Devil Take The Hindmost •Sequel To Life Is But A Dream•

•A Scandal In Belgravia: Part Eight•

Chapter Eight: And A Happy New Year

The last day of the year gave me a chill as the breeze wiped across my face. I folded my arms and curled my toes in their red shoes of warmth. The sidewalk was like an ice cube: seeping through the rubber cloth soles to my skin right down to my bones. Pulling my jumper tighter around me, I continued my walk back from the library, to the flat. Somehow Sherlock had moved into my thoughts. He was being more silent than usual, and even started composing rather than playing covers on his violin.

My cold fingertips went to my "a" necklace. Something I realised I hadn't taken off since Christmas last week.
"Hey." I heard John greet, and looked up to him. "Hey." I said, then stopped.
"John?" We heard a woman call, and looked to see one standing by the black gate. "Aspen, right? Got any plans for the New Year?"
"Well, nothing I couldn't heartlessly abandon." John flirted. I gave him a look he didn't see, so I slapped him on the arm.

Then we notice the black car pulling up. I saw John sigh in exasperation.
"You know, Mycroft could just phone me-us, if he didn't have this bloody power complex." he began to rant as I walked to the other side to him. "Cause he has her number too."

"Why're you wearing a hat anyway? And your hair's up. It's cold out." John asked during the drive. I put my had up to the Union Jack and traced the LONDON letters on the cap.
"Why not?" I asked, shrugging my shoulders.
"What'd you get at the library, anyway?" He noticed my bag I had, still on my shoulder.
"Nothing much. I might decide to read something else for a change." I said, looking out the window.
*
"Couldn't we just go to a café? Sherlock doesn't follow me everywhere." John said as we followed the woman across a bridge at a power complex.
"Through here." She said, gesturing us through a door leading into a large room with many halls.

"He's writing sad music; doesn't eat, barely talks- only to correct the television." John started speaking to Mycroft. "I'd say he's heartbroken but well that's Sherlock. He does that all anyway-"

I adjusted my bag as we walked into an opening where another woman- the woman- Irene I think was her name- was.
"Hello Doctor Watson. Miss Aspen." she greeted, walking closer, but stopping after a few paces.
After a long while, I went to the wall and slid down, extending my legs out so my body was in an 'L' position.
"Tell him you're alive." John said, his voice sounding like a plea.
"He'd come after me." Irene reasoned.
"I'll come after you if you don't." John threatened.

"I believe you." she teased.
"You were dead on a slab! It was definitely you." John yelled.
"I can vouch for that." I spoke up, looking out at the other wall, not breaking my gaze upon her nor John.
"DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep." she mentioned.
"And I bet you know the record keeper."
"I know what he likes, and I needed to disappear."
"Then how come I don't see you, and I don't even want to?" John asked.

"Look. I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help." She explained.
"No." we both said, myself now looking at the conversation.
"It's for his own safety." she told us.
"Just tell him you're alive!" I exclaimed, becoming annoyed at her logic.
"I can't." she said, piercing me with her dark eyes.
"Fine. I'll tell him, and we still won't help you." John said, then turned to leave.

"What do I say?" She asked, and I began to wonder if she liked Sherlock.
"What do you normally say?! You've texted him a lot!" John shouted, making me flinch.
"Just the usual stuff." she shrugged, bringing out another phone of hers.
"There is no usual." I scoffed, crossing my arms.
"'Good morning.' 'I like your funny hat.' 'I'm sad tonight- let's have dinner.' 'You looked sexy on Crimewatch. Let's have dinner.' 'I'm not hungry. Let's have dinner.' "She listed, reading her messages, leaving both John and I somewhat shocked.

"You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?" John declared.
"At him. He never replies." She corrected, rereading the messages to herself.
"No Sherlock always replies. To everything. He will outlive God trying to have the last word." John challenged.
"Does that make me special?" She asked.
"...I don't know-"
"Maybe." I said quickly, then shrugged my shoulders at the two of them.
"Are you jealous?" She asked John, and I looked to him.

"We're not a couple." he said, and I agreed.
"Yes you are. And she's the chaperone." Irene decided, making me feel weird about that.
"There: 'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.' "She read, and showed us on her screen the text she typed.
"Who...who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes, but - for the record -" John paused, looking around. "if anyone out there still cares, I'm not actually gay."
He said the last part at me, expecting me to agree. I only gave him a look that irritated him.
"Well, I am. Look at us both." Irene said.

At that moment, the familiar female sigh of Sherlocks phone sounded, causing the three of us to realise that he was there. John began to walk in his direction, but Irene stopped him.
"I don't think so. Do you?" She asked, but he left anyway. I began to follow, but her hand was on my shoulder.

"Wait." Irene said, and picked something up against the wall: a package. "Not long after you left did Kate tell me she saw you in my library. It's one of my favourites too. You might put it to better use though." She said, handing me the brown paper packaged rectangle. I then remember the book back at her house.

"Merry Christmas, I guess." She said, half smiling. I could tell she knew that Sherlock was upset.
"And Happy New Year." I completed, then put it in my bag. "See you around." I said, then walked out of the building where John was waiting.