Charter 12

I don't want to talk about it. Please don't make me. Just, no. I wanna go home. Home, where things are safe and unpredictable, not unsafe and predictable. This isn't fun anymore, this isn't some dream fantasyland where I melt the heart of the mysterious Sherlock Holmes while solving the crime and saving the day. I can't change things here. I hold no power. I am no miraculous catch-all for the sadness this place had to offer. This sucks, and I hate it all so much. It doesn't matter how witty I am or how much I lie through my teeth. I do not belong here. I can't wait for this dream to end, because it's been a nightmare for far too long now. Shit, I'm talking about it. Well, might as well keep going. What I wouldn't give to be back at home watching Netflix in my robe with a tub of ice cream.

This is the story of how I failed to save Soo Lin Yao.

The car had pulled us around the front of the museum, so we had to run to the back in order to execute whatever Sherlock's plan was. Well, strictly speaking, I knew what his plan was, and that was to be as impressive and intimidating as possible when he met Soo Lin Yao. Normally I would try to stop him being all smug and pretentious, but my mind was distinctly focused elsewhere for the time being.

"John, Helen, you stay here while I go in. Too many people at once could startle her." Sherlock opened the door as little as possible and glanced inside. "The lights are off, but I suspect that a switch will be located under her desk." He began to ease himself in the door when I grabbed his arm. "What now?" He was irritated, and I was irritated at his irritation.

"When she drops it, made sure and catch the pot for her." I flashed him a smirk and let go of his sleeve. He sneered at me while I gave him a cheery wave, and disappeared inside. There was a slight pause while I looked at John and then peered through the small gap, Sherlock already out of sight. I began to follow him when my arm was grabbed.

My eyes turned back to John. "Shouldn't we wait for him?" He asked.

"Wait for him to what, come back? Send up a flare that he's ready for us? Yeah, if you wanna sit and wait for him to do something like that, go right on ahead. See you when we're done talking. Make sure to guard this door so no assassins come in after, okay?" I tugged my arm out of his.

He sighed and filed in after me. We crept slowly and as silently as possible towards the work stations.

"Fancy a biscuit with it?" She let out a little yelp and dropped the tea-pot, just as I had said she would. And he caught it, just like he was supposed to. Kinda pissed me off that he did to tell you the truth. Part of me had hoped that by telling him to catch it might actually have had the opposite effect, simply because I was an anomaly affecting this universe. "Centuries old. Don't break that." Why did his voice had to be so delightfully sexy while he was simultaneously being so incredibly annoying? He turned on the lights. "Hello."

I hopped out of my hiding place. "Yes, why hello. Don't worry, we're not here to kill you. I promise on his life," I said, gesturing my thumb back at John who came out looking sheepish and guilty. "I would promise on his, but then I might be tempted to break that promise simply so I could get in a good punch or two on that exquisite jaw line of his." Alright, maybe I lied. I was still trying to knock his ego down a notch.

"Sorry Sherlock, nothing I might have said would've stopped her anyway." John gave a wave to Soo Lin Yao. "Hello."

She waved back, looking puzzled at the scenario. She gestured to some seats and we all sat down to hear her story. I listened the entire time, but made no comment. Even when she showed us the tattoo and I saw Sherlock and John both give me sideways glances, I let no emotion slip past my exterior. There was a far greater concern I was focusing on, and it wasn't until now that I was truly deliberating on my choices covering the matter. But I was confident. I knew what was going to happen, and I could change it. After all, this was only a dream. With enough practice, one can control dreams. This was no sweat. I had it in the bag.

The lights suddenly went out when I realised I had drifted off into my own world. My heart began to race.

"He's here. Zhi Zhu. He's found me." Her eyes closed tightly as if trying to prepare herself for what she thought was an inevitability.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, wait!" John called after the consulting detective as he raced off to find the assassin. John stood up and pulled both of us with him. "Come here. Get in. Get in." He repeated. We crouched down by a desk while we heard gunfire. John was tense, and obviously not going to stay. "I have to go and help him. Bolt the door after me." And he was gone, leaving only her and I.

It was my turn to act. I bolted the door just like he said and began to look around the office for something blunt and projectile worthy to throw at her brother. She didn't speak, but I expected that. She was afraid for her life, so it was only natural. My eyes glinted with satisfaction as they alighted upon a bust of Handel. I looked back and saw her deciphering some of code, and quickly looked away. Plausible deniability and all that. "It'll be okay," I said quietly. "You'll make it out of this alive."

There was a moment of silence, and then she spoke. "It is alright. I know death is coming for me. That is the way it was meant to be."

"Don't say that," I said, turning back to her.

"It can't be helped," she said with a smile. "My life ended the second I hid."

I walked briskly over to her and put the bust down, placing my hands on either of her shoulders. "There is no such thing as a set destiny. We can always change, and only we can determine our own fate. It's as simple as that."

Her eyes were old as I looked in them, and I saw something else there too. Was it despair? Sadness? Regret? No, it was the shadow of her brother who was about to hit me on the back of head. I landed with a thud on the floor, and looked deliriously up at the two. My strength was long gone, but my brain still saw and processed what was occurring. Part of me wished that I had blacked out then, instead of having to witness and experience a total sense of pure helplessness. But I was not afforded such consideration. The universe had a funny way of telling me it didn't like me.

She caressed his face, and he took her hand, placing inside it the origami black lotus. I couldn't see her face, but I knew. I knew she was smiling. I knew she was accepting. I knew. But I did not condone, I did not approve, and I certainly did not understand. He held up his gun. She just stood there. And then came the shot. And the fall. And the end. The end of Soo Lin Yao. The end of a life.

Childishly, I willed her back into existence. I tried to live the life she would never have in my head. Down the road she was gonna accept that guy and go out with him. They would have a great time, and fall madly in love. They'd get engaged and she'd tell him her past, which he would reassure her didn't matter. Then the marriage. Becoming parents, making mistakes, coming to love one another even more. Being old together. Having grandkids. It was happy, perfect, a well lived life, and what she deserved. That was the life she was supposed to have lived. Not dead by her brother's hands for a crime she didn't commit. Not dead on a floor, bleeding out while he turned and ran with neither remorse nor regard.

Tears came. Of course they did. I'd known the woman for all of ten minutes and then I was sobbing next to her body. Makes sense.

"Helen?" It was John. But I wasn't ready to face him then. I wasn't ready to face anyone. I didn't want to talk. "Helen can you hear me?" I only cried harder, mucus mixing in with my tears as my face became ruddy with the effort. "Are you hurt in any way?" He needed to stop talking. "Helen, are you hurt?" A hand touched my shoulder. Last straw.

My hand reached out and punched him right on the jaw bone. "You idiot!" I blubbered out. My entire head was incoherent with feelings of anger, guilt, and melancholy. If you had asked me which way was up, I probably would have answered by saying "cinnamon, but only on dragon-slaying Sunday." My face was ugly now, all red with snot and tears as I wailed like a pathetic child. I pulled my feet in closer to my body, eyes blurry and unable to distinguish anything. I had failed. She was dead and there wasn't anything I could have done to change that. It didn't feel like I was dreaming anymore, but what else could I have called this? A nightmare? But if that was true, then why hadn't I woken up now that the worst had come? My only answer to that was that the worst hadn't come yet. I cried harder still. I was such an idiot to think that I could control anything that went on here. The idea was ridiculous, absurd, a joke.

"Helen, are you hurt in any way?" I buried my face into my knees. It was Sherlock this time. If I didn't want to talk to John, then I really didn't want to talk to Sherlock. My face pressed harder into my knees, trying to avoid him. "Helen, if you don't tell me your current physical state right now then I will be forced to assume the worst and that you are weeping from pain and unable to respond, and therefore require medical care."

I lifted my head towards his voice and wiped away the tears, but to no avail. "I'm f-fine," I stuttered. "Only g-got hit on the b-back of my h-head." I was an utter mess, and I knew it. No doubt Sherlock had taken note of this fact and was silently judging me for my lack of control. "C-couldn't save..." My sobs overtook any words that can't after. Next thing I knew I had been lifted into Sherlock's arms. I tried to hit him, but my energy had become rapidly spent with all of my crying. My feeble attempts did nothing, so I just let him carry me. My fingers dug into his coat as I clutched onto him like a vice. The jacket was a rough wool, warm but scratchy. Tears found their way into it, leaving wet spots all over his front. The mucus found a home here as well, and he probably would end up having to wash the jacket with how disgusting I was making it. There I go again, screwing everything up.

John and Sherlock were talking about something, but I couldn't quite make it out. All I could hear was the heartbeat of the man holding me, pulsing fast. Selfishly, I let myself drift off to the sound of that thrum, ignoring my shame and guilt. I pushed it away, if only for the moment, and dreamed of the detective. It was strange, because I had always thought him to be a perfect God and unattainable. When I first got here and realised he was now an imperfect ass but attainable, I thought I preferred seeing him in that first light. But now, I couldn't imagine him any other way.

So when I dreamed of the detective, I dreamed we were arguing. And I was okay with that.

*crawls out from behind rock* Oh, hey there! Wait, what? More you say? More updates? Hmm, I'm gonna go with a no on that one. Why? Because I'm as mean as Stephen Moffat, that's why!

Trololololoool!

Anyway, I have a tumblr now, woo! Go check it out and send me an ask or two, would you? My tumblr is pretty amazing, so yeah. Follow me and you have TWO places to bug me about updating. As always, links are in the profile. So drop me a review (or not), and I'll see you next update. Bye!