Childhood Heroes {Sherlock Fanfiction}

The Guessing Game

Lillian's POV

I was contemplating whether to run again or stay here and just tackle down Wiggins.

"We're on a case and I'm just taking a break," I told him.

"What are you doing here, Lillian? We've been told that you should never be left alone."

"We?"

"The network, okay. I gotta warn Shezza." He moved for his phone but I instantly grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"No," I stated.

"Yes." He twisted his wrist to get out from my hand. I took his other one which he countered. He pulled out his phone. I strike his hand, making his phone fall off to the grass. We raced to his phone and my first move was to push him away. He blocks the push and grabs my wrist. I pushed him to release and made him trip. It was a long hand-combat until he got to his phone while I sat a few feet away.

"Wiggins, please don't," I begged.

"You better have a good reason why I shouldn't send your location to Sherlock."

"Look, I'm being chased, okay? And they were at Baker Street and I had to escape them. Sherlock and Dr. Watson know this and you don't have to let them know in case those bad guys got them," I lied. I have to make this lie believable.

Wiggins stared at me for a few seconds. At last, he puts his phone back into his trousers. I let out a sigh, standing up and brushing off the dirt in my trousers.

"I'm sorry about hitting you by the way," Wiggins told me.

"I'm sorry I made you drop your phone," I returned.

"That's nothing. It happens more than often." He smiled.

"So, uh... what now?" He asked.

"I have to keep a low profile for the rest of the day. They know I'm wandering around."

Wiggins nodded. He was about to speak again when my stomach rumbled.

"Come on, lunch is on me since there's now a bruise forming on your head."

"What?" I punched his arm.

"Ow. I said sorry already. Now let's go before someone recognizes you under those Clark Kent glasses."

"It works, for your information."

"Not for me. I recognized you a hundred yards away."

"Just shut up and buy me food."

"Alright, alright." He raises his hand in surrender. "You're gonna punch me again if I don't."

"Worse," I said. "I'll kill you now at this very moment and you'll be my lunch."

"Cream puff, that is horrifying—not really—and cannibalism."

"You know what, maybe I don't wanna eat you anymore. You're as thin as a stick. If I feed you to a lion who has three days left to be alive, he would die earlier because of you. Also look at that."

I grabbed his wrist and we stopped walking.

"I'm surprised it didn't broke when I hit you many times. Wiggins, you're a twig that snaps when an ant sets foot on—"

"Cream puff, stop," he cuts. "This is hunger taking over."

"Darn right it is, stick."

He chuckles and I just shake my head at him.

. . .

We ended up having lunch at this small diner called Pasta Toscani. He opens the door for me and the smell of spice and cheese enters my nose. We sat on a table beside a wall, quite far from the entrance.