No Shit, Sherlock

Kindred Spirits

Loud noises from outside the room wake me up. My hand grabs my dagger as I tiptoe to the door. I swing the door open to see Enola's worried face. Her hand was just about to grab the doorknob.

"What's going on?"

A pained groan startles me, "I told you not to wake her up."

Making my way over to the couch, I see Timothée lying on it. His face is severely bruised and bloody, and his shirt is torn open to reveal cuts scattered across his chest.

His green eyes peer up at me, almost swollen completely shut. I drop my dagger as my heart stops at the sight of him. "What happened?"

Sherlock hands Tewkesbury a first aid kit. The young Lord wipes his face as he sniffles, "Enola and I found him on my doorstep like this."

I kneel beside Timothée and brush his messy curls out of his face. My vision is blurry with tears. Timothée coughs, "Please don't cry. It's really not that serious."

I wipe my tears away, "I'm not crying."

He chuckles, gasping a bit at the end. My eyes begin to water again, and he reaches his hand out to me. I take his hand, and he smiles.

"This is going to hurt," Tewkesbury says.

He cleans the wounds with rubbing alcohol and Timothée yells in pain. His hand grips mine tighter, and I look away. I can't handle seeing him in pain.

Sherlock rests a hand on my shoulder. There's worry in his eyes as he looks at Timothée.

~~°°••°°~~

It feels like forever before Tewkesbury, and I finally have all of Timothée's wounds cleaned and bandaged. I sit on the floor, still holding Timothée's hand while everyone else sits at the dining table. Timothée faces me, "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"You can't tell anyone else."

I nod, "I promise I won't tell anyone."

He scoots closer to the edge of the couch, "The man that attacked me knew something I've never told anyone."

He takes a shaky breath. "He knew my biggest secret, and I don't know how."

"He's been stalking you."

He sighs, "He's been doing more than that, I think he's the one killing detectives. He slipped up and said something about using me to get to the female one."

My blood runs cold. Timothée squeezes my hand as he closes his eyes.

"This is the part you can't tell anyone."

I nod, allowing him to collect his thoughts before speaking. He looks behind me, then back at me.

"I like women.... and men."

"Then we are more alike than I had thought," I say.

He chuckles before turning serious again, "I've never told anyone, I haven't even been with a guy before. But, I know that I've unknowingly looked at men before in an abnormal way."

"There's nothing abnormal about being attracted to the same gender," I whisper.

"I know, but I can't help but feel that this man has been around me before in public. He must've analyzed me and my behavior because there's no other way he could've known."

The world around me comes to a stop as my thoughts slowly fall into place. I let go of Timothée's hand and walk over to the board. Sherlock calls out for me, but everything sounds muffled as I read over our notes.

Memories of the night at the theater seem more vivid now. The man I had chased did indeed have a familiar physique. One that resembled someone I've come to loathe. And, how odd is it that these deaths occur after those troublesome brothers come into my life?

"Oh my God."

Sherlock looks at the board in confusion, "What is it?"

"The brothers. It's them. They're the killers," I answer.

Enola joins us, "Are you sure?"

"It all makes sense. These murders didn't start until they came into town. I found Greg where I had last seen the murderer. The brothers insist on working the case themselves, and nothing has been solved yet."

My eyes drift to Timothée who is peering over the couch at me, "Greg was looking at Timothée weirdly earlier, and then Timmy gets attacked?"

John nods. "We'll need to gather solid evidence. But, we should all stay away from them."

"Right. Now, can we please get food? I am starving!" Enola says.

I turn to Sherlock, "Tewkesbury, and I will stay with Timothée."

Sherlock leaves with John and Enola, making sure to give me a quick kiss goodbye. Tewkesbury makes a face at me, and I roll my eyes.

I pull a chair over to the couch and sit down. My eyes trail up and down Timothée's battered body. He sits up, wincing at the pain.

"You need to lay down."

He waves his hand at me dismissively, "I'll be fine."

He brushes his hair out of his face and lets out a sigh. "He called me horrible things."

I sit next to him, and he rests his head on my shoulder. Tewkesbury watches us from the dining table, a soft look in his eyes as he stares at Timothée.

"Whatever he called you isn't true," I whisper.

He lets out a choked sob, his arms wrapping around me tighter. Tewkesbury rushes over to us now and sits on the other side of Timothée. I rest my head on top of Timothée's and give Tewkesbury a sad look.

Tewkesbury's eyes are watery, but he quickly wipes the tears away. He rests a hand on Timothée's back, "I'll kill them myself for doing this to you."

I'm taken aback by the pure determination in Tewkesbury's voice. I've never known the boy to be violent, but the way he said it makes me worry.

Timothée sits up and wipes his face, "God, I look so pathetic right now."

"No, you don't. You took brave as hell."

Timothée hits Tewkesbury's shoulder, "Shut up, berryboy."

I laugh at Tewkesbury's offended look. The door opens, and the scent of fresh food hits my nose. Sherlock sets a bag down on the table along with Enola and John.

"We got there just in time. The restaurant was about to close," says John.

~~°°••°°~~

After dinner, we had decided that everyone would spend the night here. Enola and Tewkesbury took the two chairs to sleep in. I didn't want to leave Timothée alone, so I decided to make a pile of blankets on the floor to sleep on.

"Are you insane? Go sleep with your man," Timothée says.

I fluff my pillow, "Sherlock will be fine on his own for a night."

The man himself strides into the room, carrying another blanket. He hands it to me, "It's best not to argue with her."

Sherlock kisses the top of my head, "Goodnight. Don't stay up too late."

He retreats to his bedroom, and Timothée sighs. "I'm glad he doesn't hate me anymore. Because this would've been a train wreck four months ago."

"Go to sleep, Timmy Tim."

Tewkesbury snores loudly, scaring the absolute hell out of me. Timothée and I share a look, the both of us trying to muffle our laughter. I lay down, adjusting my pillow again. Timothée leans over the edge of the couch to look at me.

"I will forever be grateful for meeting you. In a strictly non-romantic way, of course."

I smile at him, "Same here. You and I are kindred spirits."

Author's Note: I love Timothée and (Y/n) so much. But not as much as I love Timothée and Tewkesbury ♡