"The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people-"
Not everything is her fault
"Old block of flats." John excused.
Not everything is her fault
They were back in 221b. Sherlock and John watched the broadcast. In the kitchen, Danielle listened. The kettle went off for tea.
Not everything is her fault
"-is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company-"
Not everything is her fault
"He certainly gets about." John mused.
Not everything is her fault
Danielle made herself a cuppa.
Not...everything is her fault
"Well, obviously I lost that round– although technically I did solve the case." Sherlock conceded.
Now he was just being patronizing. Danielle didn't need to be pitied. It- this wasn't-
...n...not...not everything is her fault-
Soo Lin dying wasn't- it wasn't her it was-
If she'd been faster-
Quieter-
Why wouldn't the teacher just listen? Why did teachers never listen to Danielle when she needed them to?
Danielle wrapped her hands around the mug. Was the telly going quiet or did her mind go off on her again?
She turned towards the living room. Sherlock had the remote in his hand. He lowered it back on his chair. Danielle could see the telly screen now.
All that was left of the building was tatters. Debris and smoke filled the screen.
Twelve other people died...
"He killed the old lady because she started to describe him. Just once, he put himself in the firing line." Sherlock reasoned.
It wasn't Danielle's fault
It was the bomber
Not Danielle...
Danielle held tighter to her tea.
"What d'you mean?" John asked.
"Well, usually, he must stay above it all." Sherlock explained. He talked in his usual detached tone. It brought Danielle something like comfort. If he could disconnect his feelings from the case, Danielle could do that same. "He organises these things but no-one ever has direct contact."
"What...like the Connie Prince murder– he- he arranged that?" John asked. "So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?"
"Like it matters." Danielle sipped at her tea. "The bloke wants to blow people up. Bugger whatever his day job is."
"Novel." Sherlock praised.
Danielle scoffed. Bloody pissed, that's what she was. Bloody pissed. This whole 'not-caring' thing became very short lived. She cared again. The poor old lady talking in her ear, going on about remembering Danielle as a student. She cared about the other people dead because Danielle couldn't do a damn thing right.
Danielle looked down at her tea. She stared at it, not seeing a damn drop. Tea just reminded her of teapots and Soo Lin. Piece of shite...useless rubbish...
"Taking his time this time." Sherlock mused.
John glanced away from Sherlock to the TV, to the report of Connie Prince's murderer being arrested. "Anything on the Carl Powers case?"
John I thought I could trust you
Why bring that up right now?
Sherlock scoffed, dismissive. The reverence for the bomber was replaced with annoyance at the child killer. "Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection."
"Was it one of the older boys?" Danielle asked. "Or another teacher?"
"The thought had occurred."
Right. Danielle should've known Sherlock checked for that too. Stupid of her, for not figuring that out. Sherlock always thought about those kinds of things.[=
"So why's he doing this, then– playing this game with you?" John asked. "D'you think he wants to be caught?"
"I think he wants to be distracted." Sherlock replied.
I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored
Danielle shuddered. She moved the cuppa into the sink. She might've done a bit harsher than necessary.
"I hope you'll be very happy together." John told Sherlock. He stood up from the chair. He walked over to Danielle. He watched her pour the tea down the drain.
"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked, perking his head up.
John whirled back around. His hands tightened on the back of the seat. "There are lives at stake, Sherlock– actual human lives... Just– just so I know, do you care about that at all?"
"Will caring about them help save them?" Sherlock asked, sneering in disgust at the idea of showing care.
"I mean, no." Danielle murmured.
"Nope." John answered.
"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake." Sherlock dismissed.
John narrowed his eyes. "And you find that easy, do you?"
"Yes, very. Is that news to you?" Sherlock asked.
"No." John frowned. "No."
Danielle felt oddly disappointed. She wanted to believe that Sherlock was good, that he did good things because he cared. If life these past few months taught her anything, her feelings meant nothing.
She turned away from them both. Looking down at her hands, she fidgeted with her fingers.
"I've disappointed you both." Sherlock stated.
Danielle tilted her head up. She met Sherlock's eyes. The man stared at her and John like he stared at severed heads and his experiments. Danielle wondered if he could tell the difference. She hadn't wanted Sherlock to think that she was disappointed. If anything, she disappointed herself with her actions.
As she stared back at him, as he stared at her, the hardness around his eyes softened a touch. Danielle almost missed it except Sherlock corrected it so fast it made the change that much more obvious. Danielle wondered what that face had been, had he been hurt by their disappointment? Hurt but not surprised?
"That's good– that's a good deduction, yeah." John smiled. Danielle noted it wasn't a bright happy smile that she often thought of when thinking about John. This smile made him feel dangerous, like he would snap and explode on them both. The only thing holding back was the smallest, thinnest tether of self-control.
Danielle wondered what John Watson would be like properly angry.
She didn't like it.
"Don't make people into heroes, John, Danielle." Sherlock cautioned them. He still kept up stupid face. "Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."
In her mind, memories of Sherlock coming to her popped up. Sherlock, bringing her dog when Danielle needed her most. Sherlock, giving her comfort after Soo Lin died. Sherlock, comforting her after she watched John kill a man. Danielle wondered if there were other kinds of heroes besides the ones wearing capes.
The phone went off.
Sherlock burst with delight. "Excellent!" He pulled the phone out. Danielle shuddered at the sound. A short pip, and a long one.
A person should believe they were nearly done. Danielle couldn't believe that- it wasn't working. She believed that whoever was doing this wouldn't give in just because the pips were done. If anything, this felt like the beginnings of it. A grand entrance for the real madness.
But Danielle knew she was often wrong, so she dismissed it.
"View of the Thames." Sherlock reported, staring in complete focus on the phone. "South Bank– somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo." He tucked the phone away, grabbing his. "You two check the papers; I'll look online-" He glanced up at them. "Oh, John, you're angry with me, so you won't help."
Danielle looked. John lifted his head only to shrug at Sherlock.
"Not much cop, this caring lark." Sherlock dismissed. He nodded his head to the papers. "Danielle, get to it."
Let the record show, Danielle wanted to say no. She was tired- emotionally wrung out. She killed her teachers and a dozen people. Shouldn't she get some rest?
More the fool her, she supposed.
With a caving sigh, Danielle walked to the couch.
"Danielle, don't listen to him-" John began.
"It's not worth the row." Danielle sighed. She sat herself down on the couch. She wanted to lie flat on it, curling up under a blanket with Erika and Nightwing cuddling with her. The TV would be playing old movies, not a news broadcast talking about how Danielle killed people.
She lifted the first paper. Research never turned out to be her forte. The first news story that caught her eye she reported: "Archway suicide?"
"Ten a penny." Sherlock dismissed.
Cold water fell over Danielle. The idea that...that people were just numbers...a person killing themselves was so common. Oh, the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't get how a person jumping off a building can be traumatic, if Danielle had a bit more energy she'd smack him.
Across the room, John glared harder at Sherlock. His shoulders broadened. He made decisive steps to Danielle's side.
She didn't want John getting upset for her. It felt patronizing- like John didn't think Danielle could fight for herself. She didn't want a soldier right now. She wanted the friends that gave her tea, and assured her so kindly in the days prior. That was the friend she wanted.
Danielle turned the pages. "Two boys were stabbed in Stoke Newington?" Sherlock said nothing. Danielle got the message. She turned the page again. "Oh my...Andrew West- found on the train line." Danielle turned to John. "We forgot to do this."
John wasn't even staring at her. He kept that hard stare on Sherlock.
Sherlock clearly stopped listening to her ages ago. He huffed in frustration. "Nothing!" He typed on his phone, holding it to his ear. "It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?"
He smiled.
Danielle looked at John. He kept glaring at Sherlock.
She really should've known they would leave her lonely.
==NKMHLY==
At least the place was chilly
Danielle should acknowledge the human body just a few yards ahead of her. She shouldn't have dumped that cuppa earlier, now she was starving for something.
Lestrade stood at Sherlock's side. "D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?"
"Must be." Sherlock held up the phone. "Odd, though, he hasn't been in touch."
"But we must assume that another one of Danielle's old classmates' primed to explode, yeah?" Lestrade asked. He winced. "Sorry Danielle."
"It's fine." Danielle replied. She'd been stressing over it the entire car ride. Usually, the calls came right after the pictures. Why wasn't he being given the time to solve it, why not let them hear this person's voice? It would've killed her, but she wanted to know the bombee was still alive.
"Yes." Sherlock replied.
"We've got my people calling them up. Nobody's reported missing so far." Lestrade assured her.
Danielle wasn't reassured. 'So far' meant they hadn't gotten to them all yet. Any of them could be missing still. It could be another teacher, or something. Danielle couldn't make herself relax. She desperately wanted to see Lestrade's brightside- there was just a dead body between them ruining things.
"Any ideas?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.
"Seven... so far."
"Seven?!"
Sherlock searched the body. Danielle didn't care much for the specifics. She let herself look out on the river, letting breezes sweep over her. Her hair blew in the breeze. She should've put it up, or put on a hat. She hated what the breeze did to her hair.
Dead body.
Person strapped to a bomb- ready to blame Danielle for it.
Priorities, Nolan.
Sherlock stepped away from the body, nodding down after a quick glance at John. John dutifully knelt down to examine the poor man. Sherlock typed away on his phone. Danielle stood around being useless as always. Hopefully this time her uselessness didn't get someone blown up again.
"He's dead about twenty-four hours– maybe a bit longer." John stated. "Did he drown?"
"Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated." Lestrade reported.
"Yes, I'd agree." John pointed to the redding bruises around the face. Danielle's stomach turned- reminding her that it was a good idea she skipped eating earlier. "There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here."
"Fingertips." Sherlock murmured. That didn't make Danielle feel any better.
"In his late thirties, I'd say. Not in the best condition." John stated.
"He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data." Sherlock grinned. "But I'll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting's a fake."
Danielle briefly considered that she'd blacked out. It was unlikely, but it was the only that explained how fast Sherlock switched the topic. Maybe she had a concussion?
Lestrade's confusion told her she wasn't the only one. So maybe she hadn't blacked out, and Sherlock just jumped around like that to prove a point. "What?"
"We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates-" Sherlock began to explain.
"Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?" Lestrade asked.
"Did a painting fall in the Thames too?" Danielle asked.
"It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters?" Sherlock asked them both. Danielle winced. Ah, she remembered now. One of the news articles talked about it. "Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds."
"But that's a painting." Danielle replied. "I don't think this bloke was a painter."
"He's not, but he's close." Sherlock stated. He grinned wide in excitement. "Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?"
"Golem?" Lestrade asked.
"It's a mythology story." Danielle answered. "From the Jewish culture- I can't remember how, exactly."
"Jewish folk story. A gigantic man made of clay." Sherlock confirmed. Warmth bubbled in her chest. "It's also the name of an assassin– real name Oskar Dzundza– one of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style." He pointed at the face of the body.
"So this is a hit?" Lestrade asked.
"Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands." Sherlock explained.
Fingertips, Danielle saw it now. Of course Sherlock would know the bruising pattern caused by fingertips on sight. He was just very smart like that.
"But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see-" Lestrade began.
"You do see you just don't observe." Sherlock snapped.
"All right, all right, girls, calm down." John warned. Sherlock and Lestrade backed down, both looking proper contrite. "Sherlock? D'you wanna take us through it?"
Sherlock paused. He eyed John and Danielle, seeming to search for the 'okay' to pass. Danielle gave an encouraging nod. Sherlock began.
"What do we know about this corpse? The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal– maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, same as the shirt: cheap. They're both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie."
"Tube driver?" Lestrade guessed. Sherlock glared, annoyed.
"Security guard?" John guessed.
"To...art?" Danielle tried.
"More likely. That'll be borne out by his backside." Sherlock went on.
"Backside?!" Lestrade asked.
"Flabby. You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts." Sherlock explained.
"Why regular? Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died." Lestrade suggested.
"No-no-no, the buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognisable, some kind of institution." Sherlock revealed a soggy ball of paper from his pocket. "Found this inside his trouser pockets. Sodden by the river but still recognisably-"
"Tickets!" Danielle stated, feeling perky out of nowhere. Had she been right, saying he was a guard at an art place?
"Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check – the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing." Sherlock nodded at the body. "Alex Woodbridge. Tonight they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it– something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake."
"Fantastic." John praised.
"Amazing." Danielle praised too.
Sherlock shrugged, dismissive of them. Danielle hoped their praise hadn't hurt him without him. Maybe that's why he stood up against the cold- his cheeks were getting pink, he should be wearing a scarf. "Meretricious."
"And a Happy New Year!" Lestrade joked.
Danielle thought there were nicer ways to say she didn't understand a word.
John looked down at the damp security guard. "Poor sod." John shook his head.
Danielle agreed. "He was just in the wrong job at the wrong time." She hated the cruelty of humans sometimes.
"I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character." Lestrade stated.
"Pointless." Sherlock replied. "You'll never find him. But I know a man who can."
"Who?"
Sherlock smiled. Danielle would be lying if she said her chest didn't warm at it. "Me."
==NKMHLY==
The three packed themselves in the back of another cab. Danielle was, as normal, squished between them both. Sherlock glared at the pink phone.
"Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?" Sherlock asked himself.
"It's not obvious?" Danielle asked, laughing small and without joy. She thought it was obvious. Sherlock of all people should've seen it. Why hadn't he, with all the experience he had in it?
Sherlock tilted his head at her. He leaned forward to their driver. "Waterloo Bridge."
"Where now? The Gallery?" John asked.
"In a bit." Sherlock replied.
"The Hickman's contemporary art, isn't it? Why have they got hold of an Old Master?" John asked.
"Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data." Sherlock put the phone away, pulling out a notebook. He scribbled a note there. Danielle couldn't make out what he was writing before he ripped the page out. He pulled out a fifty from his pockets, tucking it into the note. "Stop!"
The cabbie stopped their cab.
"You wait here. I won't be a moment." Sherlock ordered. He rushed out of the cab. Danielle and John followed after him.
Sherlock climbed over the fence. John followed. Danielle hesitated before using a nearby gate. Sherlock led them to a nearby homeless woman.
"Change? Any change?" She asked. Danielle checked her pockets for anything.
"What for?" Sherlock asked.
"Cup of tea, of course."
Sherlock pulled out the note from his pocket. "Here you go– fifty."
Danielle paused in her search. Even the homeless woman looked surprised. "Thanks."
Sherlock turned tail, walking back to their cab. Danielle looked to John for answers. He shook his head, also lost. Great- just great. That's exactly what they needed. The two of them went off after him. Again, Danielle took the gate.
"What are you doing?" John asked him.
"Investing." Sherlock answered."Now we go to the Gallery." Sherlock glanced at the other two. "Have you got any cash?"
Danielle pulled out a twenty. It was the only bank note she had on hand.
The three of them climbed back into the cab.
As the cab drove off, Sherlock looked at Danielle.
"You said it was obvious." Sherlock stated. "What?"
"He's mad at you." Danielle replied. "You passed the phone to me- I got the hostage killed. Maybe he thinks you cheated, or something, but he's not calling again until he knows you'll play fair."
Again, Danielle was surprised Sherlock hadn't put it together. With how often people got angry at him and seemed to ignore him, this should be a common occurrence. Maybe he just didn't think this bomber would be as petty as other people.
Or maybe he didn't think he could disappoint another friend.
==NKMHLY==
They pulled up the museum.
Danielle's hands may have been shaking. The last time she went inside a museum, someone died in front of her. It ended with her having a javelin pointed at her chest. She was a touch cautious about doing it again.
As she climbed out, Sherlock stopped her.
"No. I need you and John to find out all you can about the gallery attendant." Sherlock instructed. Danielle slid back into the cab. "Lestrade will give you the address."
"O-okay." Danielle nodded. She closed the door. She checked her phone, searching for the text.
"Just start driving." John suggested.
"No wait, there it is." Danielle read the incoming text. "Please, sir, can we go here?" She told him the address.
"Sure thing, luv." The cabbie started driving them off.
Danielle leaned back against the seat. It was still warm from Sherlock. She breathed out a sigh, happy to not be following him along. Just this once. Next time, for sure.
"You alright?" John asked.
Danielle nodded. "I'm- I'm alright." She felt vaguely alright...a classmate was strapped to a bomb, that Andrew West case wasn't solved yet, there was still another pip after, she killed twelve people yesterday, and she was panicking about going into a museum. She was perfectly fine. She just wanted her cat and her puppy dog.
==NKMHLY==
Danielle and John walked into Alex Woodbridge's bedroom. The small space was cramped, cluttered by clothes and astronomy posters. Danielle paid attention to his flatmade, a lovely lady named Julie.
"We'd been sharing about a year. Just sharing." Julie explained.
Danielle nodded. She explored more of the room. John pointed at a large item covered in a tarp.
"May I?" John asked.
Julie nodded.
John pulled the tarp down. He pulled off more than he meant, the whole tarp falling over. "Sorry." The item below was a telescope. "Stargazer, was he?"
"God, yeah. Mad about it. It's all he ever did in his spare time." Julie looked down, speaking so softly. Danielle walked up to her side, giving her a comforting squeeze on the arm. "He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him." She looked up at Danielle. "Thank you." She looked at his room. "He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering." Julie laughed, sounding a minute away from crying.
Danielle laughed with her. She rubbed Julie's back, trying to bring this woman a bit of comfort.
"What about art? Did he know anything about that?" John asked.
Julie shook her head. "It was just a job, you know?"
"Thank you." Danielle replied. "Has anybody else been round, asking about him?"
"No." Julie answered. "We had a break-in, though."
"God! Are you alright?" Danielle asked.
"Yeah, it's fine. Nothing was taken." Julie explained. "Just a bit shaken up, you know?" Danielle nodded. She knew that fear- she owned flats in London. Sherlock broke into her flat. The fear wasn't a joke. "There was a message left for Alex on the landline."
"Who was it from?" John asked.
"Well, I can play it for you if you like. I'll get the phone." Julie offered.
"Please." Danielle asked.
Julie left for a moment. She brought back a landline phone. She played the message.
"Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it's Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when-"
"Professor Cairns?" John asked Julie.
"No, no idea, sorry."
"Mm. Can I try and ring back?" John asked.
"Well, no good." Julie replied. "I mean, I've had other calls since– sympathy ones, you know."
"That's alright." Danielle replied. As Julie left to put the phone back, Danielle and John's phones went off. John's with a normal default ping, Danielle with a 'spoonful of sugar'.
RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS Have you spoken to West's fiancée yet? Mycroft Holmes
"We can't keep saying no, can we?" Danielle groaned. She didn't wanna do that. Can it not wait until they finish dealing with the pips? Like really, Mycroft, get your priorities in order.
John tucked the phone away. "Yes we can. Just like that."
Though anxiety still bubbled in her chest, John's actions brought a smile to her face.
==NKMHLY==
"He wouldn't. He just wouldn't."
Lucy Harrison was an all around nice girl. Danielle liked her. Even enough to believe her. Her and John made it as far as the cab before Danielle caved, John along with her. The two asked the cab to bring them to Lucy and Westie's place. Lucy let them in after hearing the government sent them along.
"We're not saying he did." Danielle replied. She, on principle, disagreed with Mycroft. Not for any special reason. She just didn't like it when Mycroft was right. The world was just a little bit sadder. The deduction thing was better when Sherlock did it.
"Well, stranger things have happened." John suggested.
"Westie wasn't a traitor. It's a horrible thing to say!" Lucy scolded.
"John just let me-" Danielle tried.
"I'm sorry, but you must understand that's-" John tried.
"That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?" Lucy asked.
Danielle wanted to shake her head. She wanted to say she thought he fought bravely for his country, that he was a good man. Mycroft's words echoed in her head. "I- please understand, we- I don't agree."
"He was a young man, about to get married. He had debts-" John tried.
"Everyone's got debts; and Westie wouldn't wanna clear them by selling out his country." Lucy snapped.
Danielle put her hand on John's shoulder. The doctor sat back, silenced. "Just tell us what happened that night, as you remember it. Please?"
Lucy glanced off at the television. "We were having a night in, just watching a DVD." She smiled fondly, her eyes welling up with tears. "He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet." The tears fell onto her cheeks. Danielle wanted to make her some tea, or give her a biscuit. Hell she wanted that stuff for herself, anything to help the poor woman. "Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone."
"Did he say who?" Danielle asked. "Or did you know?"
Lucy cried. She shook her head, quietly sobbing.
They didn't get any more information after that. Lucy showed them out. A cab waited outside for them. As they walked out, a man on a bike stopped at Lucy's door.
"Oh, hi, Luce. You okay, love?" The man asked.
"Yeah."
The man nodded at John and Danielle. "Who're they?"
"I'm Danielle Nolan, this is my...colleague John Watson." Danielle explained. She remembered the little advice Sherlock gave about maintaining a lie. They should think they were colleagues, not neighbors. It gave them more credibility.
"This is my brother, Joe." Lucy explained. "John's trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe."
Joe gave the both of them once overs. His gaze stayed longer on Danielle. "You with the police?"
Danielle wondered what he was staring at. Did have something on her dress shirt? It was just a normal shade of yellow, maybe a little tight. She liked the sweaters to hug. The yellow meant to cheer her up as they worked. If there were something there, it'd been there all day.
"Uh, sort of, yeah." John replied.
"Well, tell 'em to get off their arses, will you? It's bloody ridiculous." Joe asked.
"We've got a man on that." Danielle answered. Sherlock would without hesitation tell Mycroft to get off his arse. It would be hilarious. It'd been hilarious the last few times he did it, and would continue to be hilarious.
Joe left with a nod. He squeezed his sister's shoulder before guiding his bike inside.
"Well, er." John began. "Thanks very much for your help; and again, we're very, very sorry."
The two of them started walking towards the cab.
"He didn't steal those things, Mr Watson, Ms Nolan." Danielle turned back. Lucy looked at them, tears rising again. "I knew Westie. He was a good man. He was my good man." She ran into the house, already crying. The door closed calmly and silently, like she didn't want to make a bigger fuss.
Danielle turned to John. "I don't care what Mycroft says. He's wrong, he's wrong, and he'll be wrong forever."
John nodded. "I agree about him, but I don't know if I disagree with what they're saying."
"I think that Mycroft is wrong and should get off his arse." Danielle pulled out her phone. She typed out a message to Sherlock.
John tried to look. "Are you telling him that?"
Danielle snorted. "No. I'm telling Sherlock that. It's his brother, he should tell him off sometimes." She smiled at John. "It's very relaxing."
John laughed. It made Danielle feel better after making Lucy cry.
==NKMHLY==
They made it back to Baker's Street. As they pulled up to the flats, Danielle spotted Sherlock walking out of 221. She and John walked out to see him.
"Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art." John reported.
"And?" Sherlock asked. He guided them both down the street.
"He liked astronomy." Danielle answered.
Sherlock stopped in his tracks. He pointed to the street. "Hold that cab." He ordered.
Danielle looked back. John already went off to do it. She stayed behind Sherlock. "But Sherlock-"
"Have Mrs Hudson feed Erika and Nightwing." Sherlock replied. He walked up to another homeless woman.
Danielle pulled out her phone. She didn't wanna bother Mrs Hudson this late, not with so much at stake. She figured 223b was out again, so she texted Jim. He could handle it well enough.
The woman held up a cup. "Spare change, sir?"
Sherlock "Don't mind if I do." Sherlock replied.
The woman held out a piece of paper. Sherlock accepted it.
Jim replied, faster than Danielle expected. He gladly accepted the task. Danielle told him where to find the spare key to her flat. He would just have to put it back once he was done.
Sherlock turned to Danielle. He guided her back towards John. "Fortunately, I haven't been idle." He opened the door for her. "I have indeed told Mycroft to get off his arse. Come on."
Danielle giggled as she climbed into the car. John shook his head, chuckling before joining them both.
==NKMHLY==
Sherlock brought them to a small, dirty place. They walked through the back alley with a cab light shining behind them.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sherlock asked.
Danielle looked at him then up at the sky. She could make out a few stars from here. Danielle found herself smiling. "Yeah. They are." While it wasn't a passion, she had a love of the stars. It's not for nothing that Star Trek was one of the favorite shows, or Doctor Who. Yeah both went a little loose with science but she still loved it.
"I thought you didn't care about things like that." John asked.
It reminded her that John wrote a blog with her in it. Suddenly, she wished she could run in a TARDIS or on an Enterprise to fly away from here.
"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it." Sherlock replied.
Danielle thought that was rather sweet.
As they walked deeper among the alleyways, Danielle noticed more and more homeless folks scattered around. John spoke to fill the silence.
"Listen: Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat– a Professor Cairns?" John offered.
"Right! Yeah. She said Alex was on about something." Danielle added.
"This way." Sherlock guided them down a different alley.
"Nice. Nice part of town. Er, any time you wanna explain." John told him.
"Homeless network– really is indispensable." Sherlock answered. He guided them down another alleyway.
Danielle spotted a firelight at the end. "What's a homeless network?"
"My eyes and ears all over the city." Sherlock answered.
Danielle hummed. "Okay...I think I get it. That's genius."
"Oh, that's clever." John praised. He pulled out a flashlight, shining it. "So you scratch their backs and-"
"Yes, then I disinfect myself." Sherlock replied. He pulled out his own flashlight, effectively leaving Daneille the odd one out. She would need to start carrying a flashlight around all the time.
The three of them searched the alleyways for a while. They carefully shined lights around, trying not to startle the makeshifts residents. As they searched, Danielle stayed close to Sherlock.
A sharp call from John got their attention. Sherlock his against a wall, dragging Danielle back with him.
Danielle couldn't see up the alley. Thinking about who they must be hunting, she wondered if she even wanted to.
(She totally did)
"What's he doing sleeping rough?" John whispered.
"Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag...much." Sherlock added.
"Your homeless network wouldn't do well in those places." Danielle reasoned.
Even in the dark, Danielle could see Sherlock's smile. It helped that this smile was audible. A small chuckle cut through the night to reach Danielle's ears.
"Oh shi-" John grumbled.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"What is it?" Danielle started looking around the alleyway. Did John see a threat they couldn't?
"I wish I'd-" John began.
Sherlock interrupted. He stretched his arm over Danielle, past her to reach John. Danielle spotted a familiar enough shape. John's gun. "Don't mention it."
John accepted the weapon. Danielle started thinking up ways to run with them without getting hit.
She got very little time to think about it. Up the alley, their target Rose to his feet before running. Sherlock, Danielle, and John chased after him. The Golem was indeed tall- otherworldly so. The man's long legs gave him the advantage in running from them.
By time the three could reasonably catch him, the Golem already climbed into a car. It had to have been waiting there for him. The car was already peeling out from the alleyway when the trio caught up to them.
Sherlock instantly became enraged. "No, no, no, no! It'll take us weeks to find him again."
Danielle and John were less angry. They exchanged a look. A breathless Danielle nodded at John.
"Or not." John began. "We have an idea where he might be going."
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"We told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message." John tucked his gun into his coat. Danielle walked to Sherlock's. "There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on."
Danielle smiled at the consulting detective. The look of frustration on his face gave way to a proud grin. Danielle faltered at seeing the grin given to her too.
She didn't get long to bask in it. As soon as Sherlock realized he was smiling at her, he ushered Danielle to look away. Great now Danielle was blushing- caught out staring at Sherlock's face. With a smile like his, could she be blamed?
==NKMHLY==
The space theatre where Professor Cairns worked was quiet. They instantly rushed to the only source of noise in the whole building. Professor Cairns was busy scrolling through the soo pop ace lecture.
Danielle always liked those. She liked this one a bit less. Well the mood usually went away when a giant man was choking the life out of a person.
"Golem!" Sherlock called out.
The Golem stopped. Danielle watched Professor Cairns neck give a sharp turn. She gasped. The presentation went on without her say, her body smacking onto the audio table. The lighting went in and out, occasionally shrouding them in the darkness of space.
"John!" Sherlock called out.
Danielle looked around the darkened theatre. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She forced herself to take deep breaths. Breathing was a good thing, or so she'd been told.
"I can't see him. I'll go round. I'll go!" John answered as he rushed out off the stage.
With John gone and the Goldm nowhere in sight, Danielle was feeling a lot less secure.
"Sherlock?" Danielle spoke up.
"Stay behind me." Sherlock instructed. Danielle nodded. She walked closer to better hide behind the taller consulting detective. "Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?" Sherlock yelled.
Danielle tried to spot any shifting figures. The lights from The presentation occasionally showed off the chairs and let their shadows be cast. She couldn't see anything resembling the Golem. For protection, she stayed closer behind Sherlock.
She heard his steps before she felt the hand on her neck. Barely turned to see the sound before a hand clamped over her mouth.
I found the Golem, Sherlock
Whoops
Daniellle screamed. Well barely. It's hard to scream effectively when someone's holding your mouth and neck shut.
In front of her, Sherlock spun around. "Put her down!"
Danielle clawed at the hands holding her. The vice grip on her face brought her overwhelming pain. She tried to breathe, to take in air, to be allowed to inhale...she wanted air.
Sherlock tried to attack. At the first adavance, the Golem held down on her neck. Danielle cried out in pain. Sherlock stopped in place. Danielle could see how wide his eyes got.
Save me
I know you can
Both of you, either of you, I don't care
Just one of you
Please!
John rushed back on stage. He leveled his gun at the Golem. The Golem moved her head about to block it. Danielle was definitely crying onto his hand.
"Golem!" John warned. "Let her go, or I will kill you."
Danielle believed him. She took back any criticisms she ever had of murder. Let John shoot the man down now. It didn't matter. Just let Danielle breathe.
The Golem and John stood off. Sherlock stood at the side, seemingly trying to find the right course of action that would free Danielle without causing further harm. John could make the shot, Sherlock was certain, only if he wasn't also certain the Golem would move Danielle's head.
Danielle cried out again. The noise jolted Sherlock. John himself only steadied the gun on Golem's head.
Her arm lashed out. The Golem grunted. Danielle pushed harder, grabbing and twisting. The Golem yelled. He tossed Danielle to the ground. She rolled, nearly falling over.
"Got you!" Sherlock told her. He caught the landlady before she fell off the stage. He turned Danielle on her back. Wide blue eyes stared up at him. He couldn't see the bruises yet, it wouldn't be long. "Are you alright?"
Shocked, Danielle nodded.
Just a few feet to their side, John fought the Golem. That's not strictly important right now. The soldier was doing a very good job of it.
Sherlock stared down at Danielle. She stared up at him. Her heart pounded for a different reason. His hands held her arms, a steady comforting grip that contrasted so much against the Golem's painful hold. She could see the color in his eyes, the reflected light made them the most wonderful shade of blue. The intense focus of those eyes on her...
Geez
Keep it in your pants, Danielle
The moment broke. The Golem threw John over again them.
It seemed to jolt Sherlock back in the moment. He ushered Danielle off the stage. He anc John stood to fight the man.
Danielle ran as far as the control booth. The presentation was still going on, constantly jumping around. The sounds were distracting. So was the body, but Danielle saved that thought for later.
She pulled out her phone. She could hear Sherlock and John fighting the Golem. She trusted them to have it. She ducked behind the control panel, blocking her from their sight.
After glancing at a message from Jim, she opened the phone. The key being returned would be a thing for later. She called Lestrade. The police would need to come for Professor Cairns regardless.
"Hello? Danielle?" Lestrade replied. "What's wrong?"
Danielle almost spoke. At the same time, the Golem let out a fierce roar. She squeaked, curling smaller against the control panel.
"What was that!"
"The-the Golem." Danielle answered. "He's- he's fighting Sherlock and John- the Professor is dead." Danielle looked down at the body.
Don't think about it
Don't you do it
This isn't the same.
You know it's not the same.
"Tell me where you are." Lestrade asked.
Danielle tried. Really she did. Instead she heard loud booming footsteps and a gunshot. She screamed. Right into Lestrade's ear, unfortunately. She clapped a hand over her mouth- worried she'd given away her location and also hey maybe she should never cover her mouth again because that shit was bloody terrifying.
She watched the Golem run past the control panel. He barely broke stride to reach the door. He didn't turn back to her, or even acknowledge. Still Danielle felt like Jack up in the beanstalk, waiting for a giant to kill her.
"Danielle? I've got your location. We'll be there in a minute." Lestrade promised. "Stay on the phone, alright?"
Danielle couldn't come to the phone. She accidentally put herself in a panic attack. To try again, press 1.
"Danielle, can you hear me? Danielle!"
Someone snatched the phone from her hand. A familiar hand on her arm brought Danielle out of it. Sherlock stood at her side, holding her phone to his ear. "Give her a moment, Lestrade, she's in a state!" Sherlock scolded. He hung up on the Inspector before turning to Danielle.
Danielle could only stare. Her eyes wide, her body seemingly unwilling to take in air.
Sherlock pulled her in. Danielle went along, resting her head on his chest. Sherlock held her, carefully and soothingly rubbing his hand on her back. She shuddered as she nearly cried.
"It's alright now." Sherlock assured her. "He's gone. We won't be seeing him again."
Danielle hugged Sherlock, holding him close. She held on the great big coat. Her hand brushed against the soft curls on his head. His arms held her, she felt anything but afraid.
==NKMHLY==
Sherlock stared at the painting. Danielle thought it was quite beautiful, even if a fake.
The body of Professor Cairns was being handled. With them so pressed for time, Lestrade brought them over to the Hickman Gallery. Danielle hesitated only briefly before running inside.
Now she was looking at a painting.
"It's a fake. It has to be." Sherlock insisted.
"That painting has been subjected to every test known to science." The museum head argued.
"It's a very good fake, then." Sherlock replied. He turned to her, glaring. "You know about this, don't you? This is you, isn't it?"
The museum instead turned to Lestrade. "Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?"
The pink phone rang. Danielle's heart leapt. She reached for the closest person, that being John. He held her hand, squeezing.
Sherlock answered the phone. "The painting is a fake." Silence. "It's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed." More nothing. How can silence be worse than a voice? "Oh, come on. Proving it's just the detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out. It's a fake! That's the answer. That's why they were killed."
Danielle squeezed tighter to John's hand. He didn't fight it. His hand held hers too.
Sherlock sighed, bracing himself. "Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?"
"Ten-"
Sherlock whirled around to glare at the painting. Danielle yelped, flinching back. John's tight grip on her hand kept her from falling apart right there.
"It's a kid. Oh, God, it's a kid!" Lestrade exclaimed in dismay.
"Oh my god, oh my god." A kid was strapped to a bomb. A bloody child! Where did this bloke get off?! Whose child was this, who in her past lost their child and had them strapped to a bomb? God what pain was brought to a family because of a connection Danielle herself didn't understand?
"What did he say?" John asked.
"'Ten.'" Sherlock answered.
"Nine-"
Danielle gasped again. Fuck.
"It's a countdown. He's giving me time." Sherlock explained.
"Jesus!" Lestrade gasped.
"The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?" Sherlock asked himself.
"Eight-"
Sherlock glared at the museum head. "This kid will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!" Before she could answer, Sherlock held up his hand.
"Seven-"
"No, shut up. Don't say anything. It only works if I figure it out." Sherlock went back to the painting. "Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face."
"Six-"
"Come on." John pleaded under his breath.
"Woodbridge knew, but how?" Sherlock asked himself.
"Five-"
"Solve it, just solve it." Danielle pleaded.
"It's speeding up!" Lestrade warned.
"Sherlock!" Danielle yelped.
"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed. Danielle knew that sound by now. She knew what it meant.
"Four-"
"In the planetarium! You heard it too." Sherlock told them. "Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" Sherlock pulled out his phone, quickly typing.
"Three-"
"What's brilliant? What is?" John asked.
"Brag later!" Danielle begged- tears in her eyes. A boy would die soon. A boy had three seconds to live. That blood would be on her hands if he didn't just say it.
Sherlock laughed. "This is beautiful. I love this!"
"Two-"
"Sherlock please!" Danielle tearfully begged.
Sherlock held up the pink phone. "The Van Buren Supernova!" He shouted.
Silence.
Danielle held John's hand so tight. How had he not his fingers by now? Would that boy explode now? Please, please let it have worked!
"Please. Is somebody there?" Danielle breathed. "Somebody help me!"
Sherlock handed the phone to Lestrade. "There you go. Go find out where he is and pick him up." He showed Danielle and John a trio of stars. Danielle wiped tears off her cheeks. "The Van Buren Supernova, so-called. Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight." He walked towards the exit.
Danielle breathed again.
"So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?" John stated, realizing what Sherlock figured out.
Danielle glared at the shell-shocked museum head. "Hope the thirty million pounds was worth it." She followed after Sherlock. John followed behind her.
When her phone buzzed with the Mary Poppins song, she didn't even break stride.
She checked the message.
"Oh." John got a message too then.
'My patience is wearing thin. Mycroft Holmes'
Danielle would ask Sherlock to make a joke about Mycroft. He would enjoy this. Danielle could see how a younger sibling could twist this sentence into the best insult.
"Oi, Sherlock! Mycroft says his patience is wearing thin!" Danielle called out.
Sherlock chuckled. Danielle walked to his side, showing him said text. He snatched up her phone to type out a reply. He handed back the phone. Danielle chuckled.
'About time something of yours is. SH'
==NKMHLY==
AN: WHY DOES MY LIFE SUCK?
This is my last semester of college and it SUCKS. It sucks SO BAD! Every part of my brain HURTS! I just wanna be given a piece of paper that says I learned shit, why is learning the shit so hard?!
But I DID IT! This chapter is finally DONE! There are about three more left to go. Feel free to have nostalgia about it.
Thanks to twojj, paulavara140, LittleRedCupcake, Aurayafee, klaus04, luffymonky26, for-the-giggles-why-not, eM2201, Leafpool16985, and Raven Winter, for favoriting
Thanks to paulavara140, LittleRedCupcake, Hinanui98, Aurayafee, TheFlame-Burned-OutButIt-Glows, klaus04, luffymonky26, Panpanpan, for-the-giggles-why-not, Leafpool16985, AbyMoOn, Junior-Einstein, and tanzanitehyacinth, for following