𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄, sherlock holmes

𝐗𝐗𝐕 . . . THIS WAS NOT IN THE PLAN!

SHERLOCK PACED AROUND THE LAB AT ST BARTS as Lestrade reeled off what had been written to Poppy in her mysterious letter, addressed to her but with the intention of reaching him. He'd received a letter too, just with an image of Mrs Hudson's basement flat with a pair of shoes nestled comfortably infront of the fireplace included. The only form of communication he'd had with the woman was her telling him to be more polite to John if he wanted his help while gathering a second opinion, and he'd turned down the suggestion no sooner had it leapt from her mouth.

John drummed his fingers away on his knee as he sat in the cab, listening to his flat-mate tell him about Carl Powers, how he'd tried to spark police interest in the case from a young age, and how the absentee wouldn't have been much help either way for she'd have been two years of age when the event unfurled. Poppy had also grown up in the Lake District, reliably informed by Mycroft with a begrudging level of civility, and not in Suffolk where little Carl Powers had been born and raised.

The doctor beside him remained silent and did not ask him how he knew Poppy's age at the time of the unfortunate death, nor did he ask why Sherlock clung to the little scrap of paper imprinted with Poppy's 'Thanks —R' desperately.

Suddenly, and with enough force for the driver of the cab to swerve momentarily onto the wrong lane ( and give John a fervent feeling of deja vu back to when Poppy enlightened him about having her licence taken away from her for reckless driving ) , Sherlock jolted upright. "We need to get to Poppy." John had also picked up on his calling her by her first, given, name and not 'Nancy Drew', or simply 'Rockefeller' whenever the chance arose.

"I thought we were under strict instruction to stay away from her. For Poppy's safety." Something changed in the expression of his flatmate, looking at the time on his watch and mentally counting down the hours he had to save the woman from being blown up and losing the first round of the new game. "We have twenty four hours until the next train from Windermere arrives at Euston Station, no doubt with a junior officer waiting for her upon arrival."

"Lestrade told you that. Just like he said to stay away and focus on the case given."

Sherlock prattled on, without paying John a scrap of attention. "I'll take Poppy from the platform, while you wait in the cab. From there she can offer her perspective, which I do value, and we prevent her from being used against us at any other point." John shook his head, exasperated. "Has it not occurred to you that she might be scared? That she might actually want to be kept under watch so she know she's safe? Because that seems to be the opposite of what you want for her right now, Sherlock."

Sherlock sat back, bit at the skin around is thumb nail, and looked out of the window. "I don't care. If she's been told to stay away then we must need her. Think about these kind of things properly, John, people never write mysterious letters telling you to stay away from people if they want you to follow it. No, we find out what killed Carl Powers and then inform the bomber."