Chapter 18: The Girl in the Hills

It was early in the morning, and John was asleep in his bedroom upstairs. Violin music was softly playing in the living room, a soft tune to make you fall asleep. Or to keep you awake. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, surrounded by books and papers. He was still thinking about the case he was given today. It had all started rather dull, with a mail of one of the people who knew him from university. One Sebastian Wilkes. He had completely erased him from his hard drive until this so-called "buddy" had send him an email about a break in that had happened at the bank where he worked. An incident. The only reason Sherlock had taken it was because he was terribly bored after his fight with the swords man that morning and was anxious to get into another one, which, unfortunately, did not happen. Sebastian had offered Sherlock and John, who had come along with him like a stray dog following the first human being he finds attractive, a five figure cheque for something that could be solved in seconds. No, something that was solved in seconds, but Sherlock would keep that much to himself now, there was a more pressing matter at hand now, something Sebastian called getting side tracked, but it was so much more than that. This was the game and it was all part of the case that he had already solved when it came to the significance of the bank, and therefore still part of what he was supposed to do. But that did mean that he had to solve a murder now, which was exciting in itself, if it wasn't for that stubborn DI whatshisname who didn't listen to Lestrade and just ignored his advise, which made his job ten times harder. Slightly annoyed with the thoughts buzzing in his head, Sherlock glanced up at the chair in front of him. It was empty, aside from a law book. It was opened on a certain page, but not read at the moment.

'They call it procrastinating.'

The violin kept on playing, the sound coming from the window. Sherlock smirked and turned back to his papers and other books. He felt calm, even though the adrenaline of the case was running through him. It was 3.23 in the morning, he had not slept. Around 3.00 he had texted downstairs, not really expecting an answer. He didn't get an answer, at least not a text. His answer came in the shape of soft, socked footsteps on the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Dressed in a long robe, a pair of pyjama pants and a long sleeve shirts, long hair in a messy bun, even more messy now since she had not pulled it out since the morning. Holding a pile of books for both medical and law studies she was standing in the doorway for a moment before she entered the room and placed them on the floor in front of the red chair. Without saying a word, only under the watchful eye of Sherlock on her, Alice had picked up the Union Jack pillow and threw it to the other side of the room.

'Can't sleep?'

Then Alice looked up, as she was sitting down on the chair, her feet folded underneath her body.

'Night owl.'

Sherlock smirked.

'And a morning person?'

Alice smirked.

'Used to be, until I started reading this and I kept on doing things until late.'

Sherlock nodded.

'You worked your way to a night owl.'

Alice followed suit. For a while Alice had leaved through her books, but it wasn't long until Sherlock was the only one doing that. Alice stood up and walked to the window, wrapping her robe tightly around her in the process. The street was barely lit, there was nobody out and about at this hour.

'You want to play?'

Alice turned her head around, Sherlock was still looking at his book, but she knew he was talking to her. Without actually answering, she turned to the violin next to the window and picked it up. She whipped the bow while stroking the violin with a soft finger. The whipping of the bow curled the corners of Sherlock's lips up. When the first notes sounded through the room, he closed his eyes for a moment. It was something he did automatically, fill his ears with the music he was playing, hoping it would stay there forever, calming him when he there was chaos, preventing him from giving in to his other means of preventing boredom and chaos. Alice hadn't played with him being in the same room for a while, she would always play when he was away, or just somewhere that he couldn't hear it. Now he could read and fill his ears with the music of a violin. Such a soft tune, played by heads that were not yet rough from all the things he had done over the years, still able to perform the soft tunes he could only dream of. 3.24. Alice had been playing for 16 minutes straight now. Sherlock looked at the law book that was still lying on the abandoned chair without the Union Jack pillow in it, as if John Watson had suddenly been deleted from the flat, or rather discarded into a dark corner not lighted by the streetlights.

'Thank you for returning my skull.'

Alice didn't stop playing for a moment, finishing her newest part of improvisation before slowly fading the music out. She opened her eyes and looked at the back of her father's head, her eyes quickly glancing up at the skull on the mantle.

'Your welcome.'

Sherlock smiled, though Alice could not see it. There she was, the real human being inside her, still polite and responsive to a persons feelings and following human conventions in communication. Before he started talking again, he lowered his voice again and the smile faded.

'I found the note you had left too.'

Alice slowly put down the bow, but she was still carrying the violin as she moved around the grey leather chair towards the chair with the lonely law book, plunking the strings as she turned around to face her father, her eyes were looking down at the strings, before she looked up.

'What did you think?'

'I still feel like you are my best choice when I want a response from anyone. You at least know what you are talking about. John seems to be a stray dog following me around at times and all the sound ever coming from him is when he is astounded by my intellect.'

Alice stifled a laugh, causing Sherlock's head to shoot up.

'Is that funny?'

Alice stopped laughing and shook her head. She stopped plucking at the strings and walked around her chair, with one hand she wiped the book to the floor, she sat down and placed the violin on her knees.

'Why don't you give John Watson a chance?'

Sherlock stared back into Alice's eyes, the both of them maintaining eye contact at all times and trying to blink the bare minimum of times they could.

'You're afraid you were wrong about him, that he isn't up for the challenge. You think that it is best to leave him out of everything.'

'You're afraid of what your mother is going through. She sent you a train ticket to come home and you are not planning to use it anytime soon. You haven't texted her since you received your acceptations into university and it's gnawing away on you. You want to sleep, but you also want to learn. You live on coffee and ginger nuts, not a bad choice if I may say so, but even you know that that is bad.'

Alice blinked a couple of times, breaking their connection. She leaned back into the chair, her hands resting on the violin. Sherlock leaned forward.

'I can still read you too, don't worry.'

He smirked, but he quickly realised that Alice didn't find it quite as funny as he did. What was it that I said, something about her mother. And University. He looked again. He thought she would have appreciated this little insight into her own head, like she would give him every once in a while. Apparently he had been wrong, but the trouble was that he didn't know what to say next.

'You...'

Alice looked away, tears suddenly burning in her eyes. She didn't want to go home, but after 8 months, she was starting to miss her mother somewhere deep down. Sherlock leaned back into his chair.

'You know you are probably already theoretically outsmarting most of your professors.'

Alice couldn't stop her laugh from coming out, she was crying, missing her mother, and her father was talking about intellectual achievements. He couldn't help it, it was his safety shield.

'I know dad, I know.'

Sherlock's head went up a bit and then stopped, his eyes a little wide. He tried to remember when it had happened for the first time. It had startled him, and it startled him again. Only twice before had Alice called him her father in his face before, not counting the time that she had told Mrs. Hudson that he was not the world's greatest father. He could never have believed it if it hadn't been for the clear evidence staring him right in the face the day he had met her. Today he wouldn't have believed it as well, but maybe with more ease, considering the girl that was sitting opposite him now. He remained quiet for a while, staring blankly into the distance. Then Alice got up, noticing the blank stare and walked past her father, putting the violin back in its place. As she passed him again, she stopped next to him, doubting whether what she was about to do would be a smart idea or the worst idea she could ever have. Then she continued her walk to the kitchen. No, not the right time. She turned around in the doorway.

'Tea?'

Sherlock, brought back to earth by the sound of her voice, focused on Alice and nodded. She turned to the kettle, filled it with water and lighted the fire. She grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and quietly put them on the counter. She stared at the kettle, which was starting to boil and was the only sound to be heard in the flat for quite some time. The moment the kettle was boiling, Alice tool it off in order not to wake the sleeping doctor upstairs. They were taking a risk by having her up here when John Watson was only one flight of stairs away. Alice hadn't thought of it that much before this moment, and now she no longer really minded. She poured the hot water into the mugs and made tea, which she then took back to the living room where she placed one cup on the little table beside Sherlock's chair. He was reading again. She picked up her law book and started reading again. She could see the slight glance of Sherlock as he noticed that she had actually picked up a book and also saw every move he made when he flipped a page or picked up his tea. At 5.46, Alice had to suppress a yawn. She had been awake for almost 24 hours by now and she really wanted to sleep. Sherlock saw it and abruptly closed his book.

'Time to get the appropriate two hours of sleep before another day.'

He immediately rose from his chair and picked up his empty mug and Alice's too. Alice slowly closed her book and started to gather her books. She got up and looked at Sherlock, who was standing at the counter in the kitchen, holding on to it tightly.

'Sherlock?'

She walked towards him and immediately noticed that something was wrong. She placed her books on the kitchen table and walked towards the counter. Where had it come from? She hadn't seen it there before. Why was it lying there? The syringe immediately caught her attention and brought up many questions as well. Before she knew what she was doing, she was holding on to Sherlock's arm, preventing him from moving it. He wanted to shake it off, his eyes were completely focused on the syringe that had been in the back of a drawer, underneath a hidden bottom. His reserve, for when he would need it. 5% solution, just a little bit, to help him up again when things were too bad. But were things bad now? He was solving a murder and even though the DI was not working with him, that would not stop him from solving the crime himself. No, life was not bad in that respect, it was not that. So what was it? He saw a vague picture of a woman in front of him. She was smiling at him, waving a little. A young woman, brown hair and a few freckles on her nose. She was surrounded by green hills and a bright blue sky. She was so young. He had hurt her. Where did this come from? Hidden deep in his memory this young woman approached him, and as she did, the sky got darker and the green faded. Her smile disappeared and she looked almost angry. His body started moving again, or was it only his arm? He was reaching for the girl. Was he going to comfort her? Or hit her because she was being too sentimental and too attached to him? Sudden pain stopped him in his tracks. He was jostled back to the kitchen, the syringe was gone from his eyesight, he looked around for it and found it, dangling in the air only a few inches away from him. But he couldn't reach it.

'Don't you dare. Don't you dare!'

Her voice was getting louder. Sherlock didn't see her. But then he felt her. Her flat hand hitting him hard on the cheek. Sherlock refocused and saw Alice, holding up the syringe. Her face stone cold, her hand still risen. Tears were visible in her eyes, but they wouldn't dare fall.

'Don't you dare do that, ever.'

Sherlock continued to stare at her, she was still there somewhere, that girl in the hills. He shook his head a few times to really focus again.

'I need to sleep.'

Alice nodded. She put the syringe on the counter, but when she noticed Sherlock's eyes wander, she immediately grabbed his arm again and guided him to his bedroom.

'You don't h...'

'Yes I do.'

She helped him take off his own robe and then she watched him from the doorway as he got into bed. Then she closed the door, rushed back to the kitchen and before the door would open again, she had taken the syringe and gone down to her own room. There she continued to look at the thing for a while, before she went to her own little kitchen, took out a tin and carefully placed the 5% solution in it, after which she shoved the tin into the farthest and darkest corner of a cabinet and she quickly closed it, so she wouldn't have to see it anymore.