listen, but the puppy delved forwards and began eating the food straight away. Elspeth sighed. She supposed they would have to work on that later.
"Some of that better be for me," Sebastian called as he let himself in, smelling toast. Elspeth laughed.
"Get your own food – you have a toaster at home, don't you?" she teased. She put a couple more slices into the toaster when hers was done, though, and got a plate out for Sebastian to use. Nibbling on the crust, Elspeth leaned against the counter and grinned. "What brings you here to my humble abode, then? Is it the beautiful view? The scintillating company? Or have you run out of hot water again?"
"Well I was going to skip the shower today but now you've mentioned it . . ." Sebastian grinned and Elspeth rolled her eyes, throwing a crust to Gladstone even though she had a bowl of her own food. "You shouldn't feed her your food, you know," Sebastian told her. "It's not good for her."
"Yes, I know." Elspeth bit into her toast. "I don't give it to her every day – besides, the worst bread can do is give her a bit of a tummy ache, I looked it up. A bit of crust is hardly going to kill her." She sighed. "God knows what I would do without her. My life is so boring right now . . . it's just so dull and normal, I'm used to doing stuff during the day!" There was rarely a lazy day in 221B, and when there was, Elspeth cherished them because her life was otherwise hectic with Sherlock around. There had been cases and experiments and running around London, darting through back alleys and parading around in disguises, and they met such interesting people. Even if a couple of them did turn out to be rather unsavoury characters. "I feel like I'm going crazy right now, Sebastian, I need some intelligent conversation."
Sebastian held his arms out, giving her a cocky grin in response. "Then look no further!"
"I said intelligent." Elspeth giggled when Sebastian gently pushed her shoulder, rolling his eyes. She was only teasing him. "It's alright for you and Jim, you have jobs. I can't get one because I have Gladstone to look after."
"Get one when she gets older?" Sebastian suggested.
"That won't be for years," Elspeth moaned. "The only time I get a conversation out of someone in London is if they stop and tell me how cute my puppy is, and after the sixth time, it gets a little dull." Running a hand through her unruly hair, Elspeth gave Sebastian a sideways glance and a grimace; he mirrored her expression sympathetically. "I can't even go visit John because –" she cut herself off just in time. Sebastian frowned.
"Because of what, Ellie?" he asked.
For a moment, Elspeth actually considered telling Sebastian about Mary – if she was out of the way, Elspeth could see John – but she dismissed the thought, knowing that it would only backfire. Mary was right. If John knew the truth, Elspeth would lose everything she had and after everything, she couldn't go through that again. So she had two choices. Pretend she didn't know who Mary really was and see John, or not see John anymore. And Elspeth had made her choice.
"Because of the situation," Elspeth said. "I know I've said it before but I can't have John and Jim in my life . . . it just wouldn't work, you know? After everything . . . it's hard because I care about them both a lot and I have to choose between one or the other." She didn't add that she had chosen Moriarty, but she didn't have to; Sebastian could already tell. He saw the conflict in her eyes and felt a pang of sympathy, knowing that this transition in her life couldn't be easy. Sebastian had been sympathetic of Elspeth from the moment he brought her back to Moriarty's flat, remembering how frightened and defensive she'd been, like a small child who had lost their parent. Except she really had lost a parent. Sebastian still thought about that day sometimes.
"Hey, maybe if you ask Jim nicely, he'll give you a job," Sebastian joked. Elspeth smiled back.
"Yeah, I could totally be a sniper like you," she said. "Can you imagine me doing that?"
"Needless to say, not a lot of jobs would get done."
"Hey!" Elspeth protested over Sebastian's laughter, glaring at him. "I'm getting better at aiming! I can actually hit the targets now!" Granted, occasionally her aim was a bit off and she would shoot the target in the arm instead of the chest, but at least she could hit them now. There had been one unfortunate incident when she accidentally shot the cardboard figure in the crotch rather than the chest, and Sebastian had laughed so hard he was nearly in tears, leaning against the wall for support. "If they were real people, at least I would weaken them a little first before you actually kill them."
"People don't want snipers to weaken their targets, they want us to kill their targets. That's the point of hiring us," Sebastian pointed out with a grin. He tried to imagine Elspeth in all black and holding a gun, staying out of sight before making the kill, and laughed again. "No, sorry, you and guns – I just can't see it."
Elspeth huffed. "Maybe I could work in the office with Jim, do some paperwork or something."
"You'd drive each other crazy."
"I know," Elspeth said, grimacing.
The police inspector sat at the table with his colleagues either side, microphones set up in front of them and photographers crowded into the small room, desperate to get a picture of the great inspector who had solved the crime – the newspapers had deemed it unsolvable, and even the police were beginning to feel a little dubious about their efforts, but suddenly he had solved it.
"After that," the police inspector concluded when someone asked him how he'd done it. "it was simply a matter of tracking down the killer, which I did by working out the depth to which the chocolate flake had sunk into the victim's ice-cream cone."
He chuckled contently, giving the photographers a smug smile when they called out for a picture, and answered any other questions that were thrown his way. He had been well prepared, after all.
Later, when all the photos were taken and the reporters had asked their questions, he rose to his feet and left the small room, closing the door behind him so not to be disturbed when he spotted a familiar face standing a little way down the corridor. The police inspector glanced over his shoulder. No one was watching or listening; they couldn't know the truth. Not yet anyway.
"My friend!" he greeted happily, pleased with the results of the press conference. "Will you not take any of the credit? This was all down to you."
Elspeth glanced at the newspaper during her walk with Gladstone, pausing a second when she spotted the newspaper at the stand. Frowning, she picked the nearest one up and started to flick through the pages when the stand holder snapped, "Hey, this isn't a library! You either buy it or you leave it."
"Yeah, and manners don't cost a penny," Elspeth snapped back, thrusting change into his hand and waiting impatiently for him to count it all out. She half expected him to charge her more just out of spite – Elspeth had encountered people like that on multiple occasions – but he accepted it with a scowl, stuffing the money into his pocket with a hint of reluctance and a scowl, like he had also been considering overcharging her. Elspeth tucked the newspaper into her bag and coaxed Gladstone, who had been sniffing at a nearby leaf with some interest, towards the nearest café. She sat outside, ordered a hot drink when the waitress came, and poured some water into Gladstone's bowl so she would have something to drink as well. One hand on Gladstone's lead, Elspeth opened the newspaper again and started to read. ". . . working out the depth to which the chocolate flake had sunk into the victim's ice-cream cone," she murmured aloud.
"Incredible, isn't it?" a middle aged man who was sitting nearby said, indicating towards his own newspaper. It was open on the same page. "Who would've thought it, hey? Working all that out – from an ice cream! Amazing!"
"Yeah," Elspeth agreed with a weak smile.
"It's almost like something Sherlock Holmes could've done!" the man continued. "Poor sod. How long has it been since he topped himself? Over a year now?"
"Yeah," Elspeth repeated. Her smile faded. She had gone over a year without her father, something she hadn't realised before because things had changed so quickly since that day. She was living with Moriarty, she was in a relationship with him, and John was with a former sniper who used to work for Moriarty but didn't know because Mary was apparently done with that life, and Sherlock was dead and gone and couldn't help Elspeth with the crazy mess she was in. Running a hand through her hair and biting her lip, Elspeth looked down, continuing to read the newspaper article. It really did sound like something that Sherlock would've solved, but it wasn't possible. The man had just made a passing comment and Elspeth was overthinking it.
"Stop it," a familiar voice said. Elspeth jumped, her head snapping up.
"What are you doing here?"
Moriarty grinned, his eyes shining from behind the lenses of his sunglasses, and leaned back in his seat. "Nice way to greet your beloved," he teased. Elspeth rolled her eyes. Moriarty liked pet names; she wasn't so keen on them. "I was just in the area and I thought I would pop by . . ."
"There is a security camera right there," Elspeth hissed. "If Mycroft happens to be watching –"
"Relax," Moriarty murmured. "I've sent him a little gift. It'll keep him distracted for a while."
"What have you done?"
"Nothing dangerous. You always think the worst of me, Ellie, I'm beginning to wonder if you really trust me." Moriarty smirked at the indignant expression on Elspeth's face, playfully tapping her on the chin. "You're so cute when you pout," he teased. Elspeth scowled back. "What are you reading?" Moriarty snatched the newspaper before she could protest, his eyes skimming over the pages while his lips turned into a frown. "Boring."
"I don't know, it's kind of impressive," Elspeth said. She picked the newspaper back up and held it against her chest in an almost defensive manner. "Working out who the murderer was from the depth of a flake in ice cream . . ." Her voice trailing off at the dubious look on Moriarty's face, Elspeth's hands tightened on the newspaper and she shrugged back at him. "I think it's impressive. You would have to be clever to do that. As in, super clever." She wanted to tell Moriarty what the man had said earlier, but she was hesitant to mention Sherlock's name; it was still the elephant in the room. Moriarty watched her carefully, aware that she didn't know his part in that day on the hospital roof, and waited for her to continue. He could tell what she was thinking. "I just think it was cool, that's all."
"Mmm," Moriarty said under his breath. Reaching out, he gently unhooked Elspeth's hand from the newspaper and held it in his own, his thumb running along her knuckles.
Elspeth stiffened. "I don't want you feeling sorry for me," she muttered. "I know what you're thinking, it's written all over your face."
Gladstone barked under the table and pawed at Moriarty's leg impatiently, and he relented by picking her up so she could rest on his lap for a bit. She gave his hand an appreciative lick and spread out across his legs, resting her head on her arms while he took his hand from Elspeth's, holding her puppy in place. As much as he complained, Moriarty really did have a fond spot for Gladstone. She was rather sweet – not that he would ever admit it, though. Elspeth looked at him for a long time with a strange expression, her brow furrowed and her teeth chewing nervously on her bottom lip while her eyes – Moriarty couldn't get enough of those eyes – watched his every move, never wavering. He wondered what she was thinking. Sometimes, Elspeth was an open book and it was easy to read her thoughts just by looking in her eyes, but other times she was an impossible puzzle that even Moriarty couldn't solve.
"Tell me," he murmured in a voice so low that only Elspeth could hear. She gazed at him from under her eyelashes. "Tell me what you're thinking."
Opening her mouth as though she was going to tell him, Elspeth squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, leaning away from him. She hadn't even realised she was so close to Moriarty. There was something very captivating about his eyes, his voice, his presence; Elspeth just couldn't get enough of him sometimes. He was like a drug.
"It doesn't matter," Elspeth whispered. She wouldn't tell him what she was thinking – she couldn't.
Moriarty stared back at her with an unfathomable expression. Early on in their days together, it would've made Elspeth feel uncomfortable, but now she just looked back at him so the two were engaged in an intense staring match. A nearby student glanced their way, later describing them to her friend as a couple that looked at each other with such intensity, it was like they were reading each other's minds. Much to her surprise, Moriarty was the first to blink and break eye contact, turning his head to the side with an almost bored expression. For some reason, it hurt Elspeth more than she thought it would.
If only things were different.
Elspeth was happy with Moriarty. More so than she would've ever imagined, but things weren't exactly ordinary between them, especially when she thought about their messed up past. If it was a normal relationship, Elspeth would've been able to talk to him about Sherlock without feeling some sort of guilt or betrayal towards her deceased father; telling Moriarty about what it was like having him as a father made Elspeth feel like she was betraying Sherlock by revealing his more vulnerable side. But what harm would it do? There were no other ways to destroy Sherlock Holmes because he was dead.
She never took Moriarty to Sherlock's grave. Elspeth had never quite forgiven Moriarty for finding her there after the funeral, even if he had taken her home to stop her from sitting in the pouring rain all afternoon, because she knew he had no right to be there. She just didn't know why.
If Elspeth had wanted things to be ordinary, she would've stayed with John.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, Elspeth reached out and put her hand on the table. She waited. Giving her a look that could've passed as innocent but made Elspeth feel weak at the knees, Moriarty took her hand in his, their fingers weaving together. It was an innocent gesture, one that didn't mean anything to the people sitting around them, but Elspeth could feel the heartbeat in his wrist thrum against hers and the way his fingers curled around her fingers, and her heart skipped a beat as she thought about how safe that hands made her feel. Moriarty held her hand when she was scared or anxious, and he'd held every part of her when she cried her eyes out about Sherlock or Freddie or just because Elspeth couldn't keep the tears in anymore. It was so wrong just how right it felt.
Elspeth thought about the night she'd spoken to Mary on the phone – the night she had thrown herself at Moriarty – and blushed, ducking her head so he wouldn't see. She had never been so embarrassed in her life.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Moriarty repeated.
"I'm thinking . . . about that night," Elspeth said quietly. Moriarty knew what night she was referring to. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – I mean . . . it was stupid, I don't know what was going on in my head – I've never – I would never –"
"I know."
Gazing back at Moriarty for a few seconds, Elspeth smiled at him, then at Gladstone. "Told you she wasn't that bad," she teased.
"It's not the dog I have a problem with," Moriarty joked. Elspeth's smile faded a little when she remembered the argument they'd had not so long ago, thinking about how out of hand it had been. As if sensing her thoughts, Moriarty reached out with one hand and gently brushed her hair behind her ear, wishing she tied it back more often. He liked seeing her face, even if she did have an uncanny resemblance to Sherlock. "It's alright. We're alright."
Elspeth gave him a small smile, but didn't say anything.
"As we all know this jury was convened under highly unusual circumstances," the foreman said in fluent German, rubbing his head tiredly while he addressed the rest of the jury. He was exhausted. It had been a long day. "but now I must press you for a judgment. Is Herr Trepoff guilty or not guilty of the murder of his wife?"
"Not guilty," the first female juror said, also speaking in German. At the end of the table, the last juror rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers against the table in an impatient manner. It was rather distracting. One by one, each of the jurors – four females and five males – gave their verdict, declaring Trepoff not guilty of the murder. All the evidence pointed towards his innocence, and yet the juror at the end of the table continued to drum his fingers in a repetitive pattern, his frown tightening when the others spoke. He clearly didn't agree; he had been restraining himself from speaking out though.
The foreman looked at the last juror with an exasperated sigh. "Well?"
"What's that?" Elspeth asked, peering over Moriarty's shoulder when she passed him. He was reading something on his laptop, scrolling up to show her the headline of the article – Trepoff "Guilty Sensation!"
"Janine sent it to me," Moriarty murmured. "It was printed this morning."
Elspeth sat down next to Moriarty and pulled the laptop towards her so she could read the article, her eyebrows pulling together. She could feel his arm draped over the back of her chair, his fingers absent mindedly playing with the strands of her hair, but ignored him as she continued to read. It was odd. At first, everyone thought that Trepoff was innocent, but the jury completely surprised everyone by declaring him guilty of the murder of his wife – it was no wonder the newspapers were reporting it as a shock sensation. Biting her lip, Elspeth brushed Moriarty's hand away from her hair as she tucked it behind her ear.
"Weird," she said under her breath. Elspeth was so engrossed in the article that she jumped when her phone started to ring, snatching it off the table and frowning when she saw it was an unknown number. Moriarty watched her answer it. "Hello?"
"Ellie?" a familiar voice asked. Elspeth glanced at Moriarty. "Ellie, is that you?"
"Yeah," Elspeth said slowly. "Who is this?"
"It's Anderson –"
"Anderson?" she interrupted. She hadn't seen him since Sherlock's death, and from Elspeth could remember, the years had not been kind to him. "How did you get my number?"
"I got it off Greg – that's not important. Listen, are you free now? I need to see you."
"Erm . . ." Elspeth bit her lip, glancing at Moriarty again. "You don't mind if I go out for a couple of hours, do you?" she asked him softly. He shook his head and she said to Anderson, "Yeah, alright. Where should I meet you?" Anderson gave Elspeth the name of the pub and she picked up her jacket, which was thrown over the back of one of the chairs. Moriarty always got annoyed when she didn't hang it up properly. "Ok, erm – I'll be there as soon as I can." Elspeth hung up, put her phone in her pocket, and frowned at Moriarty. "That was weird."
Moriarty made a noise of agreement, watching Elspeth get ready to leave. She pulled on her jacket and picked up her bag, bending down to say goodbye to Gladstone, who was napping in her bed. Moriarty offered her lift, but Elspeth declined because the situation was weird enough without Anderson catching a glimpse of Moriarty; she had an idea of how that would turn out if he did.
It didn't take long for Elspeth to get to the pub. It wasn't one she had been in before. When she opened the door, the familiar scent of alcohol lingering in the air and a burst of warmth hit her, and Elspeth couldn't help but smile at the sensation. There were several men at the corner of the bar, gathered around the TV and yelling at the football match that was playing, and a few other people enjoying their drinks and meals. Elspeth looked around. She almost didn't recognise Anderson at first. His hair was longer, in need of a good wash, and he had a beard that made him look older than he already was. Even his oatmeal jumper looked old and worn down, and Elspeth couldn't help but feel sorry for him; he was in a pitiful state.
"Ellie," Anderson said, almost knocking his glass over in his enthusiasm to greet her. Elspeth smiled back awkwardly and wriggled her fingers at him, narrowly avoiding the inevitable hug Anderson was about to initiate. "Hi! Thank you for coming at such short notice, I –"
"Where's Lestrade?" Elspeth asked. There were two glasses on the table, so unless Anderson had developed a drinking problem since she'd seen him, Elspeth assumed that Lestrade had been there with him. How else would Anderson get her number from him?
"He had to go. Look, I have something to show you –"
"Ok, ok, just . . . let me get a drink," Elspeth interrupted weakly, overwhelmed by Anderson's sudden change of personality. Last time she saw him, he was bitter, mean, and sarcastic, especially towards Sherlock. The two men despised each other and Elspeth resented Anderson for his attitude towards her father, but now he seemed completely different – happier, somehow. He nodded and returned to his seat in the corner of the pub while Elspeth went to the bar, ordering herself a soft drink. "So," she said, returning to the table and sitting opposite Anderson. "I heard you lost your job."
Anderson's enthusiasm visibly dropped from his face. Elspeth felt guilty. "Yeah," he said. "I lost it."
"I'm sorry," Elspeth said quietly. She bit her lip. "And I'm sorry for everything that happened . . . y'know, between us." Making a vague gesture with her hands, Elspeth shrugged and grimaced at Anderson apologetically. "I was kind of a bitch to you when you were working with Lestrade, and I shouldn't have been because you were just trying to do your job and Dad and I were out of order. We shouldn't have said the things we did. Especially Dad." Elspeth's laugh was nervous and Anderson's eyes hadn't wavered from her. "I guess what I'm trying to say is sorry."
A few years ago, Anderson would've completely ignored Elspeth's apology. Now, however, he could see the vulnerability in her eyes and recognise the genuine remorse of her apology. Anderson wasn't angry anymore – not with Sherlock, or Elspeth, or Lestrade.
"I accept your apology," he said. Elspeth smiled back. "Ok, I asked you here because I have something to show you." Anderson fumbled to move the glasses out of the way, unfolding the map he'd brought with him and spreading it out across the table so Elspeth could see the red crosses drawn in various places. He pointed towards the first. "Look."
"What's this?" Elspeth asked. "Are we going on a treasure hunt?"
Anderson ignored her. "You've been following the newspapers, haven't you? This is where the first sighting was –" he drummed his finger against the map. "– in the Himalayas, the blonde drug smuggler who infiltrated a breakaway sect of Buddhist warriors. Greg says it never happened, but it did and someone with unusual powers of observation and deduction found her! Do you get what I'm saying?"
Elspeth gave Anderson a blank stare. ". . . No," she said. "A blonde woman amongst bald men isn't going to be that hard to find, though."
"Well she obviously was if they only found her after a few months," Anderson snapped back. Elspeth raised an eyebrow. "Ok, well, what about this?" He pointed at the second cross on the map. "The incident at New Dheli –"
"Oh, yeah, that was the murder with the flake in the ice cream," Elspeth said, remembering the newspaper article. "That was really cool, I couldn't believe he worked it out just from that . . . no one's been able to do that sort of thing since –" She cut herself off when she saw the look in Anderson's eyes, the colour draining from her face. "The police inspector was obviously smart. So what? It's no big deal."
"What police inspector could've made that deduction?"
Elspeth shrugged. "I don't know – Lestrade's kind of smart, I guess. He solved loads of cases on his own . . . I can't think of many right now, but he totally did and you know it."
"He got a couple wrong," Anderson muttered. Elspeth gave him a withering look, clearly unimpressed; she was beginning to wonder why she had agreed to meet him. "Ok, number three, the most recent one." He pointed at the third cross, the one that was closest to him, and Elspeth leaned forwards with her chin in her hand. "Hamburg. The Mysterious Juror."
"I was reading about that this morning," Elspeth said, lowering her hand. "Look, Anderson, I get that you've lost your job and I'm sorry, but is there actually a reason for you bringing me here other than to show a couple of drawings on a map? Believe it or not, I do actually have a life and things to do."
"Don't you see?" Anderson asked. Elspeth looked back at him for a long time, her expression guarded; he could tell that she knew what he was talking about but was reluctant to say it out loud. He stared back at her, taking in her appearance. Last time Anderson saw Elspeth, she had been youthful looking with a shine in her eyes and a bright grin that could quickly turn into a scowl if she disliked you, but now she looked older somehow. Her eyes were a little duller, her face pale like she'd seen all the horrors of the world and then some. "Look – think about it! The monks, the police inspector solving that murder case, the jury changing their minds suddenly – it all points to him!"
"Don't," Elspeth whispered, shaking her head. "Don't, Anderson."
"Just look at the map, Ellie," Anderson insisted. "Look." He surprised Elspeth by reaching out and grabbing her arm, her eyes snapping up to meet his at the abrupt gesture. "I know it's hard for you to get your head around but you and I both know what this means – he's out there, he's hiding, but he can't stop himself from getting involved!" Elspeth shook her head again, wishing that he would shut up. "Sherlock Holmes is coming back!"
Her fist clenching, Elspeth snatched her arm from Anderson's grip so suddenly that the map would've fallen off the table if he hadn't grabbed it in time. There was a furious look in her eyes, the most animated he'd seen her throughout the entire conversation, but he didn't have enough time to dwell on it before she started to speak.
"Shut up," Elspeth said. "Just shut up and take your stupid map back to where you came from. My Dad is not coming back, and you know why? Because he is dead. He threw himself off the roof of a hospital and he is dead, so you can stop projecting these sick fantasies onto anyone else who will listen." Elspeth stood up, pushing her chair back with such strength that it slammed against the table; a few people looked their way. There were tears in her eyes when she glared at Anderson. "He's dead. I had to watch my Dad kill himself and you have the nerve to suggest that he's been alive this whole time?" She scoffed. "You're sick."
"No, Ellie, listen –"
"I've had enough of listening!" Elspeth cried. "You're sick in the head and trying to make up for all the crap you put Dad through." Anderson reached for Elspeth again, but she pulled away and scowled at him. "Don't touch me, and don't ever ring me again, or I swear to God –" She was so angry her hands were trembling; Elspeth couldn't even finish her sentence because Anderson had made her feel so upset. "My Dad is dead. He is not coming back."
Elspeth turned and stormed out of the pub, ignoring the hot stream of tears that ran down her cheeks as she pushed her way through the crowd of people outside, trying to get away. Before long, Elspeth started to run as fast as she could. Her legs burned and her chest hurt and she could barely breathe, and still Elspeth ran. She skidded to a stop outside the hospital. In just a few steps, she would be standing in the exact spot Sherlock had landed and the thought made her feel sick, the world getting dizzy as she struggled for breath. All Elspeth could see was Sherlock's body and the blood and people gathering around him, poking and prodding him, feeling for a pulse – some sign of life . . . her hands trembling, Elspeth ran them through her hair and looked around, silently begging for help. Why couldn't they see what was happening? How could so many people go about their lives when hers had been completely ruined?
"Miss Holmes," a voice said from behind her. Elspeth turned around and stared at Anthea through the tears in her eyes. She had a kind face, a sympathetic hand reaching for the younger girl in an attempt to help her. "Miss Holmes, come with me."
Elspeth shook her head. "No. No. I'm alright, I'm – I'm . . ." She swallowed past the lump in her throat and wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms. "I'm fine. Just leave me alone." Anthea started to say something, but Elspeth didn't hang around to listen to her. She didn't know how long she ran for, or even where she was running to. All Elspeth knew was that she had to get away from there. She didn't even notice the car speeding after her. Pulling up at the side of the street, Moriarty flung the door open and slammed it shut, calling after Elspeth. She didn't hear him; she kept running.
"Ellie!" Moriarty shouted, chasing after her. "Ellie, stop!" He caught her from behind, wrapping his arms around Elspeth and pulling her close even as she began to struggle against him, sobbing and trying to push him off. Elspeth cried harder than she'd cried in weeks, pushing at Moriarty's chest and pulling him close at the same time when he tightened his embrace, one arm around her waist and his other hand cradling the back of her head. Elspeth was like a small child, crying so hard that she couldn't breathe properly and trembling uncontrollably. "What happened? What did he say?"
Elspeth shook her head. She couldn't speak, clinging to Moriarty so hard that her knuckles turned white and burying her face in his shoulder like she wanted to block the world out.
"I hate him," she choked out. "I hate him." Anderson was wrong, he had to be. Sherlock Holmes was dead and gone, and he was never coming back. No matter what anyone else said.
Thank you Deductions-of-Sherlolly, hello-totoro-ninja, ahundredyears-itsnothing, Female whovian, BlondDragon, Adrillian1497, Pygmy Pandazilla and tardislover1 for reviewing!