LXXVIII • 78

5.3K 187 91
                                    

Sherlock's POV:

"Cause of death was drowning, but the victim never stood a chance. Hemlock effectively paralyzed the body while the mind was still fully awake." The pathologist filled me in on all the details as he opened the cold chamber that held Bailey Parker. I'd seen so many dead people in my career, but somehow, this boy, ghostly white and stone cold, hit me harder than any other body I'd ever examined. He'd lived 11 of his 13 years in the children's home that he'd just been abducted from. He'd spent 11 years thinking he was safe, even though he'd had no family.
The pathologist was still talking, but I only had one thought running through my head.
Hemlock.
Every part of the plant was toxic, it would've been so easy to dry the leaves and mix it in with spices. The toxin in it had paralyzed the boy and he'd been dumped into the river, still alive but unable to move. This killer was entirely sadistic. They had enjoyed watching the helpless boy drown. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
"Thank you." I said, straining to keep my voice calm and even. I turned and left the morgue and rode in silence back to Baker Street.

Your POV:

You hadn't gone with Sherlock to the morgue that time. You didn't want to admit it to him, despite the fact that you knew he already knew, but this one had hit far too close to home for your comfort.
He looked impassive as he walked through the front door an hour after leaving, but you could tell he was hiding his own emotions.
You had left the door to your flat open and you were sprawled out on your bed, reading, Bowie next to you. The dog got up to greet Sherlock when he walked in and you saw him break into a smile. He wandered into your flat, following the setter, and stood awkwardly right inside the doorway, as though he wasn't sure he was welcome.
You didn't mind. You had countless times invited yourself into his flat upstairs.
"What's bugging you, Sherl?" You asked, looking up from your book. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed next to you.
"This guy..." He trailed off and you waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts. "He's completely sadistic. He found enjoyment in watching these kids drown. It just makes me sick."
You nodded sadly.
"I know. There are so many sick bastards out there." You paused. "But that's why London needs you." You'd scooted closer to him and now you poked his arm as playfully as you could manage under the circumstances.
He managed a smile.
"There it is." You teased, then kissed his cheek.
His smile lasted only a few seconds, then the sadness on his face returned. The spunk you had felt washed away, and you became serious once again. "Sherlock." You spoke his name as a statement, and he looked toward you.
"I know you want to be able to bring those kids back, but you can't, Sherlock. It's impractical- impossible." He looked miserable.
"But you know what you can do?"
He looked up at you, hope in his eyes.
"You can save those girls, Sherlock. You can still save them."
You saw his expression transform, his facial muscles tightening, his jaw clenched in resolve. "I will." He said. "I'll get to them."
"I believe in you. I believe in Sherlock Holmes." You said with a smile, loosely quoting the headline that had circulated through newspapers all over England when he'd revealed his return from the grave.
He finally gave a genuine smile, shaking his head.
After a moment, he looked at you earnestly. "Could you..." He trailed off. "Never mind."
"Could I what?" You asked.
"It's nothing. I know it's hard for you." "You want me to help?" You asked, gently.
He looked away, biting his lip.
"It's okay, Sherlock. I want to. I want to help save those girls."
He looked back at you, almost pleadingly, which startled you. Sherlock Holmes didn't beg.

Sherlock's POV:

"What do you think?" I asked. I had an idea, but I wanted reassurance.
"It was hemlock, right?" You asked. I nodded.
"Poison hemlock or water hemlock?"
"Poison."
"So they were paralyzed but not killed?"
"Right." I confirmed.
"Every part of the plant is poisonous. Leaves, fruit, seeds, roots.." You listed the anatomy of the offensive plant.
"So it could easily be mixed into any meal prepared for the children."
"That's what I was thinking, but it loses most of its poison when dried. It would either have to be eaten fresh, or eaten in a much higher quantity."
"Well it's pretty common around here, the murderer could get plenty of it."
"That's true.." I agreed, my mind wandering. "How would it get into the kid's meals? Could the murderer be part of the kitchen staff at the children's home?"
"That seems most likely."
I only had to look at you and you nodded, like you'd known I'd ask you to come along.
"Yes. I want to save them just as much as you do." You murmured, although it sounded like you had to struggle to get the words out.
I sighed heavily. "Thank you." I took your hand in my own. "I know it's hard, love. So thank you." I saw you clench your jaw, burying your emotions.
"(F/N)."
You turned to look at me, your eyes wet but refusing to spill over.
"Don't hide." I didn't need to say much, I knew you'd understand.
I saw your face twitch, you were trying so hard not to cry.

Your POV:

"I can't help it. I want to work on this, but I can't. You said, your voice breaking. "I can't keep this up. It was so much easier to just ignore my emotions. I can't do it anymore."
You swallowed hard.

Was this the right thing to do? Would it help anything? Would this help the girls at all?

You leaned forward and kissed his cheek for the second time, and despite the fact that it had only been a few minutes, the circumstances couldn't have been any more different. "Thank you for everything you've done, but I need a break, Sherlock."
His eyes widened and you saw the hurt and shock in them.
You wiped at a single tear that had escaped your eyes, then nodded toward the door. "Please... just leave."
He opened his mouth to protest, but changed his mind and got up slowly. He took his time getting to the door, then he looked back, the same hurt still on his face.
"Goodbye." You whispered, your voice breaking once again.

Organised Chaos - Sherlock x ReaderWhere stories live. Discover now