((here's some parentlike!John in this chapter… because I'm too lazy to write anything else. Also a rather gruesome scene in the graveyard, so read at your own risk.))
Elise was walking through the cemetery. She stopped at her mother's grave, seeing the graffiti had been removed. Bailey Holmes glowed slightly from the pale stone.
Elise stared at it. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the pain she felt in her chest. "Oh mum," she whispered, her chest heaving with dry sobs, and she wished for once she could cry, just for satisfaction…
"Wouldn't that be selfish, kitten?" came a voice from behind her.
Elise turned. "Mum?"
Indeed, Bailey Holmes stood in the moonlight, clad in a white dressing gown, her long brown hair flowing freely in thick waves.
She extended her arms, and Elise ran to her. But as their fingers touched, Elise felt her hand become slippery and wet.
Screaming, she jumped back, out of the embrace. Her hand was dripping with crimson blood, the same that was now pumping out of her mother's back.
Bailey Holmes' face was now distorted, blood pouring from black, pain filled eyes and her mouth. The blood soaked the dressing gown, leaving pools of crimson all over the ground.
"Elise…" Bailey wailed, clutching for her daughter, who was now backing away, wrapping her hands around her waist.
Elise began to shake her head violently, prying the hands off. "You're not my mum!" she screamed. "Never were!"
Bailey let out another piercing scream, and grabbed Elise's shoulders, shaking her…
Then she woke up.
The shaking of the shoulders had come from John, who had heard Elise's screams and ran into 221C. He was now desperately trying to wake her up.
Elise panted heavily, her eyes wide, still trying to run from her dead mother.
"Elise… Elise, it's okay…" John told her, smoothing her hair down.
Elise got her breathing under control, blushing as she saw the clock brazenly proclaimed 3:07 in bright red digits.
"I'm sorry I woke you up." She apologized.
John shook his head. "I won't have you apologizing for that. Quite a bad nightmare," he remarked. Taking Elise's hand, he showed her the blood. "You impaled your own stomach…"
Indeed, ten visible red lines were visible across Elise's stomach where she had attempted to claw her mother's arms off her. Thankfully though, she had not reopened the bullet wound (which was now healing fantastically.)
John got up. "I'll go get some bandages." He hesitated. "Probably some tea would be helpful too."
Elise sighed, getting out of her bed and looking at herself in the mirror. She was a mess. Her brown pixie cut had been ruffled and mussed by her thrashing, her hands and stomach were covered in blood, and her face was even paler than normal.
John returned a few minutes later, and he began to place some bandages on Elise's torso. She shivered in the cool night air, as she was sleeping in a tank top, and went to the bathroom to wash her hands.
John sat on the sofa, his mind racing as he sipped his tea. He wondered how Sherlock would deal with Elise's nightmare and wounds, as he felt certain Sherlock would deduce it immediately. It was one of those few nights Sherlock actually slept.
Indeed, the next morning, when Sherlock sat down at the table and began to work on an experiment, he looked across at Elise, who was absentmindedly nibbling at toast.
"Nightmare." He said simply.
Elise glared at him. "That wasn't a question," she shot back. "And it's none of your concern."
Sherlock shrugged as Elise put down her toast, no longer hungry.
Sherlock continued to stare at Elise's empty spot, no longer meddling with his experiment.
John sat down next to Sherlock.
"Interesting," Sherlock muttered.
"Elise?" John asked, amused.
"…she eats in a circle." Sherlock muttered again, ignoring John completely. But he was right; the toast was bitten in an almost perfect circle.
John sighed. "…you're completely missing the point."
Author's Note
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