"Ben?"
That voice. I frowned slightly. It had been mumbling at me for a while, but this was the first time I'd heard it speak clearly.
Someone took hold of my shoulders and my mind snapped awake in an instant. Before I knew what was happening, I punched John in the face.
I didn't mean to do it. I really didn't. I hadn't even known I was going to do it until I did it and saw him staggering back.
I stared at him, so shocked at what I'd done that I couldn't find the words to apologize. I'd never hit anyone in my life, not seriously (the odd school scuffle or game of rough and tumble doesn't count). I'd never even dreamed of hitting an adult before. The closest I'd come to it was throwing my tea in Mycroft's face, and when the anger had worn off I'd been twisted with guilt over doing that much.
"Blimey." John straightened up, touching his jaw gingerly. "I was wrong; it is dangerous to wake a sleepwalker."
"I...I never...I didn't..." I stared around and felt my heart drop. I'd done it again. I'd fallen asleep in my bedroom, and now I was in the gardener's cottage.
"It's alright. I only woke you because you were getting a little too close to the fire and didn't seem to want to move away." John worked his lower jaw a few times. "That's quite a right hook you've got there."
"I didn't mean to!" It was half a wail. If I had to be woken up by someone and punch them in a panic, why couldn't it have been Mycroft? (I didn't really hate him enough to punch him, but even I balked at the idea of hitting Mrs Holmes).
"I know you didn't, mate. Take it easy, alright?"
I backed away, glancing around.
"But I...and then I...I was just..."
"Alright, Ben, alright. Just try and relax, okay? You're like a squirrel on caffeine. C'mon."
He put an arm across my shoulders. I hesitated for a few seconds, then let him steer me over to the couch and sit me down on it. I was white, shaking from head to foot, my mouth dry and tingling.
"That's it. Nothing to worry about."
Nothing to worry about? Did he really expect me to believe that? What would have happened if I'd managed to get the key to the maze and wander into it again? What if I'd fallen down the stairs and broken my arm, or worse?
I'd got as far as imagining my own death from tripping and falling down the outside steps and dying of a fractured skull with my brains leaking into the snow when the bedroom door opened and Sherlock wandered in, looking very un-Holmes-y in a faded gray t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms.
"What's going on?" he demanded, then caught sight of me and looked away with an expression of utter disinterest. "Oh. Sleepwalking. Dull."
"Yeah, thanks for that, Sherlock. If you're not going to do anything useful, then go back to bed!"
"Well, what do you expect me to do? He's not sleepwalking now, is he?" Sherlock strolled into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Seconds later, he slammed it shut again. "John, we're out of mince pies."
"Yeah, Sherlock. That would be because you ate the last one this evening. I'll pick some more up tomorrow."
I perked up a little. That meant another trip out.
"John?"
"Yeah?" John said, in the long, drawn-out tone of one who knows what's coming next.
"Can I come?"
"If you get permission from Mrs Holmes. And I'll be checking this time."
"I don't know why you insist on that, John," Sherlock drawled. "It's not like she's going to miss him."
"Yeah, exactly. I can go for days without seeing anyone here sometimes, if I skip meals." Too late, I realized what I'd said and snapped my mouth shut.
John looked at me, eyebrows raised. "Right. How often do you skip meals?"
"Not often. I mean, not like every day or anything. Maybe every other day, and even then it's not usually every meal," I told him as innocently as I could, which wasn't saying much considering I still felt a bit like I'd been hit with a brick. The truth was, I didn't seem to have any appetite, and not just because Mrs Parker could burn the breakfast cereal. Lately all I wanted to do was lie down and sleep, or stare into space. Even the pool seemed to have lost its appeal.
"It's still not good enough," John informed me.
I bit my lip. Hard. "Yeah. Well. Nothing I do for this family ever is."
It came out with a lot more bitterness than I'd intended, and I cringed inwardly.
There was a surprised silence, then John said in a softer voice, "That's not what I meant."
I didn't answer. I could feel the static building up in my mind again and clenched my fist, trying to beat it back down.
I failed.
When I came back to myself, as I was starting to think of it, the first thing I noticed was Sherlock plucking idly at a violin. I didn't recognize the tune, but the sound was soothing. I didn't realize he played. He was still wearing the t-shirt and tracksuit, although now he'd added a luxurious, soft-looking, dark red dressing gown to the mix. I think it was cashmere, although I'm not sure.
"Ben?" The voice was soft, although a little distant. "Can you hear me?"
I turned my head slowly to face the speaker.
"That's it. Welcome back." John held out a mug of something hot and savory-smelling. When I didn't take it immediately, he took my hand and wrapped it around the handle. "Here. Try and drink some of this."
I sniffed at the contents, then took a sip. Chicken soup. Not bad.
"What's the time?" I asked.
"Time you were in bed."
Great; an adult with an attitude. Just what I needed.
"No, really," I insisted. "What time is it?"
"Quarter to eleven."
"How long..." I swallowed and buried myself in my chicken soup for several minutes, draining it before speaking again. "H-how long was I...did I..."
My voice tailed off, as I had no idea of the right words for what happened.
"About twenty minutes," John said.
Twenty minutes. Somehow I'd lost twenty minutes. It wasn't as bad as last time, but last time I hadn't had John to bring me out of it.
"And we need to talk about what happened," he added.
"Am I going mad?"
"Probably," Sherlock remarked.
"Shut up, Sherlock!" John said sharply. "No, Ben, you're not going mad."
I stared at him, trying to figure this out. Blanking out entire chunks of time sounded pretty mad to me.
"What happened?"
"Basically, your mind couldn't cope with your sleepwalking again and so it shut down for a bit."
"Is it like shock?" Shock wouldn't be so bad. Plenty of people went into shock. Going into shock was better than going mad.
"Yes, in a way. Ben, has this ever happened to you before?"
I looked away, biting my lip, and didn't answer.
"Ben? I need to know. You won't be in any trouble. I won't even tell Mrs Holmes if you don't want me to."
I looked back at him. "Promise?"
"Promise. Has it happened before?"
"Once," I admitted.
"Recently?"
"After I...after lunch today. I lost about three hours. But it was like here. I could see. And hear...sort of." It had been a vague kind of hearing. I'd heard John talking to me when I'd blanked out just now, but the words hadn't seemed to mean much to me.
"Yeah, that's normal. People who have this are aware of what's going on around them, but they can't react to it." He smiled. "But no, you're not going mad. I promise you that too. And before you ask, no, there's nothing I can give you for it."
"Can't you tie me to the bed or something?" I was only half joking. The last thing I wanted was for Mrs Holmes to see me doing it...or to end up trapped outside again.
"No, I can't tie you to the bed! Ben, why are you so ashamed of it? Lots of people do it."
I looked him straight in the eye. "Do you?"
"No," he admitted.
"Do Sherlock and Mycroft?"
Sherlock paused in his violin twanging and looked thoughtful. "I certainly never did, but I'm not so sure about Mycroft. I think he may have done it when he was at school."
My jaw dropped. "Really?"
"I shouldn't mention it to him if I were you. My brother isn't much given to sharing and I doubt he'd tell you if you asked."
That went without saying; I couldn't imagine even hinting at such a thing to Mycroft.
"Although speaking of school," Sherlock added, half watching me out the corner of one eye as he went back to plucking his violin, "I'm a little surprised Mother dearest hasn't packed you off there yet."
Boarding school. That was another black cloud, one that was creeping nearer every day. Okay, I wasn't going until the next intake (which sounded odd to me, but then so did most things in this family) but it was still preying on my mind.
"April," I muttered.
"Oh yes, of course. The summer intake. I imagine Mother had to do rather a lot of groveling to get you in."
Was that supposed to be an insult? It was so hard to tell with him.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, let's just say that the last Holmes boy to reside within those sacred walls of learning didn't do much to distinguish himself. Or to be perfectly accurate, he didn't distinguish himself in any way that the school approved of." Sherlock smirked at some private memory. "You'd think a school would encourage scientific experiments."
John gave him a long look. "What kind of scientific experiments?"
Sherlock tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Well, you know what happens when you put potassium in water?"
I didn't, but John said, "Yeah..."
"I merely wanted to find out what would happen if, say, an additional chemical was added to that water. So I broke into the chemistry lab one night, stole the biggest lump of potassium I could find, went down to the swimming pool and—"
"Oh god." John covered his face.
"It was quite pretty actually. Bit like a giant firework."
"Yeah, well, I still don't see why I have to go to any stupid boarding school," I mumbled, not quite under my breath. "Why can't I go to a day school?"
Sherlock chuckled. "What, a Holmes boy mixing with all those nasty common boys at the local comprehensive? Perish the thought!"
"You said you weren't happy living on the estate," John pointed out, with a glare at Sherlock. "Maybe the school will be better. At least you'll be with kids your own age."
Okay, I'll admit it; that was the only part about going to school I was looking forward to. I didn't miss classes, but I did miss hanging out with my mates and playing football with them. I was getting used to being alone all the time, but that didn't mean I liked it.
"Yeah, but I don't know where it is. I don't even know what school it is!"
"Carrisford."
John glanced at Sherlock, an irritated expression on his face. "What?"
Sherlock abandoned his violin plucking, putting a hand over the strings to stop the sound completely.
"Carrisford Hall. You can look it up on the net. It's where all the Holmes boys go, even the adopted ones, I imagine." He gave me something that he probably meant for a smile (I don't think Sherlock has had a lot of practice in smiling) and went back to his violin.
"What's it like there?" I asked.
"Well, I expect it's changed a lot since my day."
"That doesn't matter. Just...anything. Please."
Sherlock stopped the violin again and sighed. "Five houses: Shakespeare, Newton, Columbus, Darwin and Einstein, the last two added in recent years, obviously. No idea when, but they were there when I attended. Very small and select, full of rich idiots and inbred teachers. Extremely old-fashioned. I hated every second of it."
That wasn't very reassuring.
"Did you hate it more than here?" John asked.
"Oh god, yes. At least here I could go where I wanted and do whatever I liked. I didn't have half a dozen so-called teachers and prefects breathing down my neck every time I wanted to take a walk."
John sighed. "Right. Thanks, Sherlock. Remind me to give you a little refresher course on facial cues when we get back to London."
"Oh, were those facial cues? Sorry, I thought you'd developed some kind of nervous tic. Anyway, there's no point letting Ben think it's going to be all sunshine and roses there. Much kinder to put him on his guard." Sherlock placed the violin carefully down by his chair, got to his feet and headed for the fruit bowl. "Satsuma, Ben?"
"Uh...no thanks. Do they play football at this school?" I could put up with a lot if there was football on offer.
"Of course not." Sherlock grabbed a banana, sat down and started to peel it. "Far too rough and messy."
"What about rugby?" John asked.
Rugby. That might not be so bad. I'd never played rugby, but it looked like fun.
"No. Unusual for a school like that, I admit, but no. You're limited to cricket, or fencing. If it's fencing you're interested in, I suggest you have a chat with Mycroft; he's an ex-county champion."
"You must swim or something," John said, when he noticed I didn't want to add anything.
"Oh yes, but only in the summer term. The pool's outdoors and not very well heated. The one on the estate is much better. Oh, and they used to have paper chases, but they stopped those after I joined the school."
John, who had started to say something to me, paused, then closed his mouth and turned to stare at Sherlock.
"After you joined the school," he said shrewdly, "or because you joined the school?"
"Well, it's true that they stopped it after my first attempt at laying a trail," Sherlock admitted, "but they never said why."
"What happened?" I asked, interested in spite of myself.
"Oh, something about a close encounter with a few herds of cows and a couple of double-decker buses and fourteen charges of breaking and entering, I don't know."
"But how—oh god," John said heavily, and sighed. "You laid the trail through someone's house, didn't you? You actually went into someone's house."
"Well, I didn't know it was occupied," Sherlock said around a mouthful of banana. "I mean, it was completely empty when I broke in through the window, went out the back door and over the garden fence. There was so much post in front of the door, I thought whoever lived there was away on holiday."
I stared at him, half awed, half shocked. There was no way I'd have had the nerve to do something like that.
"How old were you?" I asked.
"Eleven. Going there was a waste of time; I could see that from the moment I arrived. Nothing worth doing, nobody worth listening to or talking to."
"But you said things have probably changed since you were there," John persisted, and glanced at me. "You never know. They might play football now after all."
"They may well do," Sherlock agreed, "although I wouldn't hold my breath. Carrisford doesn't put much of an emphasis on athleticism. They like more cultural pursuits, such as stamp collecting, or gentle walks in the countryside, or flower pressing."
I stared at him. "You're kidding!"
A slight gleam appeared in those cold eyes. "Only about the flower pressing. They have a philately society, although joining it is optional."
"What other societies are there?" John asked.
"Don't remember any offhand, but I know they had them. Like I say, you could look it up on the internet." Sherlock twanged a few more notes on his violin, frowned slightly and twiddled one of the tuning knobs, or whatever you call those sticky-out things, then played the same note two or three more times. I couldn't hear any difference, but Sherlock seemed satisfied.
"What's it like though? I mean really like?"
"I've no idea. I left when I was twelve and came back here."
"Really?" I perked up, and even John seemed interested. "How did you manage that?"
"Waited until it was dark and walked out, then got on a train and took a cab back to the estate. I knew all the little hidey-holes and the best way to get in without being seen. After that it was just a matter of keeping out of sight for the three weeks until term ended."
"Your mother must have been out of her mind with worry," John said. I thought I heard a note of reproach in his voice.
"My mother? Please. The only thing she ever worries about is her bridge game. When I came out of hiding, she tried to give me a lecture on how I'd let the family down and how terrible I'd made her look in front of her friends. I listened until she started boring me, then I walked out. She paid the school an extra half million, so I was allowed back next term. And the next. And the next, right up until my fifteenth birthday when I left the maze, the estate and the school."
Something about that seemed a little odd, but I was tired and my mind was starting to slow down again, and so I couldn't put my finger on it. Luckily John was there.
"What do you mean you left the maze?"
"What I say. The maze is in the grounds, I left the grounds, therefore I left the maze."
"Well, yeah, but by that argument you also left the pool, the TV and the goldfish pond. Why pick out the maze? What's so special about that?"
Sherlock didn't answer.
"Ben? You didn't notice any secrets in that maze, did you? Any hidden treasure?"
I shook my head. I was feeling more and more tired. I didn't want to think about that maze or anything; I just wanted to curl up and sleep.
"Okay. Sherlock?"
Sherlock turned his head languidly to look at John and didn't answer.
"Do me a favor. That maze of yours, can you draw us a map?"
"What? No! I don't want to leave something like that lying around; I built that maze to keep people out, not invite them in to play!"
"And what's going to happen when we've gone if Ben sleepwalks into that maze again?"
I winced. I didn't like the thought of that. And I really didn't like being reminded that John and Sherlock were just visiting.
"I still won't draw you a map; in that situation it wouldn't be any good anyway." Sherlock paused, then said to me in a voice dripping with reluctance, "But I'll show you around."
I perked up at that. The thought of spending some one-on-one time with Sherlock that didn't involve him trying to kill Mycroft was tempting.
"When? Tomorrow?"
"Yes, might as well get it over with. I expect it'll take several sessions before you're really competent in there."
I opened my mouth to protest that I wasn't as stupid as he seemed to think, but somewhere along the line it turned into a huge yawn.
"Come on." John got to his feet. "Bed."
"Not g-going back to th' house," I told him, around another yawn. Am I the only person who suffers from serial yawning?
"No, you can sleep in my room. I'll have the sofa."
I flushed. "It's okay, I can go on the sofa—"
"No, you need a bed, and at least if you sleepwalk again I'll be here to stop you going out the door or anything like that. Come on."
I took his offered hand and hauled myself to my feet, stumbling slightly, then followed John into his bedroom and flopped onto his bed. It was harder than the one I had back at the house, but oddly I felt safer and more comfortable there than I had in months. I barely heard John leave; my mind was half asleep already and the other half was busy thinking about Sherlock's maze. He'd mentioned going to check on it a couple of times and I could only think that he was talking about whatever was in the center. He didn't strike me as the gardening type, so he couldn't be worried about the condition of his pansies or rosebushes or whatever, but what else would you keep in the middle of a maze? More to the point, what would a person like Sherlock keep in the middle of his own personal maze?
While I was trying to puzzle it out, I fell asleep.
The next morning, I was woken up by the rich, warm aroma of coffee. I don't actually like coffee, but I love the smell of it.
Something was wrong. I blinked sleep out of my eyes and glanced around, disoriented. This wasn't my bedroom. How had I ended up here?
Moving slowly – I felt a little lightheaded for some reason – I swung both legs over the side of the bed, then limped over to the door and opened it.
"Morning," John greeted me from where he was sitting at the table with a paper and a cup of coffee.
"Where..." I began, then stopped. My voice was a bare croak. I coughed once or twice, trying to clear it. Each time felt like my throat was being torn apart.
"Still in the gardener's cottage," he said, sipping at his coffee. "You sleepwalked down here last night, remember?"
Now that he mentioned it (and now that the normal sleep grogginess was wearing off) I did. Some more limping brought me to the table and I sat down.
"What's the time?" I rasped. John glanced over at me, frowning.
"Are you okay? You sound terrible."
"Thanks!"
"You know what I mean." John tried to put a hand on my forehead, but I managed to stop him first by ducking and then by pulling my sweater up over my face.
"Ben..." There was a quiver in his voice that suggested he was trying hard not to laugh. "Come on, let me have a look at you."
"You'll stop me going out with Sherlock today," I croaked as accusingly as I could.
"I will if you don't let me examine you. Better safe than sorry. Come on."
He took hold of my sweater and pulled it down, then put a hand on my forehead, and I flinched. Don't get me wrong, I didn't think he was going to hit me or anything, it's just that I'd gone for months without any kind of physical contact and now I discovered I was a little skittish about being handled, not to mention his hands were cold.
He frowned a little and reached up with both hands, placing two fingers on either side of my neck.
"Are you taking my pulse?" I asked.
"No, I'm feeling your lymph glands."
"Oh." That didn't explain anything, but John seemed to think that it should and I didn't like to quiz him too much. Dr. Morris – he's the GP I'm registered with here – hates me asking questions.
Pain shot from the side of my neck into the back of my throat and I winced.
"Sorry. Well, you've definitely got some kind of infection in there, but you probably knew that anyway. Stay inside and wrap up warm, okay?"
I stared at him. "But...but Sherlock said he'd show me around his maze."
To be honest, I had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand I was curious to know what Sherlock kept in there that required him to lock it away and it would be nice to spend some time with him without the atmosphere between him and Mrs Holmes, or him and Mycroft. On the other, I couldn't shake the uneasy trickle running through my mind and reminding me that the last time I went in there, I'd almost died of hypothermia.
"Yeah, I remember. He's waiting for you outside the entrance. How's your ankle?"
"Better," I said, which was true. Walking was still painful, but I could hobble around a little more easily now. "Can I come shopping with you today?"
"I'm not going today, and I don't think you're up to it. And if you're waiting for me to forget about your asking Mrs Holmes for permission, you'll be waiting for a very long time."
I slumped dejectedly in my chair.
"Worth a try," I muttered.
"Yes, it was. Are you sure your ankle's up to traipsing around that maze? I've never been in there but according to Sherlock it's pretty big."
"Yeah, I'm good." I hopped to my feet and tested my weight as I spoke. "If I don't go now, Sherlock might change his mind. C'mon, ple-e-e-ease?"
John studied me over his mug, then his mouth quirked into a half smile.
"Go on. But if you're not back in an hour, I'm coming in after you and Sherlock. With a giant butterfly net."
I couldn't help smiling at the thought of that. "You mean I can come back here?"
"You can come back here or go up to the house, so long as you're in the warm. But if you come back here, Ben, I expect you to eat some breakfast."
My throat whimpered at the mere thought of that.
"Not toast," I pleaded hoarsely.
"No, I'll find something soft. Something like yogurt or cereal. And if you're going out, take my jacket."
I found his parka hanging on the back of the door and pulled it on, snuggling into the warm, comfy lining. Right then, I decided that I wanted a jacket like this one. I also wanted one like Sherlock's, but I thought I'd wait until I finished growing before I got that one. Before John had a chance to change his mind, I opened the door and hurried outside, or at least hurried as much as my ankle would let me.
Sherlock was standing at the entrance to his maze, just as John said. He had a look of supreme boredom on his face, but I'd already learned that he often looked like that, so I didn't think too much of it but just walked up to him.
"You made it then." He didn't sound pleased. "Well, I suppose we'd better get this over with."
This wasn't the greeting I'd expected, and I wilted a little.
"You don't have to take me if you don't want to," I croaked.
"You're half right. I don't want to and I do have to." Sherlock sighed. "John's right; if you end up sleepwalking into my maze again, you'll need to be able to find your way out. Or further in."
I swallowed. I badly wanted to ask him why he didn't just draw me the map – I was certain I could hide it from Mrs Holmes – but the words stuck in my throat. Yesterday was still very vivid in my mind, and even though it hadn't been my fault, I didn't want to see Sherlock so angry again.
"Something?" Sherlock asked. (How did he and Mycroft do that?)
"Why don't you just draw me a map? I wouldn't—"
"Because a map only works when you know where you are on it," he cut across. "If you were starting at the entrance, you could follow the map through, but if you sleepwalk and wake up in the middle of my maze, you won't have a clue which route you took or where you ended up, so you won't be able to work out the best route back. Add that to the fact that it will probably be too dark for you to see the map and you'd have to sleep with it at all times and it really is quite impractical." There was a short pause, then he sighed again. "Oh, I'm just playing at dog-in-the-manger. I suppose I must have had some idea of showing it to you right from the beginning, else I wouldn't have bothered to get it back up and running. I'll take you, but on one condition: you never, ever tell anyone what I'm about to show you. You don't tell the staff, you don't tell Mother and you certainly don't tell Mycroft."
I bit my lip.
"Can I tell John?" I asked.
Sherlock scrutinized me for a few minutes, then nodded.
"Yes. Alright. But only if he asks you directly; do not volunteer the information. And by directly, I mean Hey Ben—" here he dropped into a near-perfect impersonation of John's voice— "what exactly does Sherlock have in the middle of his maze, not Hey Ben, what did you do in there?"
He pushed open the door and I felt a tingle of anticipation.
"Are we going to the middle?"
"Eventually. Come on, if you're coming."
I didn't quite get what he meant by eventually, but I wasn't about to miss this. Eventually was as good as a yes in my book, and I really wanted to see what he had in the middle that was such a big secret.
I took a deep breath, then followed Sherlock into the maze, and the door clicked shut behind me.
I was going to have the maze in this chapter, but then I realized it would make it just too long ;) Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and if you read, please review!
