Paths Woven

Guilt

"It was a prolicide, not a fratricide. The culprit is the elderly father." I say with Sherlock. "He was jealous of his son being more successful in his career than he was. They were both accomplished authors, but the son was beginning to usurp his father. Thus it led to murder."

Sherlock smiles with the corner of his mouth at me. He says, "And the way the son was murdered was through poison. The bullet wounds were to ensure that he was dead."

I mentally facepalm. It's just so obvious. I missed that one little thing... a glass on the counter had been dropped and the man was on the floor, dead. I run over to the body, pulling gloves on. I feel his neck.

"Oh my goodness! He's still got a pulse!" I yell. "Call an ambulance, something!"

The pulse is weakening, fast. I turn to Lestrade.

"Never only assume that a victim is dead. Always make absolute certain that they are before restricting access."

I begin using my CPR training on the man, keeping him breathing and his heart going.

*****

Later, the hospital calls to give the news that the old man was found and arrested. The man who had been attempted murder on had, unfortunately, not made it. I did not save his life. I almost did. But I was a little too late. I just sit on my couch for an hour, trying to rid myself of the guilt I am... feeling.

I shake my head as hard as I can, clearing my head. I curl up on the couch in a fetal position, holding my knees to my chest. Someone comes down the stairs.

"Go away, Mrs Hudson. I don't need anything."

The person doesn't stop. They sit next to me. Whoever it is starts playing with my hair. Their slender fingers caress the soft black waves I call my own.

"It's called emotions, Elly. It's alright to let yourself have them sometimes. You just can't show it to the outside world." It's the last person I expected. It's Sherlock. He lifts me into his lap. "I normally don't show affection, Elizabeth. I don't know how. But I will try my best to comfort you. It's not your fault that Mr Cameron died. You did what you could."

I look up at him and realize that my cheeks are wet. Sherlock gently wipes the tears away. I nod silently, and I lean into him, trembling like a leaf. We just sit there for a while.

"Why do I have to be like this, Sherlock? Why was I born wrong? Why am I so... so... so cursed?"

"It's not a curse. I am like that, too. When I was a year older than you are now, I spent two entire days in a library reading psychology books, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I did find something that comforted me. And I believe it may help you. I am a sociopath, Elly. It means that I exhibit extreme antisocial behaviour, and I lack a conscience. I can still have emotions, but I have learned to shut them out. I believe that you are like me. You can cope. You said yourself that you caused your parents' deaths. This may be true, Elly, but it was because they were protecting you, keeping you safe from a menace who would have used you for his own nefarious purposes. It was not your fault."

I take in a shuddering breath. I look up at him, and I see myself reflected in his eyes. My hair is all messed up and my eyes are big and hurt, my lower lip trembling. I try something I've never done before. I give him a quick hug. To my surprise, he returns the embrace, giving me that much needed comfort. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve.

"Thanks, Sherlock. I - I needed that."

He smiles very subtly. Just then, someone calls, "Sherlock?"

John comes down the stairs and sees me in Sherlock's lap, hugging him. He raises an eyebrow, then sits next to us.

"What happened?"

I open my mouth and the entire explanation tumbles out in a torrent of words. Once I'm done, I settle back into Sherlock, resting. He's warm. Not exactly soft, but warm. John asks if he can hold me. I nod yes and Sherlock gently deposits me onto my uncle's lap. Once Sherlock goes upstairs, John whispers,
"I never thought I'd see Sherlock cuddling anything other than his skull. He can really surprise you, can't he?"

"He's sweet once he lets you past his defenses. I don't know how I got past them."

"Maybe because he's been in your exact situation, Elly. He knows your pain. He knows it too well. And he doesn't want anyone he cares for to have to go through that by themselves, like he did."

"He cares about me?"

"Of course he does. When you were in the hospital all those years ago, when Moriarty hijacked the telly, just after you fainted, he told the security camera that he'd protect you at all costs. He never goes back on a promise like that. Never."

"Can I ask something about a rather sensitive subject?"

"Alright. Lay it on me."

"How long ago did Scarlet Holmes run away?"

John takes in a sharp, hurt breath. "Two - two years."

"I'm sorry! I didn't know it would be hurtful..."

"No, no. It's alright. It's just that the both of you have so much in common... including the fact that you're both orphans who were given into the care of Sherlock and I. Scarlet was - is - a very intelligent, sweet little girl not unlike yourself. She loved Sherlock almost more than anything. She was very self-focused, but not in a vain way. She just kept to herself. She could make deductions like Sherlock can. Like you can. Sherlock had been tutoring her in deducing until she ran away. Just... don't do what she did, alright? I can't lose you, too. I don't think Sherlock would be able to cope, either."

"I - I promise. No running. I want to find her. Find..." I think for a second. What was that nickname Sherlock gave her? "Find Scarly."

John smiles and sets me down. Just before he leaves, he whispers, "I think Sherlock was slightly drunk, too," and I fall asleep to the moonlight that's gently shining into the room.

Tomorrow I will try to find Scarlet Holmes.