Locklyle One Shots

Sick

(Lucy POV)
I opened my eyes and regretted the action immediately.

The sun was shining brilliantly through my single bedroom window, casting an intense yellowy-gold tinge to everything. My eyes stung and I closed them, shutting out the majority of the light. A groan escaped me.

Finally, I forced myself out of my bed and stumbled over to the window. I snapped the curtains shut with such a ferocity, I was sure I tore one. The room darkened as the sun was blocked.

Better, I thought, crawling back under my covers.

The previous night had been a very stressful one. Lockwood & Co. had had to deal with a pair of particularly powerful Solitaries as well as a Raw-Bones, Stone Knocker, and a Wraith. We'd arrived at 35 Portland Row at 4:39 a.m. and I had stumbled my way up the stairs, clutching the banister as if it were the only thing holding me onto life. Then I'd flung myself onto my bed, depositing the skull-in-the-jar who knows where, and not even bothering changing into my pjs.

And now I'm on my bed, buried under the covers, with a throbbing headache. My stomach growled but I was too tired to move. A cold sweat broke across my body and I lay there, shivering, eyes screwed shut.

Finally, I fell asleep.

(Lockwood's POV)

I was in the library, reading one of my many gossip magazines and sipping at my tea. George sat across from me, gazing at his comic book. He was holding a powdered jelly donut.

Sighing, I set the magazine aside and looked at the clock on the stand. 11:30 a.m. It was late.

"George?"

"Mmm?" He turned a page in his comic book.

"When does Luce usually get up?" I asked.

"8:00-8:30. Why do you ask?" Another page flip.

"Well...." I thought for a moment. "I know we had a tough case last night. And we did get back awful late. But... do you think Luce is all right? She never sleeps in this late. Maybe we should go wake her. After all, she missed breakfast. And she never misses breakfast on Saturdays."

George shook his head, turned a page. "Let the poor girl have her rest. She'll come down when she's ready. Besides, last night wasn't the only rough night."

He was right, as always. All week had been rough. On Monday, we'd gone to the Thames to find Flo. We'd needed some information on a new case and she knew exactly what we needed. But, in return for the information, we'd had to help her deal with another ghost. This one had been getting too close for comfort to her spot under the bridge. We'd agreed, of course. Luce had spotted it first and took off after it. The rest of us had been a little slow and we weren't there in time for when the ghost rushed at her, startling her so she fell off her perch on a pile of rubbish. She'd fallen into the river (which was deathly cold) and had to swim back to us. When she'd come out, she was drenched and shivering.

The next night she'd almost gotten ghost touched when a third ghost (we'd only been expecting two) had jumped out of nowhere and snagged her backpack.

And the next night.... Well, you get the point.

I stayed in my chair for a few more minutes, staring at nothing. Then I jumped up and strode out of the room.

"Lockwood, why won't you leave her alone? She's tired!" George complained.

But I kept walking, ignoring him. I jumped up the stairs, three steps at a time. When I'd reached Lucy's bedroom door, I grabbed the doorknob and turned it softly, padding into her room as silently as I could.