Childhood Heroes {Sherlock Fanfiction}

Worried Watson is Sentimental Sherlock

Third Person POV
Baker Street

Thirteen hours have passed since Lillian has been reported to be taken away by a group and escaped in a brown van.

Thirteen hours since everyone in 221B Baker Street became terribly worried for what has happened for their short-term house mate and also the youngest in them.

Thirteen hours after John Watson offered help with Detective Inspector Lestrade to find her, bring her back home and tell her she's safe.

Thirteen hours since Sherlock Holmes turned to his homeless network for help and even a little bit of assistance, a tiny favour, from his dear brother.

They blamed Mycroft for upsetting Lillian and the reason why she ran away; but they also blamed themselves for keeping information from her that she ought to know. They should've spoken but they were afraid that Lillian might get angry and lashed out at them. Now their fear has come and it was extensively worse than they imagined.

John took heavy, slow steps on the stairs. A heavy heart he carried inside him, full of guilt and terror, while his mind was full of thoughts. With trembling hands, he opened the door to 221B.

Sherlock sat in front of many laptops, getting news from everyone from the smallest detail of a van to all the routes and stops it has taken. There was nothing and the only place stuck on the genius' mind was Peterborough from the last pinpointed location of the car they tracked before.

"So that's what you have been for the rest of the night? You sat there, just waiting for news?!" The voice of the ex-military doctor's voice grew louder as took steps to the man on the desk.

"How about you? Have you found any sign of them? Even a strand of hair? I don't think so," he retorted.

John stamped his feet in anger and curled his fists. He was trying to hold back, his tone showed it.

"I've been out there with Greg, going as far as Birmingham. I've been on foot, Sherlock, to trace Lillian, to get her back and to tell her everything will be alright. Twelve hours has passed, she could've been in another country by now."

"She's not," the black haired man remarked.

"Of course, she's not. You know that. You got Mycroft's security and agents looking for her. Do you got the Queen's guards on their own trail, too?"

Sherlock slowly gazed up to John, a serious expression on the detective's face. John was breathing heavily and his heart was pumping out of his chest.

"John," Sherlock started, "it is better not to blame yourself until this whole situation is done. It will only make you feel worse for her loss—"

"And you're not blaming yourself, hmm? You think Lillian is another client, a small unit for your job?"

Sherlock stood up. He turned on his heel and took four steps away from John.

"No. She is a big part of it and now, she's lost."

"You're talking as if she's a clue you've found in a crime scene. She has become more than our client, we let her live with us for God's sake!"

Sherlock turned his body to John, his eyebrows furrowed. "No, no, no. Lillian is only temporarily here for security and soon—"

"Under our protection!" The blond man finally lost grip of his temper. "We were supposed to be looking after her to keep her safe! She's in grave danger and we're the ones who then put her there! It was our responsibility, Sherlock! And we failed at it!"

John was now shaking from rage and digging his nails on his own palms. He took a deep breath before looking again at the tall man.

"Yes, I'm afraid." Sherlock gulped, lowering his sight to his feet.

John clicked his tongue before speaking again. "If we never get to her alive, I would never forgive myself."

His anxious tone caught Sherlock's attention. The consulting detective kept count of the times his blogger would feel overly sentimental. The amount were less than the number of his fingers but this moment of the soldier's vulnerability plunged a nail deeply into the high-functioning sociopath's heart.

The sight of John releasing his emotions was a switch in Sherlock's to display affection as well.

"We'll get her alive, John," spoke Sherlock softly, taking closer steps to John. "And she'll forgive you."

"You don't know that."

"I don't know everything actually."

John showed Sherlock a weak smile which the detective returned. They were standing less than a meter away to each other and personal space was never a thing for them, perhaps it is a tiny display of affinity.

Before a blush colored John's cheek from taking a hold of the sight in front of him, a notification arrived from one of Mycroft's men. Sherlock immediately checked on it and a message popped up.

> Found 60 miles away from Peterborough. Private village in Whitegate. Five men dead by the entrance gate. Another two found in a house with this CCTV footage.

A video was sent and the two immediately watched it.

First, it was just a view of the main entrance of a luxurious house. A bald black man came in, taking long strides until he was out of sight. All of sudden, he came back flying as if someone has kicked him hard.

Lillian came on view, which made John's breath hitched. She attacked the man with numerous strikes and kicks. With a fast whim, she hit the guy's head with a very solid kick.

Her back was towards the camera and there she took a gun. The final moments were nothing the two watching men expected.

Lillian cocked the gun and shot the guy in the head, not even hesitating for a second. She emptied the cartridge and threw the gun away. Before leaving the scene, she called on to someone out of view. The last three seconds of the footage showed her dog running after her.

The video stopped. The time read 2:33:16 AM.

John and Sherlock sat there silently, processing the scene they just witnessed. The latter was quick to come to conclusion -- Lillian is another assassin they invited to their place. She was an open book but he didn't read everything that was written.

John was having a hard time understanding that a fifteen-year-old girl has successfully taken down a man bigger and stronger than her.

"Was that really her?" He finally questioned.

"Do you want to zoom in?"

"No, no. It's that, er... I'm not actually believing that was her in blood soaked clothes and just put a bullet into a man's head like it was normal."

Sherlock tapped his finger on his wooden desk. "I agree. It gave a bit of confusion."

John placed his hand over his mouth and walked in away, still unconvinced. "She blew someone's bloody head off!"

"She has done worse than that according to the blood that covered her," Sherlock added.

"Oh my God." John covered his face with his hands, settling down on Sherlock's armchair.

Another message Sherlock has received and he read it as fast as lightning. "Whitegate, that's three hours away. Five hours has passed after that killing—"

"Killing..." John muttered.

"She got away with it, she escaped. But how? HOW could she take down five more armed men and only a soft-hearted dog by her side?"

"Maybe someone helped her?"

"No, no. It says here the man who arrived with her six hours ago before the killing is not seen with her when she left. That means there must be someone or something out of their plan that helped her," Sherlock explained.

"Who?" asked John.

"I don't know," Sherlock answered. He pressed his fingers against his lips and closed his eyes. "And I don't like not knowing."