Failing Upward

Chapter 30 (part 1): Going Up

Uncle Greg's car was parked in the back. I was surprised but thankful to see my uncle beat us home so we wouldn't have to face Glenda's wrath alone.

She stood on the porch, waiting. Sherlock and I sat in the car as it idled for a few minutes in the driveway. He grimaced, then reached over for my hand, and I leaned into him as he turned off the car. The towel he was using to stop the bleeding was soaked in blood, and I pulled it away to get a better look at his wound. The cut on his forehead was deep and gaping. His eyelids fluttered as my fingertips lightly traced the wound.

"Better?" I asked. Sherlock bit his lip and nodded, then he looked into the rearview mirror, lightly touching his forehead, wiping away more of the the blood with the end of the towel. His own finger traced the clean scar where the gash once was. He looked at me confused.

"How?"

"I don't know, I just do it," I answered.

"Brilliant! You didn't tell me you could heal people. Just think of the money you could rake in as a televangelist."

"Well, it's not something that I want to become common knowledge. It's one of those abilities the Community and Moriarty covet. I wouldn't normally do it, but I don't think you're going to get to a doctor any time soon."

He squeezed my hand and then feigned a cough. "Can you get rid of a cold?"

I blushed, thinking about touching his chest and mouth. I laughed, then looked toward the porch.

"Well, not today," I said, nodding to Glenda. "I guess we should get out and get this over with."

We walked up to the house like two inmates on death row. Her fixed stare burned through us. I held her eyes right back. She scowled at Sherlock's forehead as we climbed the front steps. It seemed to me she should act more concerned than pissed off. We were both covered in blood, after all! I looked into her face, her lips and brow an unforgiving line. I knew she'd witnessed everything in the car, which was the point of my little exhibition when I healed him. It would save time if she knew what Sherlock meant to me, that he knew what I was, what we are. Besides, he had needed attention. He was in pain. As I brushed past her, my hand intentionally came in contact with hers, hoping to get some insight into what she was thinking, and maybe pass on a bit of what I was thinking to her. Most times my powers came and went like so much wind, but this time they worked like 2000 volts; I saw into her. She knew. And she didn't like what she saw.

Well fuck, this wasn't going to be pleasant.

As I walked into the house, something else was off. Some animals sense impending doom and escape natural disasters. I've experienced some of those intuitions myself. As I listened to the old grandfather clock tick-tocking, the universe felt out of sync. My right hand balled into a fist, and my finger tingled where I'd touched her hand. Unsure and afraid of what to say, I wasn't at all positive she wasn't a threat to Sherlock.

As she followed us into the living room, I got that familiar ache behind my eyes. Finding out that I wasn't the "John" she thought I was didn't make her too happy. She had already figured a piece of the puzzle out at breakfast this morning. Those pancakes were made with love for someone else named John, not me. She was afraid of Moriarty, but it was Sherlock who she feared most. It wasn't going to be easy convincing her that Sherlock could be trusted without becoming one of them. She hated the idea of bringing a mortal, no matter how noble, into their inner circle.

My uncle in the living room gave me some hope. He might be on our side, but he sat cross legged on the old couch, his rumpled gray suit coat strewn over the arm of the sofa. He faced us, watching me carefully.

Taking a deep breath, I lead Sherlock by the hand to the piano bench, intentionally divorcing us from them. The legs of the bench scraped hollowly against the hardwood floor. We both sat on the hard and unforgiving bench. Sherlock planted his hands on his thighs. I shoved mine between my legs. He looked to me for a sign. Some help I was! I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed his hand.