Childhood Heroes {Sherlock Fanfiction}

Two Weeks Later

Lilian's POV

Two weeks later, I was still being questioned by Scotland Yard officers. I met two unpleasant officers, Donovan and Anderson. Thinking about them kills my brain cells already. They were not liking how I was answering the questions, says I was being a smart-arse and was probably a suspect rather than the victim. Now I feel like screaming whenever I'm in the same room as them.

Dr. Watson and Sherlock accompanies me to the station whenever I'm needed, and vice versa. Sherlock took cases from DI Lestrade and I enjoy solving with them, though I'm like the second voice in their heads.

I was requested to stay inside most of the time, only to go out when I'm with strong personnel or Sherlock and Dr. Watson.

Since they're mostly out, I stayed in 221B with Mrs. Hudson. She would continue on telling me stories and never get tired of them. Perhaps with all these stories she shared, I know more about her than Sherlock. But who knows, he can read people with just a glance.

I met a friend of Sherlock as well, who's not part of the homeless network. She's Molly Hooper. We met when Sherlock had to inspect some footprints in the lab. Obviously, the first thing I observed from her was she has a crush on Sherlock.

"Hi," I greeted.

"Hello," she shyly but friendly said.

"I'm Lillian, Mrs. Hudson's far grandchild."

"Molly, can you bring some Chemistry books, maps of Central London and Edinburgh, and wax." Sherlock interrupted. He went straight to the microscope, fixing its parts and preparing some other stuff.

"I'll help you." I volunteered.

She was also talkative, but having a shy and soft-spoken character. Her hands told me she's quite a busy person in the forensics lab, uses computers and writes in a quite amount of time. There's a hair tie on her wrist. Likes to keep her hair up.

"So you're staying with Mrs. Hudson in Baker Street?" She asks while we stack up the books and graphs.

"Yep, until my parents come back."

"Where you from?"

"My family never had a permanent residence, but recently, Camberwell. They dropped me after the school year was done."

And so we continued talking, even though I was losing more energy. Are girls really this talkative? Thinking how to start a conversation tires me already.

About the "Mrs. Hudson and I are related, but not really closely related" story, everyone now in Baker Street has to go with it to keep my identity safe.

There was no more notes or signs of presence of my stalkers or Dad's. It has been quiet and peaceful in 221B. Sherlock and Dr. Watson has their daily errands and I to stay, help around, get nosy on the experiments which caught me curiously.

At one point actually, I dropped a toe on a small cup of hydrogen peroxide with dermabrasion and placed it inside the fridge. It has been there for five days now. Maybe I should check it.

So I rose from the couch, closing the book I was reading and walked to the fridge. It smells a bit, that's the unseen reaction. I took a tongs and used it to grabbed the toe. The skin is barely holding on the flesh and it was squishy.

"Tell me you're not eating that."

I looked to my right. Standing there at the entrance is none other than Bill Wiggins. Oh yes, learned his name a couple days ago.

"Who says I am?" I asked, dropping the toe back into the cup and it made a small splash.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. He was holding papers on his hand, looking around the flat.

"Where's Sherlock?"

"On a case."

"I have his case." Wiggins held up the file.

"Then he's handling a different one. Would you like some tea?"

"No thanks. I'd rather stay alive."

I snorted. "Stay alive? That's boring. Live life more, Bill."

Wiggins let out laugh, sitting on Sherlock's chair, putting his foot on his other knee. That honestly caught me off guard but probably it's because he didn't suspected I'd know his real name so fast.

"He told you that, didn't he?"

"Told me what?" I put a hand on my hip.

"That my name is Bill."

"No, that's a very wild guess if you must know."

"Your feet tells me you're lying."

I let my guard fall and rolled my eyes at him. "I had to consult someone who knows about you better than anyone."

"And you thought it's the consulting detective?" Wiggins raised one of his eyebrows, a smirk in his face.

"He hired you for homeless network."

"Oh, we were street rats who had no future. Sherlock met us but that doesn't mean he met the real us."

I was about to speak another remark when the door of 221B slammed shut and hurried footsteps climbed the stairs. Wiggins hopped out the chair and stood in formal posture in front of Sherlock.

"Wiggins, ah! Now here's the real case dealbreaker." Sherlock announces. He takes the folder from Wiggins and reads it.

"Those are fifteen pieces I've collected, sir. The next batch could come in the next week, though we're not very sure about the sources."

I left the room, giving Wiggins another glare. When I came back, he was the one leaving. I shoved the jacket he let me borrow into his chest.

"So your name's not Bill?" I stated more than asked.

"Took you long enough." He scoffed.

"And what if you're lying?"

"My feet tells you I'm truth-ing." He sent me wink on his way to the door. He left and I was down again to zero guesses.