The Power of Love: A Sequel

Chapter 4

The Power of Love Ch. 4

Soon dancing became her therapy. Nothing too fancy like Eliza wanted her to do, but dancing nonetheless.

Next thing she knew she was twirling and moving her feet wildly to jazz while Thomas just tried to keep up.

She wasn't the best dancer, but she had fun. And that's what really mattered.

Once she fully recovered, Thomas and Charlotte saw each other more often when she returned to uni. Waving each other as they went past, helping each other with equations in study rooms with walls that were white boards.

But sooner or later, she started getting letters.

Letters about her college flat fees not being paid.

Of course, the thing about scholarships is that they can only pay for so much, which Charlotte knew from the beginning.

And although her father was not the richest man, she knew he was able to afford to pay the fees until she got a job, which she of course offered to get to ease the load, but he bluntly refused saying she needed to focus on her education.

So the fact that Sherlock didn't pay the rent for the past few months made her more than suspicious.

She tried calling him, but no response.

He always was a man of text.

Are you okay? -CLH

I'm fantastic -SH

She paused, deducing the text.

She then called Mycroft.

"Hello?"

"It's Charlotte. It's important I swear."

She can sense him rolling his eyes through the phone.

"Did you take down the cameras once you took the box?"

"Yes why?"

She hung up immediately.

She knew where this was going.

And it wasn't going on the best route.

She then wrote an email saying she was moving out of her flat, saying she had a home nearby, which was the truth.

What she didn't say was why.

She sent a text to him several weeks ahead of time before finally going up the steps to hear yelling and screaming.

"Oh god."

She rushed up the steps and slammed open the door to hear:

"ALL THE WORRLDDDDDSSS A STAGE," she then saw Sherlock shoot the wall several times.

"And all the men and women merely players," they both murmurered at the same time, until finally he collapsed on the floor, making her run to him.

"Papa!"

His vision was fuzzy, shapes and figures were surrounding him.

"Papa," a little girl's voice said, "PAPA," it yelled again but this time it was a woman's voice.

He awoke to see Charlotte with her head in her hands, clearing worried, sitting by his side while he was on a hospital bed.

They said nothing for several hours when they waited for the sign out sheet, to call a cabbie, and to ride home.

Absolutely nothing.

"You scared the crap out of me Sherlock."

He turned his head carefully to see her sad face looking downward, clearly disappointed in him.

"You call me by my name when you have negative emotions and Papa when you have positive ones," he pointed out.

"I'm not in the mood for deductions-"

"So you see me as your father sometimes."

"Because that's the truth," she snapped, "sometimes you act like a father, and other times you're," she looked at him up and down, "this."

She took his stuff, "and I'm the one who has to take care of you. And not because you're old, it's because you make stupid decisions."

"Correction," he paused, snatching his stuff back, "I'm not sometimes your father. I am not and I will never will be your father."

She suddenly grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall, careful not to choke him.

"THIS ISN'T FUNNY. NONE OF THIS IS FUNNY."

"I'm only stating the facts Charlotte," he said smoothly, "your father abused you and I took you in. Nothing more. Nothing less."

She looked into his eyes, to no longer find the compassion, the love, or all the emotion that she saw in his eyes for so long. In his eyes she found nothing, which showed that what he just said, he meant in his inner soul.

She slowly let go of his throat, afraid she would kill him in that moment, and took her bag. Looking at him one last time, she stated:

"No shit, Sherlock."