Lestrade dropped the paper onto the coffee table, "If what you said about the profile is accurate, I think the best course of action is for you two to stay here until we have more information."
"No..." replied Sherlock.
"What do you mean no?"
"How are you going to solve anything without me?"
"Sherlock..." said Freddie rolling her eyes.
"Look, we'll check in with you later, or if we need help." said John.
"When." Said Sherlock.
"Right then..." Lestrade headed to the door.
"What are we supposed to do?"
Lestrade looked at him and Freddie in turn.
"I'm sure you with your combined intellects can think of something to fill the time." He sighed.
"We'll get moving then." said John.
Sherlock sat quietly as they left.
"What's the plan then?" asked Freddie.
Without saying a word Sherlock placed a pile of board games on the table in front of him. He grinned at her.
"Right, well if this is actually what we're going to be doing for what could possibly be the rest of our lives... we need to do it right." She went over to the kitchen.
Sherlock thought for a moment 'rest of our lives? oh right, because they'll never solve it without us...' he chuckled to himself.
Freddie slammed a bottle of schnapps and two glasses on the table.
"So Professor Plums, you ready to lose?" She asked.
"I believe you will be the loser Ms Scarlett"
Freddie looked at him in disbelief.
"Oh, uh... I–"
She laughed, "You are so on!" She poured two shots while
Sherlock finished setting up the board.
"Cheers." She took the shot.
Sherlock examined his drink, 'What could they accomplish from drinking?' He thought, 'It would only reduce inhibitions and intelligence' he then thought about last night's discoveries and his choice to explore this new feeling 'Perhaps that would help...'
"You'll get used to it, you'll be losing a lot." she laughed.
He narrowed his eyes and took the shot.
"Do you think they'll be alright?" asked John.
"Yeah, especially on home turf."
"I hope Mary's alright..."
"I'm sure she's fine."
"Yes... I suppose you're right."
John and Lestrade walked up to the next pub on the list.
"Hey look..." John pointed to a bike left out front and took out the bike key.
"Does it fit?" Lestrade watched as he tried the key in the lock and it sprung open.
"She was here alright..."
They went inside. It was early; there were a few people sat at the bar and a few groups having an early lunch sitting around tables in the corner.
They headed up to the bar.
"What can I get you?" asked the barman.
"Nothing for us thanks" Lestrade showed his badge, "I was wondering if I could see your security footage? We're looking for someone."
"Who might that be?" He asked suspiciously.
"A young woman, dark hair... Would have been in here around a week ago."
"Ok, come on back, there's a few tapes so it might take you a while." He turned to a skinny young employee, "Watch the bar for a moment Jay."
"Sure boss." They replied.
"So, you really dressed up as her?" asked Sherlock pointing at the screen.
"Yeah..." replied Freddie.
"Why...?"
"I don't know... I mean, she's like... sexy. Right?"
Sherlock shrugged.
"I guess I wanted people to think of me like that." She slumped back into the sofa.
"By dressing as her?"
"Well, yeah... I guess... I dunno."
"Why can't people think of you like that... normally?"
"That's what I keep saying!"
"Her body proportions are ridiculous... She must be very uncomfortable. And besides... your proportions are much more aesthetically pleasing."
She sat up and stared at Sherlock, "That is honestly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me... ever."
"Well..." he said modestly.
"No really, thank you." She smiled genuinely but drunkenly at him.
"What should we do now?" he asked.
"Did the movie finish?"
They looked over at the screen and watched as the credits rolled.
"We could always–" said Sherlock, in a rather suggestive manner.
"No. No more Cluedo."
"But–"
"No! It had to have been a mistake, but I really don't think the victim did it... and I'm pretty sure that one card was a fake."
Sherlock thought of other things they could do, there was the post-it game he had played with John on his stag night, although he didn't really know or care about any celebrities... they had rather exhausted the board games and Mrs Hudson might get upset if they did anything that could be considered violent or destructive. However there was one thing they hadn't tried yet... He thought back to his fantasy... But he couldn't ask about that... could he? No... that had to be built up to. John always used to talk about what moves he would try on his seemingly endless stream of dates and Sherlock new exactly which ones ended with John coming home the morning after.
"There. Right there." Said John, "He drops something in her drink."
"That's likely to be our killer then."
They watched as the man led the woman out of the pub. John took a photo of the two people on the screen with his phone.
"And that's our victim."
They left the room and went up to the barman.
"Everything alright? Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Yes thank you..." said John.
"Do you recognise either of these people?" asked Lestrade.
John showed him the photo.
"Not him, but that's Jenny." He pointed to the victim.
"Jenny?" asked Lestrade.
"Yeah, I think it's Smith... She comes in every Friday night after work."
"Where does she work?"
"At one of the shops in Waterloo station, she lives down the road a little... You know she's a sweet kid... Is... is something wrong? Is she ok?"
"Do you know her?"
"Well, no... not really. She's a regular, I'd like to know, as I said, she's a sweet kid."
John and Lestrade looked at each other.
"Sorry but I can't say anything right now"
"Oh right..." The barman sighed.
Lestrade went around to the other patrons asking if they recognised either of the people.
"So uh..." Said the barman, "You don't look like a coppa?"
"No, I'm a doctor. John Watson." He put his hand out to shake.
"Ah, I read your blog, you work with that detective bloke don't ya?" He shook his hand, "Where's he then?"
"Uh... he's taking a break right now... He's got himself a stalker."
"And what's that got to do with Jenny?"
"She–"
"John!" Lestrade called him over.
"Sorry, got to go..." John caught up with Lestrade as they left the pub.
"We should show this to Sherlock, see if he recognises either of them."
"Oh dear!" Mrs Hudson yelled, heading into 221b.
"What?" asked Sherlock, "Can't you see we're busy?"
Sherlock was balancing an apple on his head and Freddie was pointing a gun at him. They had post-it notes stuck to their faces with various names written on them and there were new bullet holes in the wall next to another yellow spray paint face with a frown.
"What on earth have you been doing up here?"
"She didn't want to play Cluedo, what else were we supposed to do?"
John and Lestrade came up the stairs. Freddie jumped and threw the gun to Sherlock, he caught it and the apple fell off his head.
"Jesus Sherlock what are you doing?!" Lestrade stared at the two of them.
"Target practice?" he shrugged, having not yet built up the courage to make a move.
"There's been so much noise coming from up here, but when I heard the gun shots I didn't know what to think!" Mrs Hudson left quickly.
"Is that my gun?" asked John.
"Of course not..." Sherlock refused to meet John's gaze.
Lestrade noticed the empty bottles on the table, "You've been drinking!"
"No..." Freddie giggled and Lestrade gave her a severe look, "Yes..." she went quiet.
"Right. If you can take two minutes from endangering yourselves to look at this photo?" he pointed to John who had gotten his phone out.
Sherlock looked at the photo and shrugged.
"I'll have a look?" asked Freddie, "I can't say I would recognise–" her eyes widened, "Oh..."
"What, do you know who they are?"
"I... I... That's–" she sat down, "That's Alistair... He's, oh god..."
"It's alright, take your time..." said Lestrade.
Sherlock watched her reaction, the feeling practically exploding inside him, whoever this person was to her it wasn't good. Freddie looked scared.
"I went to... group with him... We sponsored each other... Like, if we needed support outside of the therapy we'd go to each other..."
"Do you have an address for him?" asked Lestrade.
"Well, not in London... Jees... I've not seen him for years." replied Freddie.
"We need more to go on."
"Alistair Matthews... I think he had an aunt that lived near Oxford Street? But oh! He'll have a record, he's done community service."
"Ok, I can look into that."
"Are you gonna be alright here on your own? I've got to get back to Mary."
"We'll be fine..." said Sherlock, looking at Freddie.
"Right then, I'll call you as soon as I find anything"
John took his gun back and left with Lestrade. Sherlock sat in his chair and watched Freddie who just curled up on the sofa and stared into space.
"This is just so weird... I mean, I've not seen him in years and he just turns up?" She sighed.
"When was the last time you saw him?" asked Sherlock.
"I don't know..." she thought for a moment, "Actually... I think we came to London... not for any reason. But we went to Hyde park... we broke into this empty building, like a grounds keeper shed or something and we talked... about everything..."
Sherlock examined Freddie for a moment, he could tell there was something she wasn't telling him. He felt a little hurt.
He thought about why that might be. She said that he valued honesty, which was true, but why was she hiding this from him? Then he realised there was no real reason for her to tell him, so he kept his deductions to himself.
"Go on then..." she said weakly, breaking his concentration.
"Go on what?" he asked, knowing full well what she meant.
"Tell me who he is, who you've no doubt worked him out to be." she continued staring.
"You lied to Lestrade..."
"I didn't lie... I just didn't tell him the truth."
"You knew, it being a personal tie, it would bring you further into this that you already are."
She scrunched up her face and sighed as she turned to face the back of the sofa.
Seeing her like this made his head hurt, he wanted to leave and not have to look at her like this, but something made him stay. Something made him sit on the coffee table and gently stroke her hair. It was the feeling again. He remembered his deductions from last night, how he thought he felt about her.
It was that, no doubt about it.
Freddie rolled over and looked up at Sherlock, he was staring into space with his hand gently tangled in her hair.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Uh..." he pulled his hand away, "When people are in a state of shock or high stress it often helps if another person is there to provide support in a gentle manner, such as a hug or offering a hand to hold or stroking... I was comforting you."
"Oh..." she looked a little surprised.
He went to leave, seeing he had clearly misread the situation and done the wrong thing.
"Wait." She said grabbing his hand.
He turned back to her.
"I didn't say I didn't like it..." she looked up at him hopefully and gently pulled him down to join her on the sofa.
He sat down quietly and put his arm around her, she curled up at his side and rested her head on his chest. Not really knowing what to do with his hand, he gently placed in on her hip at the edge of her jeans, his thumb resting on the patch of bare skin between her jumper and jeans.
She twitched and breathed in sharply as she felt his hand touch her skin, he moved it away again in fear that he had done something wrong, instead he placed his hand on her arm and gently stroked as he spoke.
"He hurt you didn't he..." he said.
She breathed shakily as she nodded, not saying a word.
"Your reaction to seeing his face again was one of fear. Your usual out-going and confidant personality has been overcome by a need to hide. The way you're reacting to him is not just the shock of knowing he killed someone, the look on your face shows you know full well what he's capable of. You're scared. But that's the question... A woman who grew up with multiple abusive families, had a lot of trouble with fighting and drug abuse... No doubt knows what it's like to be on a dealer's bad side. A woman who has left all of that behind her and can look back without blinking... What could scare you?"
He felt her squish her face into him as she let out a small whine and tears filled her eyes. Then suddenly it all became clear, what she was so afraid of. He thought back to the autopsy, when she had asked about what had happened to the victim, she had been afraid to say it.
Sherlock clenched his fist, he was angry. Angry at what this Alistair Matthews had done to her, he wanted to protect her and keep her safe from him, but also make him pay for what he had done to her. Then he had a troubling thought. This would probably affect her desire for a relationship, not that he even knew if that's what he wanted from her... but it would affect her willingness to be intimate with another person.
Then his mind raced, even if that wasn't the case why would she want that from him? He shook that thought from his mind 'Think of this logically, she's currently curled up next to me, showing no sign of ever wanting to let go that would point to at least some form of affection' he smiled, then realised he was being a little selfish.
"Did you ever tell anyone...?" he asked her.
She shook her head, "I was afraid he'd get to me if I did" she replied, her voice high and raspy.
"Would you like to...?"
She sat up and looked him in the eyes, she took a deep breath, "I suppose someone should know..." she took his hand and crossed her legs, "It was quite a few years back, after my last family... when I decided to live on my own, I'd been going to meetings for a while and working in a bar to pay for my course. And that's when I met him." She squeezed his hand a little tighter, "It was in a little group session thing, like we'd talk about our stories and then he decided to speak, he hadn't said anything for weeks he'd just be there, observing the rest of us speaking. So he told us how he ended up here, about a relationship that went bad... the usual suspects. Then I felt that I could speak because he had... his courage made me feel like I could finally speak up. So I did, I told them my story and thinking about it now, the way he hung on my every word, examining me... I wish I had noticed..." she hung her head, "So, the supervisor suggested we pair up, seeing that we gave each other the confidence to speak up. So we did." She got up and started pacing, Sherlock watched her. She was hunched over and looking almost ashamed. He could tell where this story was going, "We talked about our lives and families and habits, we smoked and drank and then... then we had sex... we started a relationship. It felt nice to be close to someone... but I just couldn't see. He was manipulative and emotionally abusive... But that's just what I thought relationships were... I was so messed up."
Sherlock clenched his fist, he didn't like this. She had willingly let this guy in and he had taken advantage of it. In a way he was glad they were on lockdown, it meant he could keep her safe from him. It also meant that he was unable to beat the shit out of this Alistair person... Because he would, if given the chance, readily kick his teeth in. He leant forward and clasped his hands together pressing them to his lips.
"Then one day, he just snapped... Like, he'd been bad, but never physically abusive. He'd just... I dunno, control me. Make me think I was crazy and that he had to always be around to stop me from embarrassing myself. Made me feel like I couldn't do anything without him. I said that I was thinking about moving to London to work on my doctorate, but he didn't want that, he wanted me to stay close, and when I tried to leave he got violent... he grabbed my wrist. I tried to fight back and he hit me with a vase, ripped my clothes and threw me onto the sofa... and... I fought and screamed... but it was no use." She stopped pacing and sat down on the coffee table in front of him.
Sherlock noticed her fingers were bleeding where she had been scratching them while talking.
"Then he stopped. Just looked down at me and said he could do it, if he wanted... and that I couldn't tell anyone because he didn't do anything. I remember thinking gosh, he's right. That's what they'll say. I'm lucky he didn't do anything. Then he left, told me he was going out to get fags like nothing had happened... And I just laid there thinking I'm never going to get away from this... There's only one way out."
He took her hand quickly, not wanting her to continue, "You didn't... did you?"
"No... I thought about it... I had no one... nothing to live for. But then I thought maybe I could? If I left I could find something to live for. I was still alive, he hadn't killed me yet. But I was afraid he would. So I packed as much as I could fit into a backpack and left... I used a fake name at the meetings, so he never knew my real name. And I went to London... Again, working in a bar to pay for school... I swear I'm never gonna pay all the loans off," she laughed weakly, "But I got away... I actually managed it... I mean, I still wake up some nights in a cold sweat thinking he's going to find me... But I guess he never did... he moved his obsession onto something else... for some reason you... and I just had to end up here. Aren't I lucky...?"
He thought about that remark 'Aren't I lucky...?' what did she mean by that? Lucky she ended up with the object of her ex-boyfriend's obsession or lucky that she ended up with him...
"No... I didn't mean that." She said, trying to get his attention as he stared into space, "I am lucky, lucky to have met you, because if anyone can work out where he is and what he's planning, it's you... and we can stop him... together."
Sherlock continued staring into space.
"Sherlock...? Please say something..."
He thought for a moment, what should he say? Something about protecting her or stopping him or how he felt– No... not that, that wasn't appropriate after what she had just told him. He should be in comfort mode, make her feel safe and tell her to stop shredding her fingers.
He took her hands, stopping her from hurting herself. She looked up at him.
"I'm happy you're here." He said slowly. He felt funny, that wasn't what he had meant to say... it just sort of slipped out. But she appeared to appreciate it, she was actually smiling. It was a weak smile, but a smile none the less.
"Thank you, Sherlock." She placed her hand on his cheek and leaned in closer, she kissed him on the lips. He felt it rush through him and he responded to her lips a little enthusiastically, he ran his fingers through her hair and stroked her shoulder. He was happy that this was happening, but didn't want to take it too far out of fear of hurting her.
Then he felt her slowly move her hand up his leg, not knowing how to respond, he did the same. Then she ran her tongue over his top lip, he shivered a little trying to hold himself back. She bit down on his lip and he let out a small unintentional moan. How was she doing this to him? The feeling took control over him, stopping him from holding back and he took hold of her hips, pulled her up into his lap and kissed her passionately.
It felt incredible having her sat in his lap like this, he could feel things, stirring inside him that he hadn't felt in a long time, but this time he felt like he desperately needed to act on those feelings, as if he wouldn't get the chance to ever again. And at that moment he realised he didn't want another chance, not with anyone else but her.
But then she stopped, she quietly laughed and touched her forehead to his. He didn't want to stop, but didn't want to over step any boundaries he may have missed, this was all quite new to him. This had never exactly gotten this far before.
"Sorry... I got a little carried away." She whispered, surely being able to feel the problem that had presented itself between them, "You must think I'm such a mess. Telling you a story like that then…" she stopped.
He ran his hands up her thighs, over her hips and rested them at her waist as she straddled him on the sofa.
"No need to apologise..." he said slowly, trying not to blush, unsure of whether or not she wanted him to continue, "Process things how you wish… I am, and will be… right here. Even if it's just for a... distraction."
"Hold on a second..." she got up and felt him trying not to let her go. She realised he must have compared that to Alistair grabbing hold of her, but it wasn't like that. It was sweeter, more that he had gotten used to feeling her body close to his, and he just wasn't ready to lose that feeling just yet, "Just, wait right here... Don't move ok?" she looked over the way he was sat on the sofa and bit her lip, he raised an eyebrow at her, "Just don't move an inch, stay right there." She leaned over and kissed him again, it lasted for a little longer than she meant it to, but it just felt so nice that she almost couldn't control herself. She quickly went upstairs to her room.
Freddie surveyed her appearance in the mirror and thought about what to do next, she wanted to take this further because she felt safe with him, she wanted him to know how much she appreciated him being there for her. But rushing into something after such a vulnerable moment probably wasn't the best course of action.
She tried to think of all the acceptable social constructs for this particular type of conversation and came up blank. She had learned many acceptable ways to initiate such a thing, but had never put them into practise. This was new territory.
Conversation was usually so easy, a bank of pre-defined responses to please the target and easily disarm them, but for one thing, Sherlock wasn't an easy target and he would easily see through a fake conversation. People usually liked it when she was archetypally quirky, but it was of course a cover. A useful cover for pretending to have a life and an understanding of people. But when it came to a real, meaningful relationship. She hoped Sherlock was just as clueless as she was.
She smartened herself up and wiped the smudged makeup from her eyes. She smiled then headed back to the stairs.
"Carlie..." she heard from behind her.
'No... that couldn't have been real. It sounded like...' She went over to the window and looked out, no one was there and the fire escape wasn't even down, so nobody could have come up.
"Just in my head..." she said to herself.
"Is that so?" she heard someone say behind her.
It was Alistair, he was here, in her room, right now. This was real.
He grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth, she struggled and tried to fight. Then she felt a sharp pain in her arm and a familiar warm rush flooding her system. Things became blurry as she fought passing out. He was pulling her over to the fire escape. She managed to pull his hand away and shouted as loud as she could.
"SHER–"
He covered her mouth again and pulled her down to the alley below.