Childhood Heroes {Sherlock Fanfiction}

Questioning Everything

Third Person POV

"State your whole name, age, birthday, and address."

She licked her lips before answering. "My name is Lillian Cubert-Morris, yes that is the whole of my name. I am 15 years old, born on July 22, 1997. Living at 26 Brooksent Park, Highgate, London."

"Where were you at the very early hours of morning, from 2:30 to 3:15?"

"I was sleeping in my room until there was a sudden noise. Someone came in, picking the lock of the door."

"And what did you do?"

"I waited. They went upstairs, waiting for me to open my bedroom door, and I did eventually. My dog lunged at the person and someone pulled me away from the scene."

"Was it with company of the trespasser?"

"No, it was a friend of Sherlock Holmes." Lillian narrowed her eyes towards the one-way mirror. Sherlock and John were listening from the other side. The latter shifted where he stood when he met eyes with Lillian.

"What happened to the both of you?" Lestrade continued to question.

Lillian returned her gaze to the inspector. "We escaped the house, running through the streets. I stayed with them the whole morning and then here I am now, being questioned by Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard."

She made a quick scan of him back at the flat. At the car, she made her deductions from her observations. Now while he paced across the table in front of her, he was giving more information to her than her to the interrogation. 

"There's a coffee stain on your necktie, you were drinking it while talking to Sherlock on the phone. You tried to wipe it with a tissue but it already made a stain. You threw both coffee and tissue away, running to your car, Sherlock still on the phone—"

"By Jove, we have another one," Lestrade groaned, running a hand thought his tired face.

"—Upon entering your car, you hit your head, dropping the phone, probably cussing as well. You went to Baker Street in a hurry, the car's tires almost hit the pavement.

"As I walked into the flat, you had a blank reaction when you saw me. 'There's your missing link.' So you were talking about my case, and you were thinking it was a joke. Missing people that don't even exist? Very obvious it is made up."

"You're telling me it's not made up?"

"Of course, it's not. Sherlock would not take the case in the first place if it is," she answered in a-matter-of-fact tone. Lillian was not very fond of people not realizing the most obvious.

"Well I'm sorry to tell you, Lillian, but after your detailed narration and observation, we fo—"

"My address does not exist," she finished.

"Uhh, yes. How- how did you—"

"You should really keep your reactions to yourself next time. When I stated my name and address, you were confused while looking on the papers. Those papers show the results that that address does not exist, and no Cubert nor Morris is living there."

"That is not only what we found." He slid the folder to me. "The first floor is barren, no beds, no chairs, no any other furniture. We're waiting news for the second."

Lillian sat up straight, taken aback by this new discovery. "How did you find the house then?"

"Sherlock," he simply answered.

"But... I told you. I was sleeping there and my dog should be there. He died saving me. I heard him."

"Our team is investigating the place while we're talking. Now I want you to tell me more of your parents. Your neighbors said they never knew someone was living in your house."

"We've been living there for seven years now. It's impossible to say you don't see your neighbors everyday except you're blind, or you dislike them."

"Their work administration said they don't exist as well."

"I know," Lillian gritted through her teeth, anger building up inside her because of the constant reminder of her parents' non-existence. "I called them before you."

Lestrade put his hands on the table, finally meeting the gaze of Lillian. "Kid, if you're on drugs and playing games with the law enforcement—"

"I'm not!" Lillian slammed her curled fists on the table and her glare threw daggers on Lestrade. Both were not afraid of each other.

The inspector's phone started ringing which made him back up. He pulled out his phone and glanced up to Lillian. "I'll get back to you."

Lillian stayed standing until he left the interrogation room. Once he was out, she slumped back to her steel chair and let out a frustrated groan. Her hands grabbed a fistful of her hair, she closed her eyes as voices rang in her head.

        What in the world is happening? Why is this happening? How is this even possible? HOW?!

        It's like everything I know is only imaginary, never existed in the real life. Have I been hallucinating? Is this schizophrenia or something? All of these are only in my mind?! 

        What if someone's drugged me for 7 years, making me believe I always had a home and a family. Is that it? I'm a rodent for their experiment and entertainment.

        I never had a life because I was just being played. They should've just kidnapped me when I was a kid, tortured me, made me a slave. That would hurt less than this. Plus, they would save lots of money and energy.

        Me. Am I even real? Them. Sherlock, Dr. Watson, Lestrade, Wiggins. Are they real? Perhaps I'm in comatose and all the drugs I've been taking are causing me to make this characters. This time, it also caused a nightmare.

        A nightmare... a horrible dream that makes you feel alive from the fear, but also feel hopeless when fear overcomes you.

"Lillian?" The consoling warm voice of John Watson took Lillian out of her dark thoughts. He stood beside her, worried from all the things she has been going through.

"Yes Dr. Watson?"

"I'm sorry you had to go through this."  He was concerned of her well-being, this was too much for her too handle. It reminded him when Lillian was small and approached him for a talk.

        Dr. Watson — is he real or also a figment of imagination? - is the little spark of hope in this nightmare.

"It'll pass." Lillian waved off.

"You're right. You'll get through this. You'll find your way home again."

Lillian looked up to him and smiled. He was referencing to the time they walked back to the orphanage.

"With our help of course. You can count on us."

"Thank you."

He smiled back at her and pat her shoulder.

Sherlock suddenly opened the door, his phone in his hand. "John. They need us at the house."

"What about Lillian?" asked John.

"I told Lestrade to bring her back to Baker Street."

"Have they found anything?" Lillian inquired.

"Yes," answered Sherlock, "a dead body."