Promises Series

Promise of Home - Figure It Out

The title of this chapter is "Figure It Out" by Royal Blood.

"Lestrade. I'm filing a child abuse inquiry."

"What? Why?"

"Because the circumference of this cigarette matches the scars on Lucy's neck," Sherlock explained. He talked without his usual enthusiasm. It seemed much harder to get the words from his mind to his mouth. "Also, you'll find a first aid kit hidden in Christopher's room, along with bandages and antiseptic wipes in his rubbish bin. A woman of her strength and stature couldn't choke a healthy seventeen-year-old boy with her bare hands, but would easily be able to if she had the assistance of, say, a scarf."

"Anything else? I need all I can get."

"You would think, in times of grief, a child would want to be near her mother. Lucy was on the other side of the room, as far away from her as possible. Yes, perhaps they merely had a dysfunctional relationship, but what girl flinches away from her own mother?" Sherlock replied. A familiar set of dark eyes flashed across his vision. "What girl hides from her own mother?"

"Sherlock..."

"It's not right," he said quietly. "Her brother was the only one there for her. And now he's dead. I want her out of this house as soon as possible."

"Oh? And where are we going to put her?"

"Grandparents; is there an aunt or an uncle? I don't care. Anywhere but here," Sherlock said. He sighed. "If you still don't believe me, ask Lucy where that bruise on her face came from."

"Christ," Lestrade muttered. "You think the mother killed him, don't you?"

"It's the only explanation of all the facts."

Lestrade sighed but nodded.

"Let me get those scarves down to forensics. They'll compare the threads and see if-"

"Unacceptable," Sherlock snapped. "That will take too long. Lucy knows. She'll probably receive another beating tonight to make sure she doesn't tell us anything. She won't be of much help."

Frankly, Sherlock didn't want her to tell the police anything. He knew everything he needed to, and it would be an unnecessary loss for the girl if her mother had any suspicions.

"Are both scarves silk? Eighty thread count?"

"Are you telling me the fate of Christopher's murderer rests in how bloody thick a scarf is?"

"Yes, I am," Sherlock replied, watching stony-faced as they picked out the matching scarf. Where was his usual triumph after solving a case? Had it flown out of his Mind Palace's window? He frowned and turned to the door.

"We'll question the mother," Lestrade said before he could leave.

"Good. I'll stay with Lucy."

Lestrade sighed but didn't say anything else.

"Are you sure, Sherlock? We need someone... delicate."

"I know. Have you forgotten my-"

"-niece?"

"-daughter?"

"Daughter, eh?"

"For the case. Obviously."

"Of course. What about her?"

"Someone hurt her before she came to me. I can deal with Lucy."

"Do you care about her?" Lestrade asked, astonished.