Boxing Day
Felix texted her the next morning. She's aware it could wait. That other things mattered more than texting people back immediately. She also believed it too rude to leave people waiting.
She wanted to sleep. Preferably? Forever. Never waking up sounded very pleasant today. Sleeping Beauty never got the credit she deserved for taking a century long nap. Danielle wanted it very badly. Just lying down in bed, moping, sounded great.
Erika barked.
Danielle pressed her face into her pillows.
Felix sent another text. Then another. Three at once? Her brother was such a cock.
Erika barked, whined, and barked again.
Danielle took a deep breath. She smelled her own hair, from where it smushed on the pillow the night before. She cleaned her makeup off, she's sure of that. Tears kept falling down her cheeks, which actually helped the cleaning process. The dress was- wait what did Danielle do to the dress? Not important. She'll figure it out.
Erika barked.
"Okay!" Danielle snapped.
Erika whined. Her heart shattered. Great. She's a terrible person, yelling at her dog. Only terrible people yell at their beloved, loyal dog. Her mum was right to stop involving Danielle in the family holidays. She was a terrible dog-mum.
Danielle pulled herself out of bed. Her dress slipped off her body, sinking to the floor in a wrinkled mess.
Her head flopped back to rest on her back. She groaned with her entire broken, tired heart.
==MPH==
Erika settled on the couch. Her body pressed Danielle down onto the cushions. Nightwing had long since gone into the void where the mostly black cat often vanished. Danielle kept running her fingers on Erika. The dog whimpered and whined, licking her owner's fingers. Danielle stared at her reflection on the TV.
Just stared at it.
She met her own reflection. She was aware her eyes were usually a particular shade of blue. Felix struggled for ages in finding the exact color, then finding it again at the paint shop. The TV reflected it much differently. Her hair had a similar problem. Felix called it 'starfish orange' once, and Lilly Kelly called it 'lollipop man orange'. The TV again reflected it as dull, lifeless gray.
==MPH==
December 27th
Erika barked again. Danielle kept her face pressed against the pillow.
The walk took longer than Danielle liked. She returned to her flat, flipping back down on her couch. Erika joined her there
She faintly recalled grabbing her phone. The Woman's messages weren't the most recently sent anymore. Felix and John were going back and forth for first place. Felix kept texting about how Christmas went, and why Danielle wasn't answering.
John sent only three texts. 'Saw you walking. Can we talk?' 'Maybe next time then.' This one actually came from Mrs Hudson, using his phone. 'He's always been rough, Danielle. Come back around, please. It'll cheer him up.'
Danielle hugged tighter to her dog. No texts from the rest of her family at all.
She hugged tighter to Erika. She stared back dazed at her blank TV again.
==MPH==
December 28th
She fed and walked Erika. She searched fruitlessly for Nightwing. The bastard cat at least ate from his bowl, so she's not too upset. The TV never turned on. More texts came from Felix. Nothing from anybody else.
==MPH==
December 29th
It's been three days. Danielle finally did her laundry. The dress hung from her arms, long and beautiful like Danielle remembered. Like the Woman intended.
Take care of him for me?
Love is a chemical defect found on the losing side.
Danielle hung the dress deep in her closet. She hoped she'd never see it again.
==MPH==
December 30th
Danielle's pretty certain she turned the telly on today. The screen was still black, though, so that's something different.
She finally saw Nightwing again. The black cat whined from the kitchen. His food bowl was empty. Danielle filled the bowl as commanded. The cat gave her no further attention.
==MPH==
December 31st
She…had energy. That's a strange thought. Danielle barely walked anywhere except for Erika. She's not even sure she talked. But when she woke up this morning at the crack of dawn, Danielle wanted to move.
She looked around her apartment, seeing everything as a cluttered mess. The passed by in a blur. Trying to remember what caused the specific messes, nothing came up. Wait what…week? A week? She spent a week like this? Oh no, that's not good. She needed to catch up on so much.
One hot shower, Danielle started her day properly.
It took her a few hours to get things back in order. To clean her floor, the bad food from her fridge, and even to take out her trash to the bins. Each action only gave her more energy than before.
She threw the curtains open to bring in more light. Everybody outside finally shed their Christmas decorations. Danielle glanced around at all of hers, sighed, and then got to work.
She finished an hour or so before lunch. Her body still buzzed with energy. She needed a new thing. Something to help clean.
==MPH==
Someone was knocking on her door. Mrs Hudson opened the door, wondering why the boys hadn't come down yet.
Danielle stood outside. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and dressed in baggy clothes. Mrs Hudson saw those wrinkles from clothes left in the dryer for ages.
"Hi. Can I clean your flat again?"
==MPH==
Danielle scrubbed again at the stain. It stayed stuck. She grit her teeth.
"Doesn't the oven have a setting for that?" Mrs Hudson asked.
Danielle grunted. "It- does- I- just- used- it!" She groaned, slouching against the wall. "And it's still bad."
Mrs Hudson squeezed the younger girl's shoulder. "You tried, dear. That's okay. You can-"
"No." Danielle shook her head. "I'm not done. I can keep going."
Mrs Hudson frowned.
"Hey, I noticed you made breakfast." Danielle gestured. "Did you finish? I can clean the plates."
Mrs Hudson frowned. She tutted, wringing her hands. "Oh, those. They're- They're upstairs."
To her credit, Danielle froze for only a second. She quickly went back to deep cleaning the kitchen.
Mrs Hudson walked off. She came back a few minutes later with two plates. One half cleared already, the other completely untouched.
Danielle took the plates.
Were they on a case? They didn't tell Danielle. Not even any texts to come along, or angry knocking from Sherlock.
Oh, that's right. Danielle was the losing side. People on the losing side don't get the privilege of case solving with Sherlock. Her mum and Paul would be smug about it. Uninvited from family holidays, and dumped by her detective boyfriend. Not that Sherlock was her boyfriend, he made that very clear.
Even an idiot like Danielle can tell when she's not wanted. Sherlock never hid his disdain well. Danielle just thought- like an idiot- that it didn't matter. Her uselessly never affected Sherlock. He always brought her along, always let her give her stupid theories no matter how many times she got it wrong.
Lestrade never got that treatment. Hell, John never got that.
It's enough to make a girl feel special. Silly, stupid Danielle Nolan.
(oh, and she's not a Nolan either. What a great start to this year)
Mrs Hudson spoke as Danielle's inner monologue begged for a therapist. She saw what Danielle thought, the girl was so completely heartbroken. It reminded Mrs Hudson of the man upstairs.
She put the plate in the fridge, then paused. "Bloody hell."
Mrs Hudson shook her head, cooing at the younger landlady. "Oh, don't mind him when he's like that, Danielle. Sherlock will be back to his usual self soon."
"No, I think he tossed out my oreos. The ones I was hiding at your place." Danielle snapped. "Sugarplums, that man! He knew I was saving them for New Year's!"
Mrs Hudson knew the real reason she was all up in a tizzy. She'd felt the same when the affairs started with her husband. Every little thing set her off, and they'd shout all the time. Danielle must think Sherlock was messing around with that woman. That crude ringtone did little to help things.
The young woman, usually bright and Christmas-y whenever there was air in her lungs, looked defeated. Her hands clung to the countertop like her nails were stuck in them. Her light orange locks hung around her head like a curtain, her shoulders slumped so close to her chest they could hold up her chin. Mrs Hudson imagined if Danielle turned back right now, there'd be tears in her now dull blue eyes.
"Oh, I'll head to the market and buy more." Mrs Hudson offered. "You just rest."
"No, can't rest." Danielle huffed. She dumped the full English breakfast in the trash. He definitely ate her oreos. For all the shit he (and others) put her through, he deserved it. "I've still got things to clean."
Mrs Hudson cooed again. Danielle ushered her out the door. She saw John out the window. He didn't see her, already being ushered off in a typical Mycroft call.
Now both Holmeses ignored Danielle. The cherry on top of this shitty, shitty cupcake. And now she had no oreos to cheer her up.
Danielle got about cleaning the dishes proper. Danielle didn't even notice Sherlock running out after John a moment later.
==MPH==
Her phone buzzed. Danielle ignored it, focused more on the sound of someone's fist pounding on the door.
Danielle groaned. A pound- a very angry, annoyed client. It's not too strange. They get pissed off husbands or wives sometimes. Sherlock says they ignore the cops because they're so often guilty, and think Sherlock will be fooled.
Danielle tucked down a cleaning product. She'd usher the client away, before her boys came back.
The door was kicked open. Men in black swarmed in.
Danielle tried slamming Mrs Hudson's door shut. The men noticed her. One grabbed the door, pushing it. Danielle pushed back. The door suddenly stopped being pushed on his end, leading Danielle to slamming her own head on the door.
She slipped to the ground. The men marched in. She reached for the glass cleaner. A man stomped on her hand. Danielle screamed out in pain.
The men grabbed her by the arms and legs, lifting her in the air. Danielle stopped screaming, instead conserving her air. She kicked and swung her arms.
The men gripped tighter. She squealed in pain. As they dragged, she continued to kick and punch.
Who were they? Moriarty's men? He's never been this rough before. Others did his dirty work for him. Danielle usually got the special 'privilege' of being abducted by the criminal consultant himself.
They dragged her up the stairs. She scratched at the walls, trying to gain purchase. She needed leverage.
She kicked out again. Her shoe flew off her foot, clattering down the stairs. One of them squeezed tighter on her leg, a second hand grabbing her thigh and squeezing tight enough to bruise. Danielle shrieked. A man by her shoulder clamped her mouth, keeping a tight lock on her jaw and pressing on the teeth inside.
The men kicked open 221b. Danielle whimpered and shuddered, terrified of whoever these men belonged to. One of them moved a chair from the desk. The men dumped Danielle onto it.
She wanted to cry.
She knew she should cry, that in the past she did cry.
But today? Today she was angry.
They expected tears, she knew. Men always expected tears from ladies and girls. Moriarty hated when Danielle cried- made a point to tell her she's ruining his performance with tears.
A performance of tears.
Danielle could work with that.
A man walked in from the stairs. The others separated, letting him walk in front of her.
Oh god, she knew him. She knew she knew him. Fuck, she needs to get better at remembering people.
"Miss Nolan." An American! Shit that's the American man! He wanted the Woman's phone. These goons are all Americans. No wonder they were so rough- honestly! "Nice to see you again. Let's skip the pleasantries. Where's the phone?"
She sniffled, pretending to pant. It helped her lungs- already the things crying out for oxygen she lost from the struggle up here. "P-phone?"
"Yes. Miss Adler's phone. Where is it?" He asked again.
Danielle tried to think. She tried very, very hard to think. She hadn't been here in a week. She's not giving it to this man, that's for sure. She needed to find it before any of them.
Danielle Nolan is not the losing side.
She let her shoulders shudder, shaking under the many disinterested stares. They held no sympathy for her. Paid hitmen rarely cared about anything besides the completed mission. She hiccuped on a fake sob.
"Listen, this can be over very fast or it can take awhile." The American warned. "Where's the phone?"
"He- I don't-" She sniffled, swallowing down a real sob. "She's gone. She's already gone."
What did Sherlock do with it? It's not on the mantel. Think, Danielle, think!
"The long way then." The American backhanded her. Danielle yelped at the pain. "Don't play games with me. Where's the phone? Now."
She started to loudly, openly, sob. She suddenly recalled Sherlock pretending to cry for Mrs Monkford. Fake crying is a very important skill. It had all the usual downsides of crying, except it made Danielle feel safe. She could stop these sobs when she wanted, the tears came because she wanted. Everything happening to her body was her own choice.
It's freeing. It's empowering. It felt like winning.
Where would Sherlock put it? Somewhere only he would look? No, he knows we search his room for drugs. John definitely has been all week. Something just for Sherlock. Somewhere in this flat he could remember her too. Someplace that mattered for- for both of them? For Sherlock and the Woman? But the Woman was never here.
Right?
The American hit her again. The impact stung. Danielle yelped again, whimpering. She curled in on herself.
Another man grabbed her shoulders. He pulled them back against the chair, keeping Danielle upright.
The American hit her again. His coat flapped a bit with the movement.
His coat.
His coat.
Holy shit, Sherlock got his coat and phone back that day. It had the ringtone of her moaning. The Woman left the phone in his coat.
Danielle checked the coat rack. His best coat was long gone. She hadn't even noticed him leave. Damn, damn, damn. He has a second coat, yeah? Or something. It's in his room, it has to be.
She needed to get to his room.
"I need-" She sucked in a long breath, a long shudder. "I need-" Then she crumbled, loud, hiccuping, shaking sobs.
The American sighed. He retreated from the beatings.
"A moment-" Danielle pleaded. "Please, a moment, please I need-" She cried again, feeling hot tears pouring down her face. They stung on her bruising cheek.
The American beating her paused. He motioned to one of his guys.
The man let go of her shoulders.
"Go." The American ordered.
Danielle wanted to immediately stand and run. She worried about her act though, so kept herself in the chair. The tears were harder to control now. They were coming faster than she wanted, stronger too. She didn't like crying anymore.
"Take her down the hall." The American instructed his guys. "Let her cry out of my sight."
Two of them grabbed her arms, hoisting her up. One grabbed her baggy sweater sleeve instead of her arm. Lifting it instead, the fabric ripped. Danielle sobbed. The cold gave her body a sort of shock, especially with her crying fit.
They guided her into the hallway. She managed to walk, one shoe gone and the floor unbelievably cold in here. She stumbled into Sherlock's room to tumble on his bed, sobbing into his pillow. He'd probably never forgive her for it, but she had very little choice here.
The two men verbally rolled their eyes. One even made a noise of disgust. The door shut.
His dressing gown swung on the door hook. Still sobbing, she took deep breaths. She needed to stop crying, and not alert the men outside to her location. She took shaking breaths, as quiet as she was able.
The dressing gown had only two pockets, and Danielle fiddled with one unsuccessfully. The second proved much more positive.
Her phone.
Her phone in her hands.
She touched the screen. It lit up. Sherlock had tried the password again.
She couldn't help a tearful laugh. Quickly, heart pounding, she added some louder sobs and coughs. Best to confuse the Americans outside.
Now she needed a new place to hide it. The American would keep beating on Danielle until the phone was revealed. It couldn't stay here, it needed to leave with her. Where on her body could she hide it?
Danielle took a deep breath, and had only one thought.
His name was Neilson. That's right.
==MPH==
AN: I'm not dead, somehow. This was gonna come out of New Years but I was stuck in some writer's block hell. I'm feeling better now and it's time to get back on the horse. My favorite horse. The torture and hurting Danielle horse. The cinnamon roll ritual returns.
Thanks to heyhaley17 for following
