So I have decided to make this story be 28 chapters long. It has been an incredible journey writing this, and I never thought I would have come this far. At most, I thought I would have been able to write ten chapters, but a little over twenty? Wow! I had no idea it would get this far! So in addition to my Adlock fanfiction, which I am planning and writing out as we speak, I have a couple of other fanfictions that I want to write, but I will let you know more about those as my writing journey continues. For now, on with the next chapter!
Due to the escalating conflict, most of the railways in the area were closed down, including the one that was meant to take us from Paris to Berlin, we had to walk all the way to Germany, so as soon as we got back from the café, we would start packing. It only took half an hour to make sure we had everything, including gifts for our friends back home and a couple of moments, in a few short minutes, we were trekking through the snow. My feet were frozen, even with the two layers of stockings and not two but three layers of heavy clothing, you would think that I would be roasting like a lamb on a spit, but that wasn't the case when the snow itself was up to my waist.
It was the middle of the afternoon, half past two to be precise; we had been walking for a good hour and you want to know the best part? It started to snow so hard that it became a blizzard, just when we thought absolutely nothing else could ruin our travel plans. I blinked a couple of times so that I could see, and I swear that I could feel my eyelashes preventing themselves from being frozen shut. The freezing wind wasn't helping much, either; it made my eyes water and the tears were frozen to my face. It was nipping at the tips of my ears, my nose, and my cheeks.
"Did you remember your scarf?" asked Sherlock, though I could barely hear him over the howling wind.
"I knew I was forgetting something," I replied, raising my voice and lifting my boot out of a deep hole in the snow. "You seem to be pretty chipper for a guy who's lost in a white void."
"We're not lost, darling; the compass Watson gave me works perfectly fine. I am sure we're approximately ten minutes away from the border between France and Germany."
"Approximately?" I questioned, turning my head sharply toward him. Let me remind you once again: I don't mind walking, it's just being lost that I don't like, but I was glad that John had lent Sherlock a compass.
"Trust me, if I knew this was going to happen, I would have elected to stay in France another day." He grunted and we kept moving forward. "Maybe we should find a carriage to take us there, or even see if the railway is open after all."
"I'll be fine, don't worry, and besides, my grandfather always says that there's no honor in turning away from adventure." I grinned and the next second, I stumbled into a large heap of snow, laughing.
"That's why I adore you so much," Sherlock chuckled, picking me up again and dusting me off. "You are just as crazy as I am." He kissed my rosy nose.
"No, you're definitely crazier than me," I said, joking, scrunching my nose up in response. "but that's why I love you."
From the look on his face, I knew that he was tempted to push me back into the snow, and for a second, he did attempt to, but fortunately for me, he was the one who tumbled this time and I tightly pinched my lips together in a failed attempt to stifle my laughter, watching him get what he well deserved, but couldn't help it for much longer. I began to laugh and quicker than a flash I was knocked to the ground again. Giggling, as he leaned over me. I could identify every snowflake in his mustache, eyelashes and eyebrows, and there were some in his hair, too.
"Now you really look like a mountain man," I said, bringing my gloved hand to his cheek, though it was probably just as cold as the snow itself.
"I'm not a mountain man, I'm a snow king?" He wasn't sure what to call himself, he obviously didn't like being called a mountain man.
"I suppose that makes me your snow queen," I smiled. I pressed my lips against his, my fingers finding their way into his frosty hair. He kissed me back, but even though the kiss was just as passionate as all the others, it still didn't help either of us warm up any. "We shall make it through the storm, I know we will. We just have to have courage."
"Then we should probably get off the ground before we get buried any further," he smiled, standing up and then helping me to do the same, then we kept on moving.
I was used to walking now so that wasn't necessarily the problem; the problem was we knew that we would have to cross a security checkpoint in order to get from one point to the other, and this time we didn't have Simza with us or any horses to sneak over the border, though part of me wished that we had both of those. As we stood there in the cold, we kept our eyes focused on each other, not on the hundreds of people waiting to cross over from here to France, or the other way around. When I looked around, I didn't see friends or enemies, or heroes or villains. I just saw people; couples and families trying to find a better life for themselves away from all the chaos and terror. It was clear from their worried tones and expressions that war was inevitable, and no one wanted to be a part of it. They were afraid, they were anxious, frustrated, angry, sad.
They're human, just like me.
"Can I help who's next, please?" The officer called out, his warm breath coming out in clouds. His nose was red, so he must have been standing there for hours in the bitter cold not wearing nearly enough layers. And he appeared to be older, maybe in his late sixties, but he was much too old to be out there all alone, at least in my opinion. We came forward, handing over the papers required for a one night stay and then we needed to be searched.
It occurred to me that I was still uncomfortable with being patted down like I was a child guilty of robbing the cookie jar. Sherlock was clearly enjoying my torment; grinning, he whispered in English so that the officers couldn't understand what he was saying, "You are never this tense with me."
"You are not a stranger, so it's different," I said, glaring lightly, but he winked cheekily and I rolled my eyes.
"Do you have any dangerous weapons on you?" He asked us -perhaps one of the only English phrases that the man knew - and Sherlock and I looked to each other and wanted to point out the irony of the situation, but we shook our heads and insisted that we didn't.
That's right, we were supposedly not carrying dangerous weapons into a dangerous country that was already threatening war upon the rest of the world. Or maybe we were because we were detectives - well, me not yet - and you never know when you would need to defend yourself, which made me wonder if anyone was armed here, so I used the lessons my husband gave me in Deduction 101.
It was a small crowd; I could count around twenty-four people, standing in two straight lines; then again that was expected, since the border was technically closed off due to the escalating conflict. Most of them were talking amongst themselves in their foreign tongues, some of them were crying, anxiously clinging to their loved ones, while others stood there proud and stoic, looking straight ahead, just like a soldier. A couple of children waved at me and I smiled and waved back, hoping that wherever they were going, that they would be safe and that things would soon be set right.
"Right, you're all set," the officer said and I swallowed, forcing myself to turn away and take that giant step into uncharted territory. As soon as we crossed, a relieved shiver went down my spine. At least that part was done and over with and we didn't run into any trouble.
Maybe John was right telling us that we should skip over Germany and go straight across to Switzerland, but maybe it was just old memories that were coming back to me that prevented me from completely relaxing. If Sherlock was nervous, which no doubt he was, he was doing a good job hiding it. Then again, I rarely saw him get nervous. On the bright side, a ceasefire had been issued and we were headed away from the center of the war to a much safer part of the city. John insisted that we only stay there a day and no longer, because normally, under such circumstances, ceasefire rarely followed through, so that was our arrangement that we would leave tomorrow afternoon at precisely three o'clock.
It was exactly what I remembered it to be, beautiful, scenic, and covered in snow. But beneath all that beauty was a terrible darkness. The smoke that from the chimneys rose into the air reminded me of London. How it was crowded, almost too crowded. From the corner of my eye, a group of soldiers passed us, marching in perfect syncronicity with one another. Their uniforms were crisp and clean, their boots were shiny that if I dared to approach one of them, I could see my reflection. Their sleep-deprived eyes stared straight ahead into the coming dawn. I tried to look away from the haunting sight, but something about them intrigued me. Whether it was the way they remained in sync when they marched, or when one of them looked in my direction with a look I'll never forget; the same look of worry that I'd seen countless times today. He carried a weapon, but he didn't want to fight; he didn't want to kill; he just wanted it all to end, and he had lost all hope that it ever would.
It seemed like the perfect setting for my next story, which reminds me: Did I mention that I finished the first book? Goodness, I must have been so distracted by other things that I completely forgot to tell you. Well, now you know. John helped me to edit it and now it was finally on the market, and surprisingly, people actually enjoyed it and the publishers wondered if I would be writing any more books. I was proud that all of my efforts had not been in vain; most women would have been denied such a wonderful opportunity; granted, I refused to leave the publisher's office until he at least looked at my book, and with my persistence, I was able to persuade him into reading it and that's how I became an author.
"It doesn't look much different than when we first came here, does it?" I said softly, looking at the view from the motor carriage. "I was hoping it would be a bit more cheerful, even with the snow." The factory that used to be there had thankfully been completely destroyed, making it easier for the bright, setting sun to shine over the snow-covered hills and trees.
"It will be nicer once we arrive in the safer part of the city," Sherlock said, keeping his arm around me protectively and kept his other hand on my lap until we turned the corner and started to see some nicer buildings, ones that weren't all toppled down by what looked like bombings.
The smoke that from the chimneys rose into the air reminded me of London. How it was crowded, almost too crowded. I smiled at a group of children running out of the orphanage, kicking a ball to each other, and as one of the rough-looking boys went to retrieve it from the road, I heard the driver shouting at them in rapid German to be careful.
You would have expected these children to be sad or miserable, and probably they were, but right now, they were happy. They played and they laughed, just like any other child whose circumstances were perhaps better. They deserved to be happy, they deserved to live a normal childhood. It told me that the people who ran the place were good people who took their duties in caring for these children very seriously and that was hard to find these days. I imagined coming back here in a few years and adopting one of the children, giving them all the love that I possibly could.
As we turned the corner into the fancier part of town and soon arrived at the hotel, I felt myself relax, but the tension which had only just faded away, suddenly came back to me in a cold rush. At first, I thought it was just the wind coming at me, but I heard someone laughing behind me. Sherlock, as usual, picked up on my sudden anxiety, but before he could acknowledge it, someone else spoke.
"Charlotte? Is that you?"
Oh, no. No, no, no, no.
There are a few universal truths that apply to unexpectedly seeing a past lover in a public place. The first truth is that it will happen when you least expect it. The second truth is that you have no possible way of knowing how you'll react in the moment until it actually happens.
Theodore Higgins was in his late twenties; tall, dark hair and azure eyes, a deadly combination that used to set my heart on fire. He was also a student at the university that the late professor James Moriarty held his last lecture.
"Theodore, what a pleasant surprise," I said, my voice laced with dread told him that it was anything but pleasant.
"I should say so," he replied with a dazzling smile, that to my surprise and dismay, made my breath hitch. I thought that I was completely over him. "What brings you here? I didn't think you of all people would come to Germany."
"I'm on my honeymoon." The expression on Theodore's face was absolutely priceless. His jaw dropped completely, but he shouldn't have been so shocked considering that there was a young blond woman standing beside him, probably someone he'd managed to charm while he was here.
I looked from him to the girl, trying to find some sort of sign that she wasn't happy with him or that she was being held against her will, but she seemed relaxed and from what I could tell, he hadn't harmed her in any shape or form. Yet.
"H-honeymoon?" He stuttered, glancing from me to Sherlock and his eyes only grew so wide that I wouldn't have been surprised if they popped right out of his head and fell to the floor right in front of me.
"Yes, this is my husband..." I was surprised how quickly that name came to mind, I actually found it nice and I knew that I wanted to name my next book character after this pseudonym.
"Clearly you had no trouble moving on from our relationship, eh?" He said with a forced laugh.
"I should say the same," I retorted back, gesturing to his companion, who obviously didn't speak English because she was looking confusedly between the three of us. I smiled to give her the false impression that we were having a nice little chat, but also to reassure her that everything was okay.
"Bridget is the love of my life; she helped me to change," he said, putting his arm around her. "She's made me a better man." He translated what he was saying to me in German so that she could understand and she smiled at him.
"I hope we can be on good terms, Charlotte, and if things don't work out between you and your husband, you can always come to me." He grinned and I recoiled back in disgust.
WHAT KIND OF MIND GAME IS HE PLAYING?
Not only was it bad enough that seeing him felt like a punch in the stomach, but it was the way he spoke of us getting back together. I would have been fine conversing with him if it was anything like Sherlock and Irene's reunion, but it wasn't. Irene, despite her life of crime, was a good person, Theodore on the other hand, was not. I wanted so badly to tell Bridget that the best thing for her was to leave this terrible man and that she deserved someone better, but I didn't want to let my bitter feelings make things worse.
"I will never go back to you!" I said through clenched teeth as a flood of painful memories came back to me. I will admit that if Bridget wasn't there, I would have started shouting at the man. "You were different than you were when I'd first met you; all the fighting and the yelling and the long nights at the pub, it became too much for me, and I doubt that you've been treating her any better. You are power hungry; never satisfied, jumping from place to place-"
He frowned deeply and the creases in his forehead became evident, "I just told you that those days are behind me."
"Right behind you," Sherlock said after he'd been standing there in silence, and said in perfect German, "Your bloodshot eyes and the slight slur in your words tell me that you enjoyed yourself quite a bit last night with your new friends from the army. There's a small bruise on your left cheek; you got into a fight, but somehow managed to win. At least you have a positive outlet for your anger." Then he turned to Bridget, and added, "If he gives you any trouble, I have friends here who can take care of you." With that, he gently turned me around and we walked the other way, leaving a shocked Theodore behind us.
"I know how hard that was for you to resist," I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "You should have seen his face when he found out who you really were."
He smiled, too and I was grateful for it; because trust me, the last thing anyone wants to have to face is a vengeful Sherlock Holmes. "He needed to be put in his place, and you know how I love showing off."
I laughed. "And I love being able to brag about how smart you are."
The inside of the hotel looked just as nice as it did on the outside. Dinner was served early, six o'clock, and afterwards, we walked through the halls carrying a lantern. It was much spookier at night than it is in the daytime. Especially with the wind howling outside like a pack of wolves calling to each other. The walls were decorated in tapestries and gold patterning. There was only one bed, but we didn't mind that so much, though if we weren't married, my mother would probably have a thing or two to say about it.
The room, was smaller than the one in France, but there was plenty of space for the two of us. The decorations and furniture looked like they had been replaced, so everything looked brand new. I ran to the bed and threw myself on top of it, drawing a long sigh. Sherlock set our bags down and then joined me; I laughed as the bed bounced and creaked with every small movement that we made.
"That's a minor issue," he shrugged, bringing me close to him and lightly kissing my cheek. "And if it becomes too bothersome, we can sleep on the floor."
"Or we can sleep on the couch," I said. "I don't think the floor would be very comfortable."
"Perhaps not without a few pillows and a couple of blankets; one to sleep on and another to cover us up."
The wind howled outside, the sky was getting darker. It was getting colder by the time we got ready for bed. I hurried across the floor to shut the window. Inside the comfortable bedroom, the lamp had been lit and an extra blanket had been found in the cupboard and we placed it on the bed and there was a fire in the fireplace. It was a good thing we brought along our warm clothes; cardigans and fleece sweaters.
Once I got back into bed, with a book in my hand in case I couldn't sleep, I found myself wondering how long it would take for us to climb all the way up the Alps. Days, I suppose, but perhaps in the future, they would invent a more convenient way. Like a ramp, or something that you could sit in that will take you all the way up. But in the meantime, we had rope, and good strong legs and arms. My train of thought was interrupted when He wrapped his arms around my middle and kissed my neck repeatedly. It was quiet again for a few minutes.
"My family and I always talked about possibly going to Switzerland to live; maybe a little cottage in the woods, or maybe somewhere close to the city. We never really settled on that."
"It would be a quiet life, a peaceful life." Sherlock agreed. "We wouldn't have to worry about a thing. We could have a family, our children would grow up safe and sound. I love my work, but I think there's more to life than solving cases. Who says we can't do both?" He paused, as if thinking it over. "We don't have to worry about that yet. I mean, we could have children someday, but I think it's best that we take it one step at a time. "You, Charlotte, would be a wonderful mother."
"And you a perfect father." I walked to a corner of the room near the window. "We would put the cradle here, maybe a mobile here, some stuffed animals, and picture a rocking horse over here." I gestured to the middle of the room. "I wonder if I can learn to knit."
"Someone has everything all figured out," he chuckled, moving some hair away from my shoulder. "You're thinking about it, aren't you? Becoming a mother."
"I am, yes." I admitted, knowing that there was no point in trying to hide anything from him. "I've been thinking about it for a long time, and when we passed the orphanage, I thought that most of those children would love to have a family and a loving home, it's something that they have always wanted, but never had."
"First of all we have to find a place of our own, preferably with lots of space and in a safer part of London, and we are detectives so we would have to put that on hold, too." He put his arm around me and brought me as close to him as he possibly could. "I love you and I want you to be happy, and I will do anything for you, you know that; if this is what you really want, I will be with you all the way."
"You're right. There is a lot that we need to consider before taking that step, and I am happy. There is no one else in this world who I'd rather share that life with." I said. I leaned my head on his shoulder and he managed a tired smile, and as he read from the book, I felt myself falling in love with him all over again.