How They Met Alice (BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 65

(Alice’s POV: )

 In a small room full of cages, Doctor Stapleton was examining a fluffy white rabbit on a metal table, which I could only guess was Bluebell. She looked up as Sherlock and I came through the door, followed by John.

 “Oh. Back again? What’s on your mind this time?” She asked dryly.

 “Murder, Doctor Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder.” Sherlock accused. He nudged me and I reached to the back and turned off the light switch by the door. The limited lighting coming from the window at the end of the room was just enough to show that the rabbit was brightly glowing green. I turned the lights back on again.

 “Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or shall I?” I asked smartly. Sherlock smiled unpleasantly at her, while I did the same but a bit smugger. She sighed.

 “Okay. What do you want?” She asked tiredly.

 “Can I borrow your microscope?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

 LATER

 In a larger lab, Sherlock was gazing into a microscope, me in a folding chair next to him. My arms folded across my chest and my head dipping, as I was tired. I hadn’t been getting much sleep. Unfortunately, Sherlock decided to comment.

                “Do you want to go to the hotel room and sleep?” He asked flatly.

 “No, I’m fine. Thank you.” I answered, trying to not sound cranky. He didn’t seem to believe it.

 “You got two point three hours of sleep last night. That is not enough to properly function.” He said knowingly.

 “You seem to manage.” I snapped.

 “My point is made.”

 “Shut up.”

                “You should sleep.”

 “Shut up.” He smirked and turned back to the microscope.

 LATER AGAIN

 Unhappy with what he was seeing, Sherlock turned away from the ’scope and crushed crystalline into smaller pieces with a little hammer. Time passed and he varied between sitting with his back to the microscope, his hands folded in the prayer position in front of him as he thought, or gazing into the ’scope, or scribbling chemical formulae onto the desk with different coloured marker pens. I was in the same position as before, dozing off often but trying to stay awake to prove my point. Nearby, John sat on a stool with his head propped on his hand, gazing blankly into space. Doctor Stapleton was standing near him.

 “Are you sure you’re okay?” Stapleton asked. I looked up and at her, unsure of who she was talking to. John did the same. “You look very peaky.” She said. Finding out that she was talking to John, I rested my head back on my chest and tried to keep my eyes open.

 “No, I’m all right.” John replied tiredly.

 “It was the GFP gene from a jellyfish, in case you’re interested.” She continued. So that was how she did it. I thought it was a firefly.

 ”What?” John asked, completely oblivious of the subject.

 ”In the rabbits.” She clarified.

 “Mmm, right, yes.” John replied, only to be polite.

 “Aequoria Victoria, if you really want to know.” She added proudly.

 “Why?” our doctor asked. I heard the fabric he was wearing rustle, indicating that he moved his head.

 “Why not? We don’t ask questions like that here. It isn’t done.” Stapleton dismissed. Sherlock looked increasingly irritated as he picked up another slide and put it under the microscope. “There was a mix-up, anyway. My daughter ended up with one of the lab specimens, so poor Bluebell had to go.”