TW: Suicidal thoughts
The cab rattles over cobblestone. I stare out a rain-streaked window at the street, my forehead pressed against the cool glass. The ride so far has been totally silent, and I think I'm about to go stir-crazy.
"How?" I finally erupt.
Sherlock shoots me a glare. "How what?"
"How did you figure out that Olivia Crone was my real mother and an assassin? You never told me that part."
"We went to her house." He replied irritatingly, as if it were the most simple, obvious thing in the world. "She wasn't there in the flesh, but she was there in every other sense."
"You're telling me that you were able to deduce her entire life story based on things around her house?"
Sherlock huffs, pressing his eyes shut, "I broke into her safe. Found a baby picture of you, a hospital hand and footprint, even a copy of your birth certificate. No aunt would have all that for her niece."
"And the assassin part?"
"Much harder, considering it's an assassins' job to stay undercover, hidden. But the weapons in her safe aren't typically the kind owned by civilians."
"That doesn't necessarily mean CIA. Much less assassin. She could be military for all you know."
"But she's not."
"She could be. You can't possibly know for certain, Sherlock."
"I do."
"You're lying."
"You're both right." John finally juts in, splaying out his hands, "Yes, y/n, Sherlock can be certain. But yes, he's also lying-at least about his cleverness."
"I am not-"
"He knows she's CIA because her identification card was in the safe as well. Everything we know was laid out for us plain as day in that bloody safe. Sherlock didn't deduce shit."
John looks at me and begins chuckling. Sherlock grimaces and turns back to the window with a huff. I can't help laughing myself.
~
I stick close to John's side as we follow Sherlock into the police station. It's clean, big, professional, and I feel woefully out of place. I try to keep my head up, to look confident, but the eyes in the room keep straying in our direction. They find Sherlock and then they roll.
"Lestrade," Sherlock bursts into the office with a flourish, his long coat sweeping out around him.
"What are you doing here, freak?" A woman, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, growls at Sherlock's presence. He ignores her, but John visibly stiffens, his jaw fluctuating like the levers on a machine. I take note not to like her.
"I want to talk to you about a cab accident from two months ago."
"Not my division." The man behind the desk replies happily, glancing up at me, "Who's she?"
"A client."
"Can she leave?" John motions to the woman by the wall, "We sort of just wanted to talk to you."
Lestrade shrugs, nodding to the woman. She looks between him and John, huffs offendedly and leaves. "Alright, now what is it?"
Sherlock begins to pace. "Two months ago there was a cab accident-two people were rearended and killed. Her parents." He motions to me, "The woman who rearended them went by the name of Olivia Crone. Y/n never so much as met her."
YOU ARE READING
The Side of the Angels (a BBC sherlock fanfic)
Hayran Kurgu~ This story follows the episodes of the BBC sherlock show (and maybe beyond them) but with y/n inserted as a character. ~ You're seventeen. You're parents just died. You're all alone in the world. And what's worse-you think you're parents were murd...
