Eccedentasiast (A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Eight

Her fingers shook as she sipped a glass of brandy, mind haunted by images of Olivia Greene and the smile on Sherlock's face as he spoke about her. MV jumped onto her lap, purring as she extended an arm to run her hands through his coat. Lucille's cracked lips formed a smile as she looked down at the cat. At least I have you and Lottie. She ran her fingers through her short, tangled hair, debating what to do. She couldn't stay here, letting him get closer and closer to her, not with the threat of Adrienne Mauvais looming over her head. But she couldn't leave. Sherlock was already suspicious, his face as they'd walked back from the library had said as much. Leaving in the middle of a case would prompt him to start digging into her carefully constructed life. A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. They knelt at her throne, unaware it was built upon lies. Lucy downed her glass, tilting her head back as the alcohol burned the back of her throat, the pain distracting her. She was trapped. She drank to forget. Trapped. A broken soul in a broken body. She felt her sensed dull as she submitted to the drunken haze. Ignorance, blissful ignorance.

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Lucy was woken by someone shaking her vigorously. She blinked blearily seeing a blurry vision of Sherlock Holmes. She stuck out her hand, tracing the contours of his face as he glared at her. "H-Holmes ?" She slurred her words, rising to her feet as the detective straightened his coat. "Get yourself sorted out. There's more murders for us to solve." Lucy pulled on her boots, drowsiness subsiding. "Murders, plural ?" A smile tugged at his face and his eyes gleamed in anticipation. "You'll see." He flashed her an enigmatic smile before running out of the door. Ten minutes later, the duo stepped out of the car. Lucy watched the flashing lights and the flurry of moment in morbid fascination. The crime scene was the same cafe that Lucy had been talking about the day before. She noticed the absence of the blond haired doctor and Sherlock's forlorn expression. "No John ?" His lips formed a thin line as he turned to her. "No. He's with his wife." She opened her mouth to prompt further discussion but the detective walked into the cafe, coat swishing around his ankles. Lucy walked inside. The scene inside nearly made her gag. People were slumped at their tables, coffee spilt, blood trickling from their noses. The blood, Adrienne resurfacing. It was inevitable. One glance that was all it took. Lucy ran outside, hands pressed to her chest. They were stained red, blood red. Droplets fell from her hands and beaded on her shoes. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 she took deep breaths, eyes shut tightly, desperately trying to keep old memories from resurfacing. She opened her eyes tentatively, daring a glance at her hands. Pale, white, clean. She loosed a breath before turning and walking into the cafe again. "Cyanide ?" Sherlock's head snapped up. He nodded before speaking. "Gas from the vents, our killer locked the doors and windows, they were trapped from the beginning."
"Where's our clue ?" The duo searched high and low but it was no use. There was no clue. Sherlock walked out of the cafe, eyebrows furrowed. "No clue. The killer deviated from the pattern. He killed 14 people and didn't leave a clue. Conclusion : We were close to discovering the next victim. Our killer killed all of the people in the cafe to throw us off the scent. We need to go over that list again." He rattled off his deductions, stepping into the cab. "I'll meet you there, I need some time to clear my head." He stared at Lucy's retreating figure in confusion. Lucille Fitzgerald. Walking Contradiction. Unsolvable Mystery.

AN : Third Person! Do you prefer this or first person ? Hope you enjoyed
~ MN