Why Fireflies Flash
Chapter Twenty-nine
"September Is Creeping Up Fast"
She was told to forget London.
She was told to forget the Consulting Detective and his arch nemesis.
She was told to help with the benefit concert.
She did what she was told.
She did what she thought was right.
She ignored the texts.
She ignored the phone calls.
She ignored the stupid Skype ring tone when it woke her up at night.
She forgot the Reichenbach case.
She forgot reading it in the paper.
She forgot her father being impressed.
She forgot her mother glaring when he brings it up at dinner.
She forgot her Nema knocking at her bedroom door after she calmly left the table.
She was told to forget.
She helped with the benefit concert.
She performed in it.
She sang Hallelujah.
She received a standing ovation.
She forgot.
She forgot until she saw that stupid deerstalker on the Yahoo! homepage when she went to check her email.
And then she forgot.
She forgot until she booked that ticket to Heathrow.
And then she forgot.
She forgot until she stepped into the London air.
And then she forgot.
She forgot until she received a text saying "Welcome home, Annie-belle."
And then she forgot.
She forgot until she reached Baker Street as the boys were rushing to the Tower of London.
And then she remembered.
She always wanted to see the crown jewels.
Tower of London
"That glass is tougher than anything," Lestrade says as they watch Moriarty, Jim that is, break through the bulletproof glass case containing the crown jewels.
"Not stronger than crystallized carbon," Sherlock remarks. "He used a diamond."
Anabeth chuckles beneath her breath as Lestrade reverses the tape and changes the angle. "That bastard," she says amusedly. "That crazy bastard actually did it."
The video is paused right before Jim breaks the glass. His message of "Get Sherlock" clear as day.
Central Criminal Court
Anabeth sat beside John at the trail. On the side closest to the defendant. There was symbolism there.
It was bound to happen. Sherlock could only be civil for so long. And frankly it was longer than she figured.
221b Baker Street
"Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville," John says as the three of them step into the lounge. "Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in. No one knows how, or why."
"Chaos," Ana breathes as she slips into the kitchen for a glass of water.
John sighs as he sit in his chair. "All we know is..."
"He ended up in custody," Sherlock finished. His hands are pressed together and placed against his lips as he paces.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"The look."
"Look?"
"You're doing the look again."
"Well, I can't see it can I?"
John motions to the mirror hanging above the fireplace.
Sherlock turns to look at the mirror. "That's my face," he says. His hands flare out to the side before resting limply at his sides.
"Yes," Anabeth says. She's leaning on the doorframe, a look of adoration unbidden on her face.
The months she spent in America did good for her. Emotionally, at least. Physically, however... She was too skinny, no longer filling out that turquoise wrap dress she wore the second day of knowing the Baker Street boys.
Her eating habits were worse than Sherlock. And if he's being honest, he'd only ever seen her drink two glasses of almond milk ("I'm lactose intolerant," she told him. "No, you aren't. You drink milk all the time." "No, I haven't have a glass of regular milk since I was four. Looks like you haven't been paying attention.") and a shot of tequila. And now a glass of water.
"It's quite nice, if I do say so myself," she adds. "But you get this... bitchface almost. It's a "We all know what's really going on here" face."
"But we do," Sherlock argues.
"No," John rebuts. "I don't which is why if find the face so annoying."
"If Moriarty wanted the jewels, he'd have them. If he wanted the prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's still in a prison cell is because he chose to be there." He sighs and returns to his pacing. "Somehow this is part of his scheme."
"Some men just want to watch the world burn," Anabeth breathes.
Anabeth was quick to help with the tea set the following day, before she went and locked herself into Sherlock's room. It wasn't what she had planned when she stopped by during the trial. For some reason she couldn't bring herself to attend without Sherlock's presence there.
It was too familiar, this scene, reminding her of how she originally found out about the delicate webbing around one James Moriarty. She wasn't repulsed by it, as she sat in the bedroom they shared whilst attending the Quinn's Fourth of July reunion in Savannah the summer after Sophomore year. Jim had been on the balcony that over looked the back garden on the phone.
She just happened to overhear.
Like she just happened to overhear Moriarty's very pointed statement of "You're on the side of the angels."
There was a beat of silence and then; "Isn't that right, Annie-belle? I know you're here! I can smell it. Honey and cinnamon, and something completely... angelic."
Anabeth bit her tongue and fisted the sheets and dared not breathe until she heard Sherlock continue the conversation.
She didn't leave the room until long after Moriarty left the flat. And then It wasn't until Lestrade and Donovan showed up with a kidnapping case did she leave the room. And then it was only to excuse herself as she was late for a meeting.
St. Bart's Hospital
"This isn't going to end well," Anabeth murmurs to John. They're standing a table away from where Sherlock and Molly are talking to each other. "For either of us, Sherlock and I."
"I know," John replies. His voice is solemn, empty, like he didn't want to admit just how much he knew she was right.
"I've been here before. Hanging by strings waiting to either be cut loose pulled along. Like a marionette doll." She frowns. "I should've learned. I should've... I could've prevented this. If only I had just... done something."
"Anabeth," John breathes. "There really wasn't."
"You don't understand. I could have... fifteen years ago, I had the perfect chance. I knew what he was, what he did. And I still wanted to- I still let him walk away. I watched stoic as ever as he left me in that church."
John moved to comfort her but she just pushed him away and followed Molly out of the lab, trying not to cry.
221b Baker Street
Anabeth was sniveling in her sleep when Sherlock and John returned late that night. On the couch, curled beneath her red knit blanket, shiny black feathers were weaved into her hair, dried tear tracks left a salty residue through the makeup on her cheeks.
She slept through the search for the camera. And through the fight between the boys about what people are saying. She woke up right after Mrs Hudson brought up the parcel from earlier, right as Sherlock slipped his scarf on.
She yawned and sat up wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.
She remains silent as he calmly allowed the officers to arrest him. Just watches as Donovan talks down to John. Smirks when John punches the chief. Sighs when she hears the gun shot, knowing they've tried to escape. Leaves when she receives a text from Sherlock with an address.
I'm on the side of the angels.