Chapter 28
'Death is not the greatestlossin life. The greatestlossis what dies inside us while' we live'
Norman Cousins
"Mrs Hudson!" John called down the stairs. The elderly land lady could hear John from her downstairs flat. With a sigh she set down her crossword and went upstairs wondering what on earth Sherlock had done this time. When she walked through the open door of 221B it wasn't a mess with Sherlock in the centre of it that greeted her but John franticly pulling out bits of clothing from the basket of freshly ironed items she'd bought up earlier in the day.
"John, you'll crease those and I'm not ironing them again. I'm not your housekeeper," Mrs Hudson picked up a jumper from the floor and folded it neatly.
"Not now Mrs Hudson, I haven't got time," John snapped as he took off towards Sherlock's room.
Mrs Hudson frowned, something wasn't right, "what's going on? Is it Sherlock? What's he done this time?"
"No. Not Sherlock," John paused, "at least I don't think so. It's Harriet. Her house caught fire." John caught sight of the alarm on Mrs Hudson's face, "don't worry. She's fine and her mother."
"Well, what happened?" Mrs Hudson needed more details to put her mind at ease.
"That's all I know. Lestrade is picking me up," John had received a phone call less than ten minutes ago from Sherlock. It was brief and to the point like all his calls. 'John, Miss Thornton's house was set alight by Moriarty. Lestrade is picking you up. Bring clothes,' Sherlock would have hung up if John hadn't asked how Harriet and her mother were.
"Harriet dear, go for a shower," her mother was handling the loss of their home better than Harriet.
"No," she sniffed from her perch on the uncomfortable faded armchair in the window of the hotel room, "a shower won't fix things."
"You'll feel better. Wash the smoke and soot off and I'll put the kettle on," there it was, her mother's universal cure for tragedy.
"I don't like tea," Harriet lumbered to her feet and trudged to the bathroom the prospect of being forced to drink tea was more than enough motivation. She locked the bathroom door and caught sight of herself in the large polished mirror of the sink in the clinically white bathroom. There were dark smudges on her cheeks broken by the streaks of tears and the hair was falling from the bun on her head. Her eyes were red and puffy. Harriet sniffed the arm of her jacket. It reeked of smoke. All she had were the clothes on her back. Her mother had put on her gym clothes from the back of her car. It had been a recent get fit attempt at a spinning class. Harriet had nothing. She scrubbed the grime for her face with cold water and returned to the bedroom to sit back in the chair. The shower could wait.
Sherlock had disappeared. Harriet didn't blame him, who would want to deal with distraught women? It hurt that he'd vanished but at that moment in time it was the least of her worries. Harriet couldn't care less about anything.
"Harriet!" her mother was getting exasperated, "you will feel better after a shower."
"I don't have anything to wear," she was aware how pathetic she sounded.
John looked around at the smouldering shell of the house. The army doctor and detective inspector had arrived fifteen minutes ago. "He wasn't to be taken lightly, was he?" John said to Sherlock. Sherlock didn't need a name to know who they were on about.
"Hmmm, no," the consultant detective replied. He was too deep in thought to pay much attention to John.
"There's nothing left," Lestrade had finished speaking with the officer in charge of the scene. The local police considered the fire to be accidental but when Sherlock mentioned Moriarty Lestrade pushed for the fire to become a criminal investigation with the local police working in tandem with the metropolitan police. There was nothing much that could be done until the fire inspectors had been in.
"And Harriet? How is she?" John asked Sherlock for the second time. The first time he had gone unheard. John scrutinised Sherlock's every action.
The consultant detective stared at the smouldering ashes of the house. Moriarty did this. Sherlock was going to make sure he paid. "She's with her mother," Sherlock replied. It didn't really answer John's question.
"There's nothing else we can do here," Lestrade pulled out his car keys. Sherlock had come to the same conclusion within five minutes of Lestrade's arrival. "I need to speak to Harriet," Lestrade drove them to the hotel Harriet and her mother had been placed in.
A knock on the door startled the life that was left out of Harriet. She had been preoccupied with thoughts of Moriarty. "Oh," her mother opened the door. Harriet remained statue still in the threadbare armchair. "Come in," Mary Thornton stepped aside.
"Mrs Thornton, Harriet," Lestrade greeted, "I'm sure you've had enough of questions but I've got a few more to ask."
Harriet mumbled something incoherent under her breath as she glared at the polished surface of the coffee table. She didn't raise her eyes to their visitors, what did it matter? They couldn't bring back her home.
Sherlock had completely ignored Harriet's mother since their entrance in his eyes all that mattered was Harriet. The young teacher had crumbled. Sherlock frowned at her. This was exactly why sentiment was a defect.
John went into doctor mode and checked that Mary Thornton was okay, "perhaps you could go with Lestrade down to the bar and speak there." John suggested. One look at Harriet was more than enough confirmation that she couldn't handle much more for the time being. "We'll stay with Harriet. Don't worry." Mrs Thornton did worry. She worried for her daughter who had yet to acknowledge anyone, not even Sherlock.
Lestrade took Mrs Thornton down to the almost deserted hotel bar and bought her a strong drink. He suspected that Harriet needed the drink more than her mother. The Detective inspector started with routine question to check her statement that the local police had given him. There wasn't much else that Mary Thornton could tell him.
Meanwhile John and Sherlock spoke to Harriet or at least try to, "I don't know what else you want me to say!" she snapped and folded her arms. John looked to Sherlock who was uncharacteristically silent. "I-I can't tell you anything else," Harriet was on the verge of tears yet again.
"Why don't you go for a shower? You'll feel better," John looked to Sherlock for back up.
"Will a shower bring back her home? Be realistic John," Sherlock said tersely.
"Sherlock-" John's warning was cut off.
"No. He's right. I have no home. Someone I cared about is dead. I can't go anywhere alone. Some deranged maniac is out for my life to get at Sherlock. Everything I worked for is gone all I have is the clothes on my back so tell me, John, just what good will a shower do?" Harriet had spring to her feet and stormed past John towards the bathroom where she could be alone. Sherlock had seen that outburst coming. He swung his arm out and caught her round the middle to stop her from fleeing. "Let me go," Harriet shoved his arm away.
"Throwing a tantrum won't help," Sherlock kept his gaze on Harriet.
"I wasn't throwing a tantrum," Harriet swiped away the tears. Sherlock raised his eyebrows his expressions saying 'oh really.'
"Harriet, you're letting Moriarty get the better of you and giving him exactly what he wants," John went for a different approach. Harriet stilled. She didn't need John to tell her she was playing right into Moriarty's hands.
"You can talk, both of you. The best thing you can do is run a million miles away from me," Harriet sniffed in an undignified manner, "you should go. I won't stop you. It's better if you do. Moriarty won't be able to use me to get to Sherlock if I'm not around."
John didn't know whether to look at Harriet or Sherlock as a tense silence filled the dingy hotel room.
"Stop playing the martyr, it doesn't suit you," Sherlock's words were like ice in the silence.
"Sherlock," John warned.
Sherlock closed his eyes and bit back his next comment. It wasn't in anyway constructive to the situation. He snapped his eyes open and grabbed Harriet's hand marching her with him to the bathroom. "Let go of me, Sherlock!" Harriet's protest was feeble at best. John heard her muffled protest as the door closed behind them.
"Sit down," Sherlock told the insufferable woman. Harriet obliged and sat on the toilet seat lid. Sherlock shrugged off his jacket and hooked it on the door handle then rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows. The consultant detective put the plug into the bath and ran it. He emptied an entire bottle of complimentary bath soap into the tub before finally turning to look at Harriet. She looked up and met his gaze.
"Thank you," she all but whispered. Harriet gave in to Sherlock and let him pull her to her feet and pull her shirt over her head, "Sherlock, I can undress myself."
"I'll get you some clothes," Sherlock grabbed his jacket turning away from Harriet's flushed cheeks.
"I don't have any," she said feebly.
"I'll get you some clothes," Sherlock repeated and left the room.
Harriet took the rest of her clothes off and shoved them into the corner. The bath filled her nose with the scent of lavender. Harriet dipped a toe into the scolding water before biting the bullet and stepping in.
Sherlock returned to the bathroom with an armful of clothes, he placed them on the counter top. Harriet swept bubbles closer to preserve some of her modesty not that he was looking.
Harriet felt better after her bath. The clothes she was wearing were big and baggy. A pair of Sherlock's navy pyjama bottoms and a knitted jumper that she suspected belonged to John. Harriet curled up onto one of the twin beds. Sherlock's gaze was concentrated on the world outside. He stood at the window peering through the gap in the curtains. John sat in the chair in front of the mirror waiting for Sherlock to speak.
Lestrade and Mary Thornton returned not long after Harriet left the bathroom. Her mother had given him her statement and established a place to go. Lestrade was suggesting witness protection for Harriet and her mother. "Is that really wise?" John nodded his head towards Sherlock whose back was to the room. John knew Sherlock wouldn't take it well. Irene Adler was proof enough. John really couldn't take any more sad music and week-long silences.
With some coaxing Harriet managed to give Lestrade her statement and answer some of his questions. Witness protection wasn't something she wanted. "Miss Thornton will return to Baker Street with us. We will watch over her," Sherlock remained focussed on the window despite his comment.
"She would be safer in witness protection," John agreed with Lestrade.
"Moriarty will find her. Just because she is no longer in contact with me doesn't mean that Moriarty will stop," Sherlock knew the consultant criminal. He was in this till the end.
The agreement was made for Harriet's mother to go into a witness protection programme. It took the rest of the night to arrange. John dozed in the chair by the window. Sherlock sat opposite him with his hands clasped together resting against his chin deep in thought. Lestrade was on the phone again. Harriet's mother was sleeping and Harriet was lying on her back lost to her thoughts. She was already mourning the loss of her mother come morning. Once she left she would no longer be able to contact her until Moriarty was stopped.
Morning arrived. Breakfast was ordered to room. Lestrade, John and Sherlock left the two Thornton's alone for their final hour together. "You take of yourself young lady," her mother smiled, "Sherlock will take care of you."
"I wish I could come with you," Harriet had to fight hard not to cry.
"You will have Mrs Hudson. She's family," Her mother tried to comfort her.
"But she's not you," a tear slipped down Harriet's cheek.
Final goodbyes were made when Lestrade returned to room with a team of people involved in witness protection, "I will come back to you when Moriarty is gone," her mother cried into Harriet's shoulder as they clung to each other in a last hug. They separated both drying their eyes her mother on a tissue and Harriet on the sleeve of John's jumper. Alone without her mother Harriet fell against Sherlock. He wrapped his arms around the distraught young woman holding her tight. John nodded his head approvingly and went with Lestrade to bring the car to the front of the hotel.
In the car back to London Harriet remained quiet. John and Lestrade conversed in the front whilst Sherlock looked out the window at the passing scenery. Tears fell onto Harriet's pale cheeks. She wouldn't be able to see her mother again until Moriarty was behind bars. At the back of her mind Harriet couldn't help but worry that Moriarty might remain at large. What would she do then?
John looked in the wing mirror at Harriet in the seat behind him. The poor thing was broken. Sherlock wasn't exactly helping matters. He wasn't an emotionally supportive boyfriend that was for sure. John caught Sherlock's eyes and nodded his head towards Harriet. Sherlock took the hint and slid across into the middle seat to comfort Harriet. She let him guide her away from the window and to his side; his hand ran up and down her arms.
Harriet was numb as they approached London. With little awareness of her movements she was ushered inside Baker Street where Mrs Hudson pulled her into hug. The elderly woman was wearing a sharp perfume that tingled in her nose. Harriet inhaled it sharply as a distraction. They proceeded upstairs where a tray of tea, sandwiches and biscuits were waiting. John immediately tucked into a cheese sandwich. Harriet was crying again. Tea and biscuits was her mother's answer to everything. She excused herself with tiredness and crawled into Sherlock's bed.
Sherlock finished his cup of tea and silently followed Harriet into his room without so much as a thank you or a goodbye to Lestrade. The detective inspector took no offence having adjusted to Sherlock years ago. Sherlock didn't need prompting this time to comfort Harriet. Once he was in bed Harriet turned over to curl up against him. She cried herself to sleep.
There were no words from the consultant detective he barely understood sentiment at the best of times. He could do nothing for grief she felt for the loss of her mother, her home, her fiancé and her job. Sherlock placed a kiss to her forehead. John had informed him that he would do better to stick to actions and not words.
As Harriet fell into an exhausted sleep, despite the day light hours, Sherlock pondered over events. In search for Moriarty he had found something else, something of greater value that he loathed to give up. He was possessed with a strong resolve to tear Moriarty's head from his shoulders.
So I said a week and its been nearly a month since I updated. Hoped to get this up last week but was plagued by migraine so sitting at my laptop was the last thing I wanted to do. I've lost my exam classes now so I have more time to write in the evenings. Summer holidays are nearly here so I'll have more time to write. Cheers to everyone whose reading =]
owlsrawsome- glad you love it
chaosrachel- sorry this update wasn't so fast, Moriarty's dialogue is one of my favourite things. I can just imagine him saying those things in my head.
Gwilwillith- love that you review every chapter :D
Sally Fantastic- thanks for reviewing lots of chapters, the email alerts reminded me to finish this chapter.
