Clipped Wings

Chapter Seventeen

Sorry this has taken so long. I've been busy for the holidays. Hope your Christmas was Merry.

•Avalee•

It was long past lunch now. The peak of the overhead sun that struggled to show through the canopy of clouds reminded me once again of my unhealthy eating schedule of late.
The tray of biscuits had hardly dented my hunger and from the dissatisfied look on Sebastian's face, he hadn't eaten yet either.

"First Stop: Grocery store." I stated after the cold wind had given us a thorough pat down. "Then, you're gonna make those waffles you promised me."

"Way ahead of you." He stated as he slung his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in, wether to shield me from the wind or to give him the body warmth is unknown. "The suite's loaded with all your favourites."

"Dark chocolate pineapple?"

"Yup."

"Coffee?"

"Every kind."

"Grapes?"

"It'd be a sin to forget."

"Merlot?"

"You don't drink." He said blandly.

I laughed. "Ooh, you're good."

"The best, actually." He joked, wincing as a deep puddle soaked his shoes. "And I-uh,- stopped by the pharmacy, too-just in case you changed your mind."

My laughter stopped immediately. The howling wind nearly snatched the words from my mouth as I said, "I stand my ground." I sounded colder thar the rain running down my cheeks.

"Avalee..."

"Don't call me that!" I hissed. It was then that I decided that the wind was more preferable than him.

I saw him flinch more visibly than when the water had lapped at his heels as I shoved away from him. "...Renée." He corrected slowly. "I've tried to be nice about this, but you're being ridiculous. I don't even understand why you'd repetitively refuse life-saving medications! There's no downside to at least trying!"

"I stand my ground." I said back.

"But-"

"Sebastian Moran, I said that I stand my ground." I said with more sharpness than was currently residing in the scar tissue buildup in my side.

He looked pained, as if the wind had slapped him, then dropped his defensive stance. "We are forty minutes from the nearest safe house, on average. Twenty-five with me at the wheel."

"Attaboy." I said in what was supposed to be a teasing voice, but came off more sarcastic than anything. He opened the door for me and I slid onto the seat next to Sherlock Holmes, who was slumped against the door with his eyes bulging out of his head.

"16,782." He said fondly, after grazing me with a calculative stare. He didn't wait for me to ask what the seemingly random number meant before he answered. "That's how many raindrops are on Sebastian's jacket that you're wearing."

I chose not to ask why that was important for me to know.

"Aye, Seb!" I called, after giving the detective a wary look. "What time is it? I have a meeting tonight."

Sebastian slammed the door behind him and turned around in the driver's seat. "Come again?" He asked, sticking his pinkie in his ear as if to create clearer sound.

"What time is-OH GAW!" I tried to ask, but was rudely cut off as Sherlock threw himself at Sebastian full-force and grabbed him by his rain-soaked, pocketed t-shirt. There was a curious moment where they both stared at each other with intense hatred, neither refusing to break eye-contact, as an odd glint from Sebastian's pocket caught my attention. There was a circular bulge in his shirt that wasn't there before.

But my attention quickly went from curiosity to disbelief as Sherlock raised his splinted hand and swung to beat Sebastian with its metal edge. My hand moved before he made contact and I instinctively grabbed his broken hand and twisted it away from Sebastian. The result was different that my intentions, though. I noticed that once I had managed to wrangle Sherlock's much larger body off of our driver and back into his seat, that his splint had detached and become abandoned on the car floor.

Perhaps that was safer.

The delusional detective took one look at the splint, then back to me, then back out the window as he counted aloud the number of still raindrops. Sebastian gave the rambling lunatic a striking glare. "Why is he even here."

"Why would he not be."

"Ok. How about I reword that. Why are we all here."

My phone felt heavy in my pocket. I could almost hear the grotesque sound of Moriarty's shoes on wooden panels through its speakers, and see the mental image of his finger tips tracing her broken sides. The thought alone made me shiver and insist once again that we continue on towards our destination.

"Answer the question."

"It was a change of plans, it happens all the time."

"With Jim? Ha! Not when it comes to his little project." Sebastian laughed as he gestured towards Sherlock's huddled frame. It was surprising how small such a large man could curl himself up.

"Just get us to the safe house."

"I want to-"

"BLIMEY, MORAN. YOU'RE A NOSY BRAT SOMETIMES!" I finally let loose, causing Sherlock to jump so hard he hit his head against the window and ceased his loud counting long enough to groan in pain.

"Oh? You're going to start this now?!" He growled with a set jaw, covering Sherlock's mumbled cursing as he rubbed the top of his head.

"START WHAT? SLAPPING YOU WITH THE TRUTH?!"

"AVALEE HUGH YOU ARE THE MOST STUBBORN NARCISSIST I HAVE EVER COME INTO CONTACT WITH, DON'T YOU DARE CONDESCEND ME!" Moran roared back.

"NARCISSIST? LAST TIME I CHECKED, I LET YOU KNOW THAT I WASNT REALLY DEAD WHEN I FAKED MY DEATH! NOT UNLIKE TWO SELF-ABSORBED MEN THAT I'M STUPID ENOUGH TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH."

"STUPID? YOU LITERALLY SIGNED UP FOR THIS!"

"WHEN I WAS SEVENTEEN!"

"SO WAS I!"

The dazed look in Sherlock's eyes had long disappeared as he listened to our angered fit. His now free hand was turning in small circles, as if to work out the soreness.

Sebastian threw up his hands. "WHAT HAS BEEN YOUR DEAL LATELY?! YOU'VE BEEN UNBEARABLE!"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe DYING."

"WELL THERE'S A SOLUTION TO THAT."

"Oh really? Really?!" I said, clenching my teeth together so tight that I couldn't yell all the profanities I wanted to. My head hurt as I slowly spat out each letter to every thought-out word. "Tell me how that medicine, that simple drug, is going to save me. Tell me how it's going to remove the microscopic metal shavings that detached and became buried beneath my ribs. Tell me how it' going to remove all of the scaring that is so deep beneath the skin that its affecting organ function. Tell me how it's going to fix what the doctors and their scalpels couldn't. And after that, tell me how it's going to save me from it happening all over again."

Sebastian turned away before I could get to the last statement. He was so angry that the steering wheel was groaning beneath his fists and pinpricks of tears were in the corners of his eyes. The small drops rolled down his cheek and into his unshaven jaw, just like the long trails of rainwater that Sherlock counted feverishly.

The car started soon afterwards, skidding over puddles of rippling rain. I pretended not to notice Sebastian's shaking shoulders and the tears that dripped off his trimmed beard and onto his already soaked shirt.