Baggage Claim
In which there is packing, goodbyes, and wishes
Several weeks earlier
Lana shoved the lid down on her suitcase and sat on it. Little pieces of fabric stuck out here and there from the many shirts and pants and jackets she had packed; everything in her closet had fit (with some difficulty) into the black suitcase that she was currently trying to shut.
"Need a hand?"
Emily stuck her head into the room with a grin. Slightly shorter than Lana, with short, cropped brown hair, quick, angular features, and bright, focused eyes, Emily gave the impression of extreme youth despite being quite a bit older than Lana.
Now, Emily helped Lana off the suitcase and wrestled with the zipper. Clothes popped out of the suitcase like a dam breaking free.
"Sheesh, what did you do?" she asked as she turned the suitcase upside down and dumped the clothes back onto Lana's bed.
"I believe in the art of throw and cram," Lana replied as she followed Emily's lead and starting to fold the clothes and pack them tightly into the suitcase alongside her laptops, cameras and pistol.
"That poor suitcase; it suffers every time you get a new assignment."
"It hasn't broken yet," Lana pointed out, sticking her hand under the bed to fish out her Converse.
"Do you have everything else?"
"In my messenger bag."
As Lana continued to pack, Emily picked up the bag lying at the foot of the bed. "Passport, gum, money, papers, notebook, lucky pen, phone and book. Looks like you're set. When's your taxi getting here?"
Lana checked her watch. "Any minute now."
"You really are the most terrible procrastinator."
"And you're no help." Lana threw her single pair of high heels on top of everything else and shut the lid. But as she made to zip up the sides, she found her way blocked by Emily's hand.
"What?"
Emily looked down, her voice soft. "I don't know about this, Lana."
"What are you worried about?" asked Lana as she knocked Emily's hand out of the way. "It's just another trip to London. I've been to the U.K. plenty of times for the paper."
Emily bit her lip. "I don't know. It's just, it's dangerous this time. I mean, there's a serial killer over there and you have to follow him and write about it and all that."
"Don't worry, I won't let you down."
"Just don't go looking for trouble then."
"What sort of trouble? A murderer, a cop, or a European man?"
"All of the above."
"You never let me have any fun."
A car horn honked outside. Lana drew back the curtains and saw the taxi idling in on the curb. Emily zipped up the last of the suitcase, then handed Lana her bag and jacket.
"I expect updates. Lots of them."
"Of course," Lana kissed Emily on the cheek and headed for the door. "Love you, Mom."
"And I love you. See you in six weeks."
Lana paused in the doorway, smiling the cheeky grin that was so like her fathers. "It's just six weeks. What could happen in six weeks?"
….
Present
The dream faded, replaced by image after image, flickering through her unconscious brain like a movie on high speed. The weeks of searching, chasing false leads and dead ends to nowhere across the London underworld. Then the call from Nice; and she had rushed across the channel to her first real lead, only to find the unthinkable.
Her father's mutilated body, cut and broken almost beyond recognition.
There was the blind rage, racing even faster across London in a twisted determination. All of it led to the brass knuckles slamming into her face.
Pain, heat, darkness.
And then there was the light. New flat, new friends, tea at midnight and bullet holes in the wall.
And Sherlock.
He was like a heartbeat now; always there, at the back of her mind, or exploding with emotion and making her blood race. Relentless, quiet, subtle, necessary.
And suddenly he was gone. And Irene was leering at her through the dark.
Lana's eyes snapped open.
For a moment, she was blinded by the bright white light shining directly into her eyes. After a minutes rapid blinking, however, the light separated into the intense triple spotlight of a hospital room. Lana tore her gaze away from its glare and looked down.
Her left arm was a mess of IVs and tubes leading to many ominous-looking monitors. Her right arm was bound in a mass of plaster and gauze, and deep red of burns stretched across her chest like an angry red map. Repulsed, she tore her gaze away from it and looked to her right.
A limp and very asleep John Watson was sitting at her bedside, his head coming to rest on her right hip with surprising weight. Lana had to laugh as she gently reached out and shook him awake. He jerked up, then stretched looked around for a moment before his eyes fell on Lana. It surprised her to notice he seemed shocked to see her sitting there.
"You're awake."
"Where's Sherlock?" she asked impulsively. John caught her by the arm.
"He's fine; we both are. I sent him to go get food."
"Are you sure that's the best idea?" she asked groggily, trying to blink away the pounding that was growing in her head.
"He's barely left this room since we were released from the hospital. I thought he might need the exercise." John checked his watch. "Then again, I did send him to get food more than an hour ago, so I'm not sure what to think."
Lana didn't smile. "How long ago were you two released?"
John's smile faltered.
"Two weeks ago."
"Two weeks? I've been out for two weeks? Oh lord, what's Emily going to think?" Lana buried her face in her knees.
"Emily?" asked John, but Lana barely heard him as she tried to wrap her head around it. Two weeks. She had been out that long; a whole two weeks of her life were gone. She wondered how much had changed; Emily must be panicking by this point, but all the same-
Her thought were rudely interrupted by a loud bang. Lana whipped her head around- an act that sent shocks of aches up her neck and made the headache even worse- to see Sherlock slam the door shut, panting and looking downright terrified. In his hand was a newspaper and he had a fez jammed on his head.
His eyes widened the moment he saw her, and he froze in his tracks.
Lana wanted nothing more than to throw off the covers, get across the room, and plant one on him, but all that came out was a breathless gasp.
"Sherlock."
He looked to respond, ready to say something, when-
"Oi! Where is he?"
A new voice came trailing out of the hallway, loud and pugnacious and clearly annoyed. Quick as a cat, Sherlock threw himself to the ground and rolled under Lana's bed just as the door was opened again, and a red-faced, overweight security guard stuck his waistline into the room.
"Either of you two seen a guy run by here? Tall bloke, dark hair?"
Lana and John just stared at each other, then back at the guard. After a minutes silence, the guard grunted again. "Well, if you see him, be sure to buzz. Damned hooligan's driving everyone up the wall." And with those parting words, the guard shut the door and was gone. John let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.
"Hooligan?" he asked the man climbing out from under the bed.
"Overreacting." Sherlock responded, dusting himself off and placing the fez on Lana's bedside table. "I was sitting in the hospital café, waiting to order, and I happened to get into a conversation with some gentlemen-"
"You insulted them, didn't you," said John. It wasn't a question.
"Unintentionally." Sherlock shrugged off his coat and placed it in a nearby chair.
"What's with the fez, anyway?" asked Lana.
"Two guards tried to escort me out of the building, so I had to improvise. Paid a man 20 quid for it on my way past. Lovely disguise; I'll have to buy a few more."
"Twenty quid? Sherlock, that…that was all our food money, you complete…" his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You know what? I'll go get us something to eat." John picked up his jacket, rubbed sleep from his eyes and headed for the door. "I'll be back soon."
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Lana had an idea of what might happen, but she didn't expect him to react so quickly.
She barely had time to blink before he was there, holding her arms tightly and staring at her with nothing short of relief.
"You're alive."
"Or we're both dead."
Sherlock frowned. "Then all my data on heaven is completely wrong."
Lana smiled in return. "Why must everything be an experiment to you?" she murmured, sliding closer to him until they were nose to nose. She expected him to return the favor and continue the banter, but instead, Sherlock's eyes clouded over and he released her. After his warmth, the room felt suddenly cold, and she instinctively wrapped herself up further in the sheets, being careful to avoid the burns on her chest. Sherlock was standing beside her bed now, all business and data again. The heart within him had once again been replaced by the hard drive.
"I've already made flight arrangements. As soon as you're fully recovered you can take the next flight home to Denver."
Lana was shocked. After everything that had happened, she couldn't imagine going back to the states. She loved this dark underworld she was slowly growing a part of, and now the man she trusted wanted to get rid of her?
Out of anger more than anything else, she spoke up.
"Sherlock, what are you talking about? I'm staying here."
Even to her it sounded pathetic.
"You're not." Sherlock retorted, walking back over to the chair and picking up his fallen coat. When he spoke again, it sounded forced. "It was a mistake to get you involved this far, and I apologize. Don't worry; I'll pay for all the medical bills and your ticket home."
"Sherlock-"
"You really should phone your mother. I've been texting her, so you've been in touch but you're not answering your phone."
"Sherlock, I- wait, you texted my mother? My phone's locked with a password."
"In theory, yes. You and John are both so dependent on security."
He was trying to distract her. She wouldn't let it happen. As she fought to stay focused, Sherlock kept rambling on. "Honestly, I think Emily would be terrified that your phone can be hacked so easily. Besides, you were supposed to return to America more than a month ago. The flight leaves in two weeks and she thinks you've been searching without luck, but-"
"Sherlock."
"You should be well enough to travel within-"
"Sherlock." Lana couldn't take it anymore. She pushed away the blankets and sat up straight, glaring at him with the same fiery determination she had used when they had first met. Sherlock looked at her in surprise as Lana pushed off with her good arm and staggered across the room, dragging the IV with her. It may have only been a few steps, but to Lana, it felt like a mile. After two weeks of no use, her legs were screaming on protest. Face pale, hands shaking, and suffering a major head rush, she steadied herself on the back of the chair and faced him again. She was set on one thing; making this brilliantly ignorant man see that she wasn't going anywhere.
Once she had his attention, Lana continued. "I'm already renting the basement flat. I don't own any other clothes. I am currently three blocks away from an immigration office, and if you think that you can get rid of me by just putting me on a plane, you are sadly mistaken."
Sherlock didn't move, his face a blank slate. Lana pressed on. "Sherlock, I'm not going to leave you two now. I'm perfectly capable of making my own choices," she took a step closer. "and I choose to stay here with you."
He seemed to enjoy picking her up far too much.
Within a moment, she was back in his arms and in his lap on the bed. it didn't matter she was burned, scarred, tired and sore; there wasn't anywhere else she'd rather be than in this dingy hospital room with a man that drove her crazy.
Sherlock looked at her hazily with that lopsided grin she couldn't resist. "Well, I was right."
"What?"
"You're attracted to me."
She scoffed. "I could have told you that."
"And I'm attracted to you."
"I certainly hope so. Does this mean the experiment is a success?"
"I never said you were an experiment" he replied, pulling her hair seductively out of its ponytail.
"Everything's an experiment to you."
"Well, then I suppose I'd call you The experiment."
Lana could almost hear the capitol emphasis on the word. She closed her eyes as Sherlock traced her collarbone with one pale white thumb, memorizing how it felt. It was then that he faltered.
"Is that…"
Lana opened her eyes again and looked down. He had found the burns.
"I'm not perfect, sadly."
"Imperfection is infinitely more interesting." He responded, his thumb still stuck right at the border of pale skin. "I only meant…does it hurt?"
"They're just scars, Sherlock. I can handle it." Lana smiled sadly. "At least this adventure left me with a lasting impression."
"I suppose that's one way to think of it," he agreed, his hand drifting away from the twisted pink skin back up her neck.
She couldn't stand it anymore.
Lana pulled away from his touch and kissed him. And when she felt him kiss back, a single thought shot through her head.
It's good to be home.
….
The phone played out its little joyful tune; Vivaldi's primavera. Started from her book, Emily stood from her seat and strode through the living room into the kitchen. The phone sat in its cradle, vibrating slightly and blaring the caller ID on its minute screen. The moment Emily saw it, her heart almost stopped.
LANA CELL
Heart pounding, hands shaking with excitement and rage, Emily eagerly plucked the phone from the cradle and held it to her ear.
"Lana, sweetheart?"
"Hi Emily, I know it's been a while, I-"
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED I'VE BEEN?" it came out louder than expected, but like her daughter, Emily had a way of using volume to get her point across.
"Yes, mom. Calm down; I'm sorry.
…..I have something to tell you. Are you sitting down?"
Emily sat herself down on the counter. "Sitting. What's going on?"
"Well, some things have happened here and I-"
"YOU'RE PREGNANT! YOU'RE PREGNANT AREN'T YOU!" Emily cried, jumping off the counter and starting to pace around the kitchen island.
"Mom, no! I'm not pregnant! Stop pacing and sit down already so I can tell you!"
They knew each other way to well.
Emily stopped pacing, but instead of sitting, she leaned against the counter and spoke in a low, dangerous voice.
"Lana Diane Heart, what is going on?"
"I'm staying here. In London. I've found someone and a nice flat with some friends and I'm staying here."
Emily couldn't speak. She could only sigh and think about Lana. The only reason her daughter had moved in with her was to help her through the messy divorce. Now she was 22, and ready to make a move on her life, but Emily had always been the one thing that kept her coming back. It seemed she now had a reason to stay, and it didn't take long for Emily to reason out what it was.
Emily put the phone back to her ear, took a deep breath, and spoke into the mouthpiece.
"You love him, don't you? The one you're staying with."
"More than I thought I would."
Emily smiled "I expect updates, lots of them."
"Of course, mom. Can you have my stuff shipped here?"
"Sure." Emily pulled out pen and paper from a drawer, the sad smile spreading across her face. "Address?"
"Baker Street. 221B Baker Street."
End of the Adler Arc
Up next- the house
In which there is an awkward conversation, a house, and a pregnancy test.
Well, I figured since my profile is mostly me going on and on about how wonderful Sherlock is, I figured I might as well tell you about myself.
I'm small, I love singing and acting and I eat top ramen like crazy. I play the tenor saxophone, the clarinet, the guitar, the piano and the ocarina. My favorite color is blue, I love British TV, and I think Dave Matthews is brilliant. I'm the oldest of four, and we all have brown hair and skinny ankles. The weirdest compliment I have ever received was 'I want to lick your feet because you have cute toes'. I think chivalry to an extent is fine, but after that it just becomes stupid. I enjoy writing way too much.
I'm really glad I got this out online before Valentine's Day. I guess call it a gift? Anyway, I'm super stoked because I'm trying out for a play soon, and hoping for a part. So if I don't update within a couple weeks, that's probably why. I don't plan on leaving this big a gap again, though, since I've already started writing the next chapter anyway. Based on the subheadings I think you can guess where this is headed. If you disapprove, oh well, I hope you like it enough so far. But I don't really feel like killing off Lana and killing of Sherlock is a crime that Moffat couldn't even commit.
So there's my logic.
Thanking you for your support, and still praying for your patience,
Jay