Failing Upward

Chapter 14 (part 1): Self Preservation

My head ached, and my stomach lurched— the dinner conversation would never leave my brain. All the secrets, all the half truths. What kind of plan could we possibly come up with to keep everyone I cared about safe?

As the steam from the hot water condensed on the mirror, I slid down farther into the big old claw-foot tub.

I thought a long, hot bath seemed the best remedy to ease my tensions, but it didn't. I tried my best to get the worst-case scenarios steamed out of my head, but leaving Sherlock even for a moment made my fists clench and my stomach knot. If Sherlock couldn't come up with a plan soon, I'd have to give Moriarty what he wanted. Me.

He'd forgive me. He forgives me everything.

Soaking in water opened my pores to let in ideas and possibilities that wouldn't come. I plunged my head under and held my breath.

Time stopped and underwater all I saw behind my eyelids was red. Like his lips, like the roses, like my blood. Mine to derive the serum. My history. My line. The Community and people like Moriarty took it from immortals like me, harvesting us like some crop, and I was the new exotic strain. The door squeaked and I splashed out from under the water. Arms crossed in concern, Sherlock wiped the steamy mirror with the back of his hand, then sat down on the commode next to the old cast iron sink.

"You were thinking so hard that your thoughts were breaking windows in my Mind Palace," he said, raising an eyebrow. "That and I had to see you naked in this tub. Nice view."

He really should be arrested for the sinful way he purses his pouty heart-shaped lips.

"As much as you like believe you know how I think, I know you better," I said. "You need a plan that doesn't include yourself as bait."

"And yours doesn't need to include handing yourself over to Moriarty." He stood up and sat on the edge of the tub. "I have come to a few conclusions."

"You're trying to distract me, but that's good, because I love hearing your conclusions."

"Yes, I know you do," he said, grinning wide. "John, why would the power to heal be important to someone who could live forever?"

Obviously, mortal people would envy and distrust those who live forever. That was why immortals kept themselves secret. They weren't completely indestructible. Exposed as immortals, they were probably killed and hunted in the past— at least that's what I assumed from the comments made at dinner. People fear what they don't understand. What better way to gain the average man's trust than to be able to give some gift in return?

Cheating death. Yes, since my blood helped Moriarty cheat death, others would want the same and not a chosen few. Maybe that's what they wanted from me. A chance to come out in the open.

It would be the immortal's version of coming out of the closet. But they could get that from any immortal. Why me?

"I have unusual properties that they want. Moriarty implied he hated his flat existence."

"Yes, exactly. But why would someone desire to feel pain?"

"It has to get dull not feeling. But I can't say that's a bad trade off. What good is living forever if you've got to hide? This really sucks, but I can see how a healing touch would be a valuable bargaining chip."

"Moriarty and the Community aren't benevolent; they wouldn't bestow the gift on mankind."

"So, you don't think that's it."

"Right. We do know other powers come with it, such as second sight." Sherlock said, dipping his hand into the water and touching my inner thigh. "This is very distracting...you all flushed and wet and prone."