Sherlock woke up with a sharp breath, having sworn he'd just seen Irene. He shook his head, clearing it and called out to John.
"John!"
He threw off his sheet and lost his balance for a minute, stumbling off the bed as John entered with a slightly worried look.
"You okay?"
"How did I get here?" Sherlock questioned.
"Well, uh… Well I don't suppose you remember much. You weren't making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you, I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone."
"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, getting to his feet; a bit more stable now.
"Sam? She's in my bed. I didn't want to leave her on the couch an—"
"No, the woman. That woman."
"What woman?" John asked, growing more worried.
"The woman. The woman woman."
"Oh, Irene Adler? She got away. No one saw her."
Sherlock scowled and went over to the window, making John sigh.
"She wasn't here, Sherlock." John said, getting annoyed as Sherlock went to check under his bed. "Sherlock, go back to bed. You're probably still being effected by the drugs."
"No. I'm fine. I only got a small dosage." Sherlock grumbled, before he frowned and turned to John. "Sam's in your room?"
John's brows furrowed, but he nodded. "Yes. Like I said, I didn't want to have her on the couch with her back that way."
"Back? What's wrong with her back?"
"There's welts, Sherlock. Like she was hit with something. I didn't know when I tried to lay her down, but she managed to let me know it hurt before the drugs knocked her out. Then when I checked—Oi! Sherlock!" John called after him as he hurried to John's room and threw open the door. "Sherlock, she'll still be sleeping! The drugs probably won't wear off until the morning!"
Sherlock ignored him though, pulling the blankets off the young woman and lifting up the back of her shirt. He winced, frowning at the red welts as he remembered what had happened with Irene. He covered Sam back up and clenched his fists.
"Have you treated them?"
"Well, yeah. Not much I can do, but I've iced them already. I was getting another ice pack when you started shouting. Sherlock, what happened?"
Sherlock turned and walked out, heading for the main room, only to hear a woman sigh loudly from his room. He doubled back, seeing no woman and digging through his coat to pull out his phone where a text waited.
Till next time,
Mr. Holmes.
He frowned, glancing at his coat and remembering that Irene had been wearing it when they left. A chill went down his spine and he made sure his window latches were done before he went to the living room while John was in the kitchen; making tea.
"Do you mind if I use your room? I'm knackered." John questioned, setting Sherlock's mug down in front of him.
"Fine. Don't touch anything."
"Check up on Sam every once in a while." John told him, moving for the bedroom, only to stop. "And Sam said she had something to tell us. She probably won't be up for a while longer, but… try to be nice."
Sherlock hummed, mind going rampant as he struggled to focus on one topic. Irene flew around his mind palace and now Sam did as well. Her actions the previous night frustrated him. He was again questioning what she knew, where she got the information to open the safe, whether she was on Irene's side, or Moriarty's side or whomever. Nothing was making sense about her and it only made him more and more annoyed. He hardly noticed when the sun came up, or when John returned to the living room; only to leave to check up on Sam, which Sherlock had forgotten to do.
"I'm going to help Mrs. Hudson make some breakfast." John said idly, snapping Sherlock out of his daze.
"Hm, yes. Alright. Is she up yet?"
"Nope." John replied simply, moving into the kitchen. "Let me know when she is. I need to look at her back again."
"Hm." Sherlock hummed, grabbing a newspaper as his phone chimed. "Mycroft's coming over."
"For the photos?"
"Probably."
"Wonder how he's going to handle that."
Sherlock didn't reply, glancing up from his read as he heard noise. Sam was awake. The young woman came out from where John's room was, still looking slightly unsteady on her feet and tense. She winced in pain when she bent to retrieve some of her clothes from her luggage by the couch and moved for the restroom to change.
"John wants to look at your back." Sherlock said, eyes shifting back to his paper as Sam flinched before nodding and retreated into the bathroom.
She came out not much later in navy blue sweats and a loose black shirt, just as John came out with breakfast.
"Ah, Sam. Could I look at your back? Just to check on the welts."
"Sure." Sam muttered and John nodded, setting his breakfast on the table and gesturing to a chair.
Sam sat in it backwards and allowed John to lift up the back of her shirt where the six angry welts stared back. She winced when John lightly pressed on them, but he was soon done and let her move to sit at the table and join them.
"They probably still need to be iced. Who hit you? And what with?"
"Irene." Sam grumbled, sitting at the table and picking up her fork to eat. "Riding crop."
"What for?"
Sam glanced at Sherlock briefly, but turned her gaze back to her plate. "Doesn't matter."
John frowned, but Sherlock spoke up.
"You have something to explain to us?"
Sam stopped eating for a moment, but nodded before resuming. "Later. Not while Mycroft's around and… preferably not here."
"Why not here?" John questioned.
"She thinks someone could be listening in." Sherlock replied easily. "Fine. We'll go out later and you can explain then."
She nodded just as Mycroft was led up the stairs by Mrs. Hudson, who greeted everyone before moving into the kitchen.
"The photographs are perfectly safe." Sherlock informed his annoyed-looking brother.
"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker."
"She's not interested in blackmail." Sherlock pressed. "She wants… protection for some reason. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"
"How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied."
"She'd applaud your choice of words." Sherlock quipped, earning small smiles from Sam and John. "You see how this works. That camera phone is her 'get out of jail free' card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft."
"Though not the way she treats royalty." John tacked on, smiling at Mycroft, who practically grimaced back.
A female sigh echoed in the room then, making John and Mycroft frown, and Sam glance up from her meal.
"What was that?" John asked.
"Text." Sherlock replied simply getting up to get his phone.
"But what was that noise?"
Sherlock ignored the question, looking at the text.
Good morning, Mr. Holmes.
There was a moan then and all eyes went to Sam, who blushed before digging through her own pockets. Sherlock raised a brow, silently questioning if Irene got her phone too. Judging from the scowl, most likely.
"Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent the three of us in there?" Sherlock said then, distracting the group as Sam typed a reply on her phone. "CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess."
"Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft." John drawled sarcastically as Mrs. Hudson came in the room with a plate of breakfast for Sherlock as well.
"It's a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes." She chided him and he scowled.
"Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson."
"Mycroft!"
"Oi!"
"Seriously?!" The trio exclaimed and Mycroft had the decency to look a little sheepish at his remark.
"Apologies." He muttered as Mrs. Hudson nodded.
"Thank you."
Sherlock opened his mouth to make a crack at her as well, but grimaced when something hit him harshly in the leg. He glared over at Sam, but the young woman shushed him before both their phones went off again.
"Ooh, it's a bit rude, those noises, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson remarked.
Feeling better?
Sherlock looked over his phone as Sam did the same, though she was the one to type a response.
"There's nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see." Sherlock informed Mycroft, getting back on topic.
"I can put maximum surveillance on her."
"Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her username is 'TheWhipHand'."
"Yes. Most amusing." Mycroft wrinkled his nose as his phone rang and he excused himself; leaving John to question Sam and Sherlock on their new text alerts.
"Why do your phones make those noises?"
"What noise?" Sherlock attempted to deny.
"That noise. The one it just made. Yours too, Sam."
"It's a text alert. It means we've got a text." Sherlock replied easily.
"Hm, your texts don't usually make that noise. Or any noise at all, in Sam's case."
"Well, somebody got hold of our phones and apparently, as a joke, personalized their text alert noise." Sherlock said, getting annoyed.
"Hm. So every time they text you—"
There was another feminine sigh and moan.
"It would seem so."
"My phone's been disabled too." Sam grumbled, typing away a response to her texter. "I can't turn down the volume or change the text alert sound."
"I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?" John questioned Sherlock, who lifted the paper higher to cover his face.
"I'll leave you to your deductions."
John smiled, having figured it out. "I'm not stupid, you know."
"Where do you get that idea?" Sherlock mocked him.
Mycroft walked back into the room, finishing up his conversation on the phone. "Bond Air is go. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later."
Sherlock watched him and Mycroft tucked his phone away. "What else does she have?"
Mycroft looked up in question.
"Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There's more." Sherlock stood up and faced Mycroft. "Much more. Something big's coming, isn't it?"
Mycroft gave nothing away. "Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on, you will stay out of this."
"Oh, will I?"
"Yes, Sherlock, you will." Mycroft said sternly and Sherlock went over to his chair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend."
"Do give her my love." Sherlock replied, picking up his violin and playing 'God Save the Queen' as Mycroft rolled his eyes.
Before he left though, his gaze shifted to Sam's.
"Enjoy your holidays with your brothers, Sam, should you decide to go."
Sam stiffened, before shrinking down and gazing at her plate looking unsure as Mycroft left. John gave her a worried look, but Sherlock had enough and stood.
"Come on then. You wish to speak, let's go."
Sam hesitated, but got up and began pulling on her hoodie as John stood to join them. The three caught a cab and ended up in a semi-crowded restaurant that Sam recognized as the one from 'A Study in Pink'; where they took their seats by the front window and ordered drinks. Sam remained silent for a bit longer, before finally speaking up.
"I can't tell you everything." She muttered, eyes shifting from the table top to look directly at Sherlock's. "You already know that I have information I shouldn't, but I can't tell you where I got it from." She looked back down. "I don't want to lose what little respect you might still have for me. You would think I was lying anyway."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but Sam continued.
"I know the future, basically." She said, frowning a bit at her wording, but not changing it. "I know where we're going to go, who we're going to run into, a decent number of cases we're going to go on, that sort of thing."
"So you knew about Soo Lin Yao." Sherlock said then, making Sam wince and duck her head lower as their drinks were dropped off.
"Yes." She murmured. "I knew about her, about the Chinese cypher, Shan, Mor…" She grimaced, struggling with his name and Sherlock finished it; eyes suspicious.
"Moriarty. You knew it was him behind the bombings."
She nodded.
"How?"
She sighed heavily, hands shakily reaching for her drink, but only to hold the warm mug. "I can't tell you."
"Why?"
"You wouldn't believe me. You'd think I was lying or insane or delusional. I'm not stupid, Sherlock." She said sharply, eyes lifting to meet his. "There's a lot you may believe in, but what happened to me is never going to fit into your factual way of thinking. I didn't even believe it happened until I had no other choice."
"Then why not tell us this after you were shot?" John questioned then. "We can help you."
She glanced at him, eyes softening, before she shook her head. "I told you before. What I know has the potential to put everyone I know in danger. Mycroft is already threatening my brothers. Mori… He threatened you both already. It's only a matter of time before everything I care about is taken from me and… and the last thing I wanted to do was rid the world of Sherlock and you. I'm just some college kid, but you two go around saving lives. You can stop him, but I wouldn't even be able to put a finger on him. You both saw this at the pool. Who did you believe?" She asked, looking between them both. "You still think I work for him, because it's his words over mine. Now imagine how that would work if I was trying to get him caught. Who believes the words of some college student over someone with connections like him?" She turned back to her drink solemnly. "My dying wouldn't mean anything."
"Sam…" John murmured, looking heartbroken at the young woman seated before them; carrying more than her share of burdens.
He turned to Sherlock, but the man was silently watching her; eyes narrowed in suspicion. She was a puzzle he was trying to piece together, but he was still missing some information.
"How do you know Irene Adler?" He asked suddenly and Sam winced.
"I… I don't, really. I know of her. I know her role in this case and what she'll end up doing later. I know who she's protecting herself from, but… I can't tell you anything."
"Why not?" John questioned.
"Because if I give away something too soon, it could mean your lives." She said seriously.
"So you said nothing with Soo Lin Yao, causing her death instead." Sherlock said shortly and Sam grimaced, sinking into herself slightly.
"I tried. I did my best to help her and you saw what happened."
"But if you had informed us, then—"
"Then you would have been killed." Sam cut him off, looking at him desperately and trying to get him to understand.
He scowled though, arguing the point. "And do you have a sure way of knowing that as well? Knowing every possible outcome of your interference?"
"N-No, but—"
"Then who are you to choose what information you share or don't share when someone else's life is on the line?"
"I-I don't…"
"Sherlock." John chided the man as Sam squeezed her hands around her mug to hide their shaking.
"I'm sorry, okay?" Sam muttered softly. "But even if I had told you, you wouldn't have believed me. I have no evidence to back up my claims. You would have just scoffed and ran off. The only reason you're believing me now is because there's enough proof that I know things I shouldn't. You probably don't even think it's because of what I said. You don't actually believe I know the future. You just think I've got some man on the inside feeding me information when you're not looking." She chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, right. I'm just some college kid. Where the hell would I find someone like that?"
"Prove it."
She looked up with a frown of confusion. "What?"
Sherlock folded his arms over his chest. "If you claim to know the future, them prove it. Tell me something that will happen. What I'll have for breakfast tomorrow. I don't care. Prove it."
"I-I don't know everything. Only things relating to cases and I can't tell you anything about those because it will mess up later events."
"Well, there has to be something." He argued.
Sam's brows furrowed, her gaze shifting to the contents of her cup before she looked back up hesitantly.
"You really should watch your mouth with Molly at Christmas." She said, making Sherlock frown.
"What?"
Sam sighed. "You're going to upset Molly at Christmas… and John's girlfriend."
"What?" John repeated Sherlock's earlier comment.
"You have too many. He's not going to remember the name of them all because they're not vaguely important to him. And you're not even going to remember which girlfriend she is." Sam replied, finally drinking some of her tea only to grimace at the cold temperature of the drink.
"I will." John argued. "I always remember my girlfriends."
Sherlock though was frowning for a different reason. "That's it? Couldn't pick anything sooner?"
Sam shrugged lightly. "You don't have any note-worthy cases between now and then. Or, well, no cases that I know about. I have gaps between what I know sometimes. This is one of them. I don't have the slightest idea what happens between now and Christmas. And I'm probably going to end up with my brothers for a bit before that unless something comes up." Sam said, sighing heavily. "Which it probably will."
John furrowed his brows at that and went to ask her what she meant, but Sherlock stood and placed money on the table for their drinks.
"I have an experiment to take care of." He said shortly, still looking as though he was struggling with a very difficult problem. "I'll be at Bart's."
He strolled out with a swish of his coat and Sam watched him go solemnly before sighing herself and standing.
"I'm going back to the flat. Do you want to share a cab, or…"
"Hm? Ah, no. That's alright. You can go ahead. I've got to grab some more shopping and I'll head back to the flat when I'm done."
Sam hesitated, but nodded, heading out and making John watch her go with one thought passing through his mind. Why do I get the feeling we've only made things worse?
Sherlock finished up a rendition of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' on his violin as Mrs. Hudson grinned and John brought out the drinks with Lestrade giving an appreciative whistle.
"Lovely. Sherlock, that was lovely."
"Marvelous." John agreed after clearing his throat and taking a seat as Mrs. Hudson chuckled.
"I wish you could have worn the antlers."
"Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson."
"Mrs. H." John hummed, setting down some tea for her as his girlfriend brought over a tray of mince pies and cakes to Sherlock.
"No, thank you, Sarah."
Her expression fell and John hurried over to repair the damage.
"Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He's not good with names."
"No, no, no. I can get this." Sherlock replied, determined. "No. Sarah was the Doctor and then there was the one with the spots, and then the one with the nose, and then…" He paused with a frown. "Who was after the boring teacher?"
"Nobody." She snapped.
"Jeanette!" The man grinned to himself. "Ah, process of elimination."
"Now where's your little tag-along?" Lestrade hummed, looking around. "I don't see her here."
John caught on, having caught Sherlock's frown and responding before the man could answer.
"Ah, she actually went home for the holidays. Said she'd try to make it here for Christmas, but I haven't heard from her."
There were footfalls on the stairs then and Sherlock groaned as he saw Molly enter the room.
"Oh, dear Lord."
"Hello, everyone." Molly smiled sheepishly, wrapped up in a thick coat and carrying some bags of presents. "Sorry, hello. Uh, it said on the door to just come up."
Everyone greeted her cheerfully, except Sherlock, who waved his bow around and complained.
"Oh, everyone's saying hello to each other. How wonderful."
He was in a foul mood now that Sam had been mentioned.
John though, ignored him and went over to help Molly out of her coat. "Let me, uh… holy Mary!"
Even Lestrade's jaw dropped at the sight of the black dress Molly had on under her coat. "Wow."
"Having Christmas drinkies then?" Molly questioned.
"No stopping them, apparently." Sherlock drawled, sitting at the table to look at what John had been posting on his blog lately.
"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's almost worth it." Mrs. Hudson chuckled, before her smile faltered. "Oh, but I do wish Sam were here. I think she'd love this."
Sherlock ignored the group, typing away on John's laptop, though he could have been kinder to the keys he was mashing.
"John?" He called out then, having spotted something after John pulled out a seat for Molly. "The counter on your blog. Still says 1895."
"Oh no. Christmas is cancelled." John said sarcastically until Sherlock scowled at having spotted a photo off to the side.
"And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!"
"People like the hat."
"No, they don't." Sherlock argued, more annoyed. "What people?"
He resumed typing, looking for anything useful on the blog, but unable to help overhearing Molly behind him talking to Mrs. Hudson.
"How's the hip?"
"Oh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking."
"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems." Molly joked, but the room grew uncomfortable. "Oh, God. Sorry."
Sherlock looked over. "Don't make jokes, Molly."
She winced, but Lestrade passed her a glass that she gratefully took; deciding to change topic. "I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas."
"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife." Lestrade answered with a small smile. "We're back together. It's all sorted."
"No. She's sleeping with a P.E. teacher." Sherlock informed him, making his face fall.
"And John, I hear you're off to your sister's. Is that right?" Molly tried. "Sherlock was complaining—saying." She corrected.
"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze." John smiled, only for Sherlock to ruin that as well.
"Nope."
"Shut up, Sherlock." John snapped at him, but Sherlock was getting annoyed and finally decided to add something to the conversation.
Since Molly's inquiring into everyone else's lives… "I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him."
"Sorry, what?" Molly questioned nervously.
"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." Sherlock continued as John grumbled under his breath.
"Take a day off."
Even Lestrade could see this getting out of hand and put a glass down beside Sherlock. "Shut up and have a drink."
"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped in a box. All the others are slapdash at best." Sherlock replied, not taking the hint everyone was trying to give him as he stood and went over to Molly. "It's for someone special then." He hummed, picking up the present on top and not seeing how Molly began to squirm uncomfortably. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick—either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has love on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long-term hopes—however forlorn—and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…"
He stopped, having flipped the present over to read the tag to find out who it was for, only to discover something surprising.
Dearest Sherlock
Love Molly xxx
A thought came into his head then. Something he'd heard not too long ago.
"You really should watch your mouth with Molly at Christmas."
A bitter taste filled his mouth, seeing now that Sam had been correct and because he didn't take her seriously and heed her warning, he'd just done something terrible to someone he possibly considers a friend.
"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always." Molly breathed out, holding back tears.
Sherlock wanted to walk away. Wanted to feel nothing and just leave. He nearly did, but turned back and apologized.
"I am sorry. Forgive me." He said, closing his eyes and missing John's surprised expression as he begrudgingly took Sam's words to heart and stepped forward to kiss Molly on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."
A woman's sigh echoed in the silence of the room then and Molly panicked.
"No! That wasn't… I-I didn't…"
"No, it was me." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.
"My God, really?" Lestrade gasped.
"What?"
"My phone." Sherlock pressed, pulling it out as John raised a brow.
"Fifty-seven?"
"Sorry, what?" Sherlock questioned.
"Fifty-seven of those texts. The ones I've heard." John clarified as Sherlock looked at the message.
Mantelpiece.
"Thrilling you've been counting." Sherlock replied idly as he went to the mantel and picked up a small box the same shade of Irene's lipstick. "Excuse me."
John, suspicious, sat up. "W-What's up? Sherlock?"
"I said excuse me." He pressed, heading to his room as John called at his back.
"Do you ever reply?"
Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed and opened the box, stunned to find Irene's phone inside. Immediately knowing what this meant, he phoned up Mycroft.
"Oh, dear Lord. We're not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?"
"I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight and I suggest checking up on Sam as well."
"We already know where they both are. As for Miss Adler, as you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters."
"No. I mean you're going to find her dead. Where is Sam?"
"Ask her yourself."
Sherlock scowled and hung up the phone, knowing John was right by the door, and he slammed it shut in John's face as the man questioned if he was alright. Sherlock frowned down at Irene's phone, before pocketing it and waiting until he received the tell-tale text from his brother. He left his bedroom and headed downstairs to leave, only to find a figure huddled up in a coat waiting just outside the door. Sam turned to look at him with red eyes and nose, dark bags under her eyes, and snow settled on her shoulders. Several things popped into his head as he looked her over. Has been crying. Sleepless nights. Baggage was inside, yet she remained out here for at least an hour, if not two. Has been with a black cat recently. Looks pale. Sherlock turned away and hailed a cab, stopping before getting in and calling over his shoulder to her.
"Are you coming?"
She didn't react for a second before shaking off some of the collective snow on her shoulders and climbing in beside him. She kept her distance, shivering somewhat despite the heater going full-pelt in the cab as they headed to Bart's.
"You were correct." He muttered, making Sam glance at him. "I upset Molly today as well as John's girlfriend."
Sam shifted her gaze away. "Sorry."
Sherlock frowned. "Why do you apologize? I was the one who did not heed your warning. That was hardly your fault." He stopped then, seeing the deep emotions that Sam was holding back for him. "Same as before." He tacked on, looking away from her and out the window. "If I had paid more attention I may have noticed what was going on, but I believe you to be a fool and because of that Soo Lin Yao was killed, you were hurt and even tortured. And while I believe there are things you can tell us… I have read enough to know that telling us everything would make your… foreknowledge useless. Therefore… I'm sorry."
Sam looked at him in surprise, but managed a small smile. "Thanks, but my apology still stands. I wasn't really fair to you either. I should have at least tried to tell you something. Just because I believed you wouldn't listen isn't really an excuse."
"Hm." Sherlock hummed, reaching up and taking off his scarf before looping it around her neck instead. "Why were you standing outside for so long?"
She stiffened, before glancing away slightly from Sherlock's curious gaze. "I, um… didn't want to intrude, really. I may know things, but there's no real cues for when I should pop in or not. If I'd just walked in, I could have messed things up even worse with you and Molly. I knew you'd be heading to Bart's, so… I just put my stuff inside the door and waited. It… It was longer than I hoped though."
She sniffed as another shiver racked her spine, curling into her coat some more.
"Listen to us." She chuckled. "Some sorry saps we are."
"You've been crying." Sherlock mentioned then and Sam winced. "Why?"
"Something goes wrong. Every Christmas." She muttered, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "Last year, they both caught the flu."
"Your brothers." Sherlock concluded and she nodded.
"They both called. My older brother's big promotion has his schedule packed tight. He assumed my other brother would keep me company, but he'd called earlier to say he had to go to California for business. I spent Christmas Eve with my cat and packing my luggage. I spent Christmas morning flying back here, knowing what was going to happen." She trailed off for a moment, before looking at him. "I can't tell you anything. I'm sorry."
"You're apologizing again." He grumbled, though not sounding pleased.
She looked down at her hands in her lap, going silent as the cab soon pulled up to Bart's. Sherlock went to get out, but she grabbed the back of his coat.
"Wait."
He raised a brow as Sam bit her lip before continuing; not looking at him, but at the ground.
"If I tell you something, could you… could you not take the cigarette?"
"What?"
"I-I know it doesn't make any sense now, but it will in a minute." She said, finally looking back at him seriously. "If you don't take it, then I promise I'll think over everything and tell you something. Something that I can say, even if it's something I probably shouldn't."
He frowned, tugging her out of the cab. "And why would you do that?"
She opened her mouth, frowning and closing it, before coming to a decision. "Because I'm tired of not doing anything and if there's something I can do to help, then… then I want to help you. I want to help end this."
Sherlock watched her for a second, before releasing her upper arms and turning with a swish of his coat to walk into Bart's. Sam hesitated, but trailed after him soon enough, pulling his scarf up around her face a bit more to stay warm as they entered the building where Mycroft was waiting for them. He raised a brow at Sam's presence, but when Sherlock said nothing about her, he settled for ignoring her as well as they went silently to the morgue. Molly was there waiting for them along with a body; her having left and changed after Sherlock had disappeared from the Christmas party.
"The only one that fitted the description." Mycroft said to Sherlock. "Had her brought here. Your home from home."
"You didn't need to come in, Molly." Sherlock said, ignoring Mycroft's quip as Sam glared at the elder brother.
"That's okay." Molly said sheepishly. "Everyone else was busy with… Christmas. T-The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up. So it might be difficult." She stuttered out, giving Sam a confused glance when she saw Sherlock's scarf around her neck.
A glance that Sherlock caught.
"She's with me. Trustworthy, I assure you." He said, making Mycroft raise a brow and even Sam look a little surprised.
Molly hesitated, but nodded and pulled the sheet off the body's face.
"That's her, isn't it?" Mycroft questioned as Sam winced at the carnage in front of her.
"Show me the rest of her." Sherlock demanded and Molly grimaced herself before pulling the sheet down.
Sherlock briefly scanned the woman before answering as he walked off. "That's her."
Mycroft wasn't sure what to do for a second, before he bowed his head and thanked Molly. "Thank you, Miss Hooper."
"Who is she?" Molly asked though, making him pause. "How did Sherlock recognize her from… not her face?"
Mycroft smiled politely and turned to go, calling after Sam, who'd yet to move. "Miss Foxe, come along."
Sam looked over at his disappearing back, but turned back to Molly. "It's not for the reasons you think." She said quietly, feeling bad for the mistreated woman. "I can't tell you everything, but… she tested Sherlock and myself by walking into a room naked. Sherlock knew her measurements. Had to know them to open a safe and not get John and us killed. He… He sees her as a case. That's all."
"And you?" Molly whispered, not looking jealous, but almost sad as Sam smiled bitterly.
"He thinks I work for the enemy. I'm worth even less to him than her. She's at least clever. I'm just… pulling facts from a television show."
Molly furrowed her brows in confusion, but Sam hurried out to catch up with the Holmes brothers. She skidded to a stop then, just at the door to the hall Sherlock and Mycroft were in, making to open the door only to freeze. Mycroft was holding a cigarette up. She could see from the window in the door and she waited to see what Sherlock would do.
"Smoking indoors, isn't there one of those… one of those law things?" Sherlock questioned as Mycroft continued to hold up the cigarette.
"We're in a morgue. There's only so much damage you can do." Mycroft replied with a tense smile as Sam silently questioned whether Sherlock and he had said those lines before or after Sherlock took the cigarette.
She didn't want to make her presence known though. They both had their backs to her and didn't know she was there. She wanted Sherlock to make the decision on his own, without her attempting to blackmail him by standing there while he made the decision. Because that's what she was doing, essentially. Blackmailing Sherlock to behave in order to get information. And she still hadn't determined what she could tell him.
"No, thank you." Sherlock said then, making Sam's eyes widen and Mycroft hesitate.
"You sure?"
Sherlock scowled at the man. "Yes."
Mycroft put the cigarette back as Sam finally chose to slink into the room. Sherlock spared her a brief glance before turning his gaze back out the window in front of him.
"How did you know she was dead?" Mycroft questioned then, narrowing his eyes at Sam as she sneezed off to the side. "One of Sam's little tricks."
Sam frowned at him. "Screw you." She grumbled, earning a small smirk from Sherlock that disappeared as soon as it formed.
"She had an item in her possession. One she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up." He replied to his brother, who connected the dots.
"Where is this item now?"
Crying could be heard nearby and the group turned to see a family consoling each other just past another set of doors.
"Look at them. They all care so much." Sherlock complained. "Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?"
Sam gave the two brothers a soft glance, making Sherlock frown in confusion as Mycroft answered.
"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." He said sternly, giving Sam a discrete look.
"But not caring at all is worse." Sam muttered, making the two turn to her. "Sorry, it's just… kind of hypocritical of you to say, Mycroft." She turned to him with a small smile. "You would be devastated if something happened to Sherlock."
Mycroft scowled and Sherlock snorted, but Sam nudged him in the side.
"And you would be too, if something happened to Mycroft or John or Mrs. Hudson or Molly." She said, stuffing her hands in her pockets as Sherlock joined his brother in scowling. "You two may be ridiculously clever, but you really should look at yourselves every once in a while."
"As should you." Sherlock quipped, making Sam raise a brow. "You didn't mention yourself in that list."
Sam looked away quickly, not wanting Sherlock to see what she thought about that, but Sherlock grabbed her arm and began to tug her along; calling out after Mycroft.
"Merry Christmas, Mycroft."
"And a Happy New Year." The man returned as the two walked back out into the snow and Mycroft pulled out his phone. "He's on his way."
"Sherlock!" Sam complained, attempting to keep up with his long strides in the snow as he pulled her along. "Sherlock!" She pulled her arm from his, finally, making him stop as she grumbled and rubbed at her arm. "What is it with you and the pulling me around thing?"
"You don't believe you're worth anything to John and I." Sherlock suddenly declared, turning his head slightly but not quite looking at her.
"That's… That's not what I said." Sam protested weakly and before Sherlock could argue with her, she clarified. "I said you don't care about me."
"Please, Sam." Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Of course—"
"No." She said sternly, shaking her head. "No, you don't. You may act like you do sometimes, but I know you don't. You and John still have your doubts about me. I can tell. And with you, I'm just an interesting case for you to solve. I have information I shouldn't and you're keeping me around until you get the answers you want. Then you'll get bored and I'll end up going back to what life I had before this, if I'm lucky. Though, between Mycroft and… him, I doubt I'll have much chance of that." She pushed the thought aside with a sigh. "What I'm saying is, I'll never be worth something to you. Not as much as John or Molly or Mrs. Hudson or even your brother and… and him. I'm just an annoying pain in your—"
Sam yelped as she was hit hard across the face and flung into the snow, sitting up and placing a cold hand on her bruising cheek to look at Sherlock with wide eyes.
"I am tired of your whining and sniveling." He snapped harshly, making Sam sink into the snow as she cowered slightly from him. "You are not a child. Depressed, perhaps. However, I am not about to stand here and watch you dig yourself into a pit of despair and an early grave if I can help it. Sam Foxe, you are important to me." He declared, stunning the young woman in the snow. "I brought you with me as an assistant before your foreknowledge was apparent. Yes, you are a mystery to me in that regards, but I consider you just as important as John. When you left to be with your brothers for the holidays, John scolded me repeatedly for calling him Sam and for playing my violin through the night because I had forgotten you were not on the couch needing music to sleep. You are rightfully clever in your own right and you have a sense of courage and I haven't the slightest idea how you have failed to recognize it. And I am willing to put aside the issues regarding your information because you chose to assist us. You nearly died to keep that information safe, but are willing to share pieces with John and I. So I will not believe Moriarty until I have proof, and I will put my trust in you, that you will use your knowledge to assist us. I am beginning to understand what you have done and are going to do, Sam. But all of that will be lost if you do not stand up on your own two feet and give yourself the respect you deserve."
Sam was stunned into silence, though Sherlock saw the tears beginning to spring forth and he quickly turned his head away as he held out a hand to help her up.
"And if you cry, I will drop you right back in the snow, so I suggest you stop."
Sam let out a small chuckle, wiping her eyes once Sherlock released her. "R-Right… Thank you, Sherlock. I'll… I'll do my best."
He huffed, turning and walking to the curb as she followed, holding up his hand as he hailed a taxi, before Sam said something behind him.
"Why do murderers destroy as much of the head as they can?"
Sherlock sighed. "Typically, to hide evidence of who the person is. Surely, you already know this, so why are you—"
He stopped, hearing his own words ring in his head before he turned around to Sam, who attempted to look off to the side to hide her embarrassment.
"She's not…"
Sam didn't answer, but the look she gave him was evidence enough and he grinned at her; only for her eyes to widen.
"No!" She said loudly, before hushing herself and grabbing his arm. "You can't be happy."
His brows furrowed as she explained.
"Look, that body was faked for a reason. Irene sent you that text. She sent you the phone. So therefore—"
"She's the one who faked her own death."
Sam hesitated, but nodded. "Which means—"
"She's attempting to trick whoever's after her into thinking that she's dead."
"Right. So you need to keep acting as though you're devastated, because if not… If you don't act like you've been tricked as well, then the one after her will know. She needs proof to know that what she did worked. And if whoever is going after her is smart—smart like you—then who better to give her that proof? Trick Sherlock Holmes, and you can trick quite a few others. So you have to—"
Sherlock covered her mouth, expression solemn for the act he was going to pull off, but eyes shining in excitement. "This, is the Sam I've been wanting to meet."
Sam blushed furiously before a cab pulled up and the two climbed inside; both schooling their faces into somber ones as they headed back to Baker Street. John was seated in his chair, reading a book, but he looked up when Sherlock stood at the doorway.
"Oh, hi." He said quietly as Sherlock looked around the room, keeping up the act. "You okay?"
"Hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time." Sherlock muttered, heading to his room and slamming the door.
John sighed and wiped his face with his hand, only to hear more footsteps and turn to see Sam carrying her luggage up.
"Sam! I didn't expect you to show up tonight. Does Sherlock know?" John asked, only to spot the blue scarf around her neck. "Apparently so."
She nodded, looking rather solemn as well. "I bumped into him on his way out. He's… He's upset about Irene."
John sighed with a nod. "Yeah. I know. He didn't take the fag though, so that's a plus. Was that your influence?"
Sam hesitated, but nodded as she removed Sherlock's scarf and hung it up for him. "A bit, yeah. Sorry. I should have texted you when I got in." She looked over at him then. "And if it makes you feel better, Jeanette was a jerk."
John started, looking surprised, before he remembered what Sam had told them before she left for the holidays. "Oh… Oh, you knew. You actually knew."
"Tried to warn you, but it's for the best. Believe it or not, you do find someone that puts up with you and Sherlock."
John looked curious now. "I do? What's she like?"
Sam shook her head with a small smile. "Can't, John. Sorry. You'll know when you find her though. She's… She's good for you."
"Good to know." John nodded, still looking curious, but sitting back in his chair thoughtfully. "How was your holiday with your brothers?"
Sam stopped setting up the couch to sleep on, before resuming; John catching the action. "Not bad, though… it was a holiday with just my cat, I'm afraid."
"Oh, I'm… I'm so sorry."
"It's alright." She muttered. "Happens every year. I don't know why I'm still bothered by it."
She sneezed then, two or three times, and John looked at her in concern.
"You alright? Want some tea?"
"Y-Yeah, please." She nodded, grabbing some tissues and blowing her nose. "I-It was rather chilly out."
He nodded and got up, but went over to her first and hugged her tightly. "I'm glad you're back, and I'm sure Sherlock is too."
Sam let out a shaky breath, but nodded. "Yeah, thanks. I'm glad too."
He smiled and pulled back, patting her shoulder before heading into the kitchen. "Let me warm up the kettle."