This is an AU of my Magical Creatures series. While AU and therefore separate from the others, parts of it will make more sense if you have read Hidden Fears and Stubborn Creatures (where the AU is introduced), and this story's prequel To Find Home Again.
The snapped words cut through the rising tension to halt my retort before it could form, and I barely avoided the physical flinch that tried to rise in its place. No. He could not have meant that. Not the way it sounded. He had spoken in anger and would take the words back immediately. He always had before.
Except the silence continued. One hand retrieved a different reactant, and he steadily added three drops to his solution, then another two, before returning the bottle to its shelf. As if he had not just wrenched over a year's worth of promises out from under my feet. Disbelief became a jolt of pain.
No. No, he could not have meant that, would tell me as much as soon as he realized what he had said. Conscious effort firmly tethered the part of my mind still reeling in shock. A simple reply would reach him, would give him the chance to rephrase.
"As you wish."
Nothing. Only the clinking of a glass stirring rod against the beaker broke the sitting room's deafening silence, and stunned shock became rending pain. He had meant it. He wanted me to leave, probably wished he had not convinced me to return to London so many months ago. The callous dismissal tilted my world on end. I needed to get out of here. Quickly. Staying risked Holmes using everything he knew against me. I had no wish to wake up in Bedlam.
He would not do that.
Just as he would never want me to leave?
Pain flared yet again, growing to a pulsing inferno that I desperately tried to shove beneath the barriers I had slowly abandoned over the last year. Distant movements grabbed a few irreplaceable items then nearly stumbled across the room and through the door. Half a thought retrieved a small valise. Years-long habit skipped the loose board on the way to my bedroom. Empty grief pushed the door open.
"Go away!"
I made no effort to stifle a flinch, though I also tried to shove the order away. I would obey. I need not relive it yet.
But loss. Grief. Rending pain. Just as Mrs. Hudson had not expected Holmes to shun me, so I had finally believed his many promises. The shattered hope carried sharp edges that cut and sliced. Where could I go?
Away. Anywhere but here. I would not stay where I was not wanted, would not force my presence on my old friend. I did not understand why he would break the promise delivered so many times over even more months, but I refused to beg. If he had decided he no longer wanted me around, I would find somewhere else.
But where? I would not use a bolthole any more than I could sleep in my room tonight.
Later. I could figure that out later. For now, I needed to get out of here before he recalled the information I had so foolishly given him—and decided how to use it. Fumbling movements barely managed to shove an heirloom, some money, my revolver, and a handful of bullets into my emergency bag before I stumbled back down the stairs. With any luck, I could reach the street without notice.
"Doctor?"
Or at least without argument. A latch clicked behind me just before I could slip through, then Mrs. Hudson hurried down the hall, worry appearing as she noted the bag slung over my shoulder. "He did not mean that. You know he did not mean that."
I knew only that, after weeks of progressively louder and more frequent disagreements, he had finally told me to go away and leave him alone. A small gesture both served as a silent farewell and left my key on the nearby table, and the door shut behind me before she reached the entry. I would send for my things later.
Once I knew where to send them. Pieces crumbled with every step. Every promise he had given. Every feeling of home. Every instance over the last year where some base assumption appeared inaccurate. He had rejected them all in moments, crushing them to drift away at the slightest breeze. Their absence left me numb but aching. Here but miles away.
Should I go to Lestrade?
No. He would not return from holiday for another week. What about Hopkins?
Also no, for the same reason, nor would I go to Gregson or any other Yarder. Too many enjoyed Hatzis' ever-growing list of derogatory nicknames for me to trust them for assistance. Better to stay in a motel for a while than let them compound Holmes' rejection.
Except I carried very little money. Did I want to spend my few coins on a bed or on food?
Neither. Repeated arguments meant my need to eat had decreased parallel to my ability to sleep. I saw no reason to waste money on something I could easily do without.
Then where should I go?
Aimless steps wandered as I debated. I could leave London, if I wanted. The money would take me almost anywhere south of Scotland. I could find some empty patch of ground to call my own.
But purchasing a ticket without a destination seemed rather foolish. Probably better to stay in the city.
What about the Irregulars?
No. While they would undoubtedly let me claim a corner, that would also make Holmes' cases decidedly awkward. Better to go somewhere he could easily avoid me.
Like the park. A familiar statue caught my eye, and I turned toward London's largest open space. With towering trees, several sources of water, and enough dense patches to hide a family of jotunn, Regent's Park would serve for tonight. Or more than tonight. I certainly had no patients expecting me tomorrow.
The main path looped this way and that. Between trees and around narrow streams, the occasional dead-end tried to hide from human eyes. I found multiple signs of nisse, lutins, and the occasional faery. A sylph shimmered into view, giggled a hello at me, and just as quickly vanished. A grumbling growl announced me too close to a dwarf's home. A tiny rabbit poked its nose from beneath a bush.
I ignored it to wander further away from the trail. Even if I wanted to write, I needed shelter more. No matter how many magical creatures London held, I should be able to find an unclaimed part of Regent's. I simply had to search for it.
Several pixies tried to lure me closer. A lutin peeked from behind a tree, recognized me, and waved on his way to the nearest pump. Two young faeries glinted in the fading light as they chased each other through the leaves.
One of the nisse from earlier now followed me. I halted mid step.
Slightly shorter than most nisse I had met, the uneven beard announced him relatively young. Thick, wiry hair tinged reddish in the shadows, and he showed no fear of stopping only a few feet away. Deep brown eyes stared up at me.
"Doctor Watson?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it when the word refused to form. A nod sufficed as answer.
"What are ye doin' out here?" Worry flickered into view as he took a step closer. "Yon storm'll be here soon. Won't be fit for humans ta be out."
"Leave me alone!"
The distant rumble of thunder joined a chilly breeze to confirm the warning, but I shoved the memory away to shrug. He did not need to know why I could not go home. My emergency bag held the small tarpaulin Holmes had tried to bin a couple of months ago, and I still remembered how to build a wild shelter. Between that and a couple of close trees, I would stay warm and dry enough.
Concern became a true frown, but he did not comment on which of my thoughts he had gleaned. Darting glances noted my bag, my cane, and the magic in my pocket before he looked back up at me.
"I, Kifram son of Kirkek, offer my home as shelter until the storm ends."
No. Nicolas' amulet remained cool against my leg to prove the offer genuine, but even if I could fit in a nisse's home, I would not insert myself where I did not belong. Non-magical humans should not enter a magical household. Could not without magical repercussions only certain circumstances avoided. As a homeless traitor did not match any of those circumstances, three tries finally managed a politely grateful refusal—however murmured—before I ducked around a tree. Kifram did not follow.
He had given me an idea, however. I pulled my coat tighter while one hand fingered the amulet in my pocket, debating whether I wanted to send a message on my way to the train station.
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