The Flower Seller ( WAYHAUGHT)

Chapter 25

Nicole's cab pulled up outside Scotland Yard, handing a few extra pennies to the driver as promised. The policeman on desk duty stared at her as she strolled in, wondering to what crime the lad was about to confess. "Sherlock Holmes," she announced.

"We've got one of them already," the policeman replied.

"I need to see him."

"Is that so? Who are you? The King of England. Be off before I lock you up."

"I'm...I'm. Tell Lestrade Haught is here."

"I ain't telling the inspector nothing."

"Lady Haught. Tell him Lady Haught is here."

"And, I'm the Emperor of Rome. You have to the count of three to get your scrawny arse out of here."

Nicole removed her cap, letting her red hair tumble about her shoulders. The policeman took a moment to process the person before him. "One of those theatre folk are you?"

"I am Lady Nicole Haught, the Earl of Beaufort's daughter. I demand to speak to Inspector Lestrade."

He rang a bell under the desk, another policeman appearing from a side door. "Tell Lestrade Lady Haught is here."

The second policeman hesitated, looking at his colleague then the person with flowing hair dressed as a man, before disappearing behind the door. Nicole heard Lestrade's cursing before she saw him. "If this is a joke I'll cut your fucking bollocks off."

He emerged through the side door, stopping in his tracks. "Well, fuck a duck. Lady Haught."

"Why have you arrested Sherlock?"

"I didn't. I need him to tell me how Rotherham snuffed it."

It was Nicole's turn to stare at those present. "Lord Rotherham's dead?"

"Sherlock's helping us."

"He didn't do it," she blurted.

Lestrade eyed her suspiciously. "Never said he did."

"Is Waverly with him?"

"Who the fuck is Waverly?"

"Sherlock's ward. Young woman, about so high, brunette hair, green eyes."

"This isn't a fucking mother's meeting," Lestrade replied, retrieving his cigarette case from a pocket, yanking out a cigarette with such force it broke in two. "You are not required."

"Sherlock is unwell. Can I at least see him for a few moments?"

Lestrade extracted another cigarette, a little more carefully this time. Striking a match on the sole of his boot, he sucked on the lit stick in his mouth. He stood for a moment contemplating her request, as if weighing up the various options available to him. With no word spoken he let the cigarette fall, pressing it firmly into the floor with his foot, motioning with his head for her to follow.

Sherlock looked exhausted, his breathing laboured, his face pale grey. He half-smiled as she entered, clearly in no condition to be out so soon after the fire, and certainly in no condition to be sitting in a draughty police station for whatever reason Lestrade needed him.

The inspector clicked his fingers at one of the officers present, who approached to see what he wanted. Another chair was brought into the inspector's room, Nicole seated beside Sherlock, both staring at Lestrade about to light another cigarette. "Not denying his death could be natural," he began, drawing deep on the lit stick between his lips. "Maybe a dicky ticker done him in."