Jack Rabbit Heart - Sanemi/Uzui [4/4]
A usual for them; Uzui lording over his height, knowing how much of a sore spot it had been for him now that Genya had shot up. Sanemi rolled his shoulders, ready to snark at him, and begin their old song and dance.
Only, Uzui had to go and tip his head down and chase the taste of sweet wine on Sanemi’s tongue.
3 Times Uzui kisses Sanemi, and 1 Time Sanemi kisses Uzui.
AO3 | 1| 2| 3 | HERE
Sanemi had gone in circles. Doubling back, cutting across, looping and looping and winding up to the one answer he mentally kept skirting around: He liked Tengen.
He liked Tengen.
Enough to be soft and panicky deep inside. Enough to try to sear the phantom feel of his touch to memory; to wake up half delirious chasing words he could see forming in dreams but eluded his ears. Not enough, though, to actually man up and say anything.
Worse, he thought, was how Tengen didn't seem affected. He joked and smiled and laughed like nothing. Like kissing Sanemi wasn't anything important. Tengen was flirtatious by nature, but he was never one to settle down. Too quick to pin down, too flighty to know the touch of the earth under his heels. Sanemi more than once snapped his pen in half, peeved at the thought.
It was a foreign concept at times where his feelings had come from. So strange to wake up one day and suddenly have a head and heart full of someone he'd known for the better part of his life. He'd told himself he'd never thought of Tengen that way.
He scoured his memories trying to pick apart every detail, every touch, every feeling that might have laid there. He tried failingly to convince himself there wasn't anything to his feelings. No pennies at the bottom of a well, filling up so slowly, so surely that they'd come spilling out over the stone sides.
It had been so gradual, he hadn't even realized how far gone he'd become. He hadn't fallen from the beginning, that much he knew. He'd always had his eyes on Tengen but it was only in recent years, through recent fuck ups and victories that it had shifted.
The first time Tengen had turned his pretty wine-red gaze at him, the way his fingers swept his fringes from his face. The first time he'd said Sanemi's name wrong. The first time he'd said Sanemi's name right.
The hand that grabbed at the back of his shirt when he'd punched Akaza on Kyojuro's behalf. The wobbly curve of Tengen's mouth when his father had coldly laid dying in his bed, as proud and untouchable as he'd always been. Tengen coming to Genya's soccer game. Tengen and Kyojuro and Giyuu wishing his mother a happy Mother's Day. Tengen sleepily quizzing him, sitting with him, laughing with him.
Tengen's need to be curled so close, no space between them. Like he craved touch, latching onto it with greedy hands.
It wasn’t even that Sanemi was special for it. He was this way with all of them. Tengen was handsy. Always had been. Had grown up yearning for warmth in that big, frigid mansion of his. He'd always sat halfway into Kyojuro's lap most times when they were together. Despite how funny Giyuu could be, the same as Tengen really just different ends of the same ruler, Tengen brought out the greedy side in him. Giyuu might even lean against him some days, silently reading his trash novels.
Four dumbasses with a load of issues. If Sanemi could put it mildly.
So, no. Sanemi didn't want to say anything. Didn't want to be the fool that got the signals wrong. It wasn't Tengen's fault that he'd gone and caught feelings. Sanemi knew all that but damn was he an idiot.
Three days later, Giyuu had finally piped up. "Are you mad at Uzui?"
Sanemi snorted. "No more than usual."
"But you're upset."
Sanemi grumbled. Tengen rarely washed dishes, his clothes never fully stayed in their hamper, and his makeup was usually cluttering the bathroom counter. Nothing new, same old grievances.
"It's his turn to scrub the pots," He said lamely.
Giyuu dragged his gaze to him away from his laptop. It was flatter than usual. Sanemi didn’t think he was much of an expert in decoding Giyuu’s stoic faces but this one seemed close to exasperated. "You should tell him."
Sanemi nearly choked.
Giyuu raised a brow. His mouth quirked just a little to the side. "To wash the pots. He won't know if you don't say so."
"I shouldn't have to. He...knows."
Giyuu shrugged. "True, but Uzui can be a little air-headed, too."
Sanemi begrudgingly agreed.
Sanemi hadn’t known Uzui to be the quiet type. He could keep quiet if he needed to, but it wasn’t exactly in his nature. So it was odd that Uzui was so pensive now. He let Uzui be for the first week. He had figured he needed a moment to deal with himself; to deal with whatever was clearly distressing him. But by the second week, his makeup was starting to look horrible. He was taking far less pains to wing his liner and blend out his eyeshadow.
(Sanemi had gotten an entire lecture on makeup once against his will. That being said, he appreciated the hard work that could go into it. Uzui had perfected his craft. At least...on himself.)
Smudged concealer was giving way to darkened under eyes. From across the small table, Giyuu’s brows bunched together. It was bad, then, if Giyuu was so outwardly worried. Even Kyojuro wasn’t having luck riling Uzui up into a friendly competition. He just waved him off. Nail polish chipped, hair tied back, and disappeared into his room.
When week three rolled around, Sanemi had had enough. He gave one short knock before he was bursting into Uzui’s room. Uzui didn’t look surprised, but he also didn’t look like he’d had the energy for it.
All the things Sanemi had been storing inside of him to ask suddenly fell away. He looked at his friend laying listlessly on his bed, in a ratty old hoodie and dulled beyond recognition. Sanemi gripped the doorknob and set his eyes to the logo on Uzui’s hoodie.
“You hungry?” He said, instead.
Uzui dragged his eyes over to him, looking all the world like he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to answer or not. Sanemi beat him to it. He strode across the room and took Uzui by the upper arm and pulled.
“Up. We’re eating.”
He led Uzui out and pushed him into one of the chairs. He heard him slump back into it and set to cooking. No pot went unused. No meal short of perfection. Sanemi poured his all into the meal before he’d set it down in front of Uzui and then sat himself across from him.
He jutted his chin at it. “Eat.”
A beat, then a few more passed before Uzui did. He ate almost begrudgingly. Eat bite a little more harsh than necessary. Until halfway through one dish, he seemed to thaw. Little by little the rigid line in his shoulder gave way. Uzui unwound. He was halfway through the third when he stopped.
Uzui’s mouth took a harsh, straight line. “My father is dying.”
Sanemi made a noise. “How long?”
“Couple months now. Found out by accident.” Uzui laughed, low and bitter. “He wasn’t going to tell any of us. Proud fucking bastard. He was just going to wither away and leave us with some, i don’t know, note or something. About who gets what and who doesn’t and why we suck.”
“I’m sorry,” Sanemi said. He was.
For as much of a bastard as Uzui’s father was, Uzui still wanted to love him. He’d talked about knowing better, admitted it was probably, definitely a giant waste. He’d still wished he could. Still wanted to. Hoping that one day, even for a brief moment, the thing he saw in Sanemi’s mom, in Rengoku’s, in Giyuu’s sister, might reflect back.
Uzui shrugged. “Another month or so.”
Sanemi knew none of Uzui’s siblings would reach out. He hoped but realistically they both knew better. A feeling between a stomach ache and anger overcame him. Too angry to form words and queasy with the thought of how alone his friend must feel.
Sanemi didn’t miss a rat bastard hair on his father’s head. But he’d had his siblings and his mother. When he got too close to wishing for a different outcome, he would turn to them.
Sanemi shoved the half-finished plate back towards Uzui, startling him.
“We’re going to go see your old man,” He said with finality. “Finish that, clean up. And we’ll. Pick a day.”
Uzui sputtered. He tried to push the plate back, only to be met with Sanemi’s glare. He glared back, then reached his chopsticks out with a grimace.
“We’re just going to show up to my shitty old man’s place? Just show up and act like he’s not going to be the biggest bastard in the world?”
“You know he is. You know he will be. But it’s not about him. It’s about you.” Sanemi stole a piece from Uzui’s plate. He slid piece after piece out of his chopsticks’ grip, watching in his periphery as a flush of life returned to his cheeks. “Even if he doesn’t care, say what you need to. Say goodbye.”
Sanemi had seen Uzui’s father exactly three times in their whole time of knowing each other. He stood so tall, all but his eyes seemed to pierce over the frosty summit of his shoulders. Here and now, it was odd to see him at eye level. He held himself the same. It didn’t matter how far he’d come plummeting, the frigid air about him remained the same, as if he’d never left the sky he’d pierced.
He looked at Uzui like one might look at a fly. An invasive little creature, full of noise and annoyance. He said nothing. He looked at his son. He looked beyond him, maybe, and said nothing.
“...Well, old man,” Uzui said, an almost imperceptible tremble in his voice. “I’ll -- see you later.”
His father seemed to scoff, though his mouth remained closed. He rolled his eyes and looked to the bleak white wall to the side.
Sanemi took Tengen by the ends of his sleeve and pulled him towards him. He pulled until they were out of the room and the mansion, and the property. The frost falling away from their shoulders and into the falling sunset.
Sanemi walked close to Tengen, letting their bodies bump together as they made their way home.
“...Thanks.” Tengen said.
“Don’t sweat it.”
Tengen bumped into him, leaning a little too much of his weight on him and smiled. Sanemi smiled back.
Kyojuro spilled sake all over Tengen’s lap. It splashed across onto Giyuu who knocked into Sanemi. They sat flush and stupid together on the living room floor. Drinking and howling and laughing together. At all sides there was someone pressing against Tengen.
Sanemi could remember the way Tengen had thrown back his head, laughing with his whole body. He leaned back against the couch, just out of harm's way of Giyuu reaching for Kyojuro who only laughed in response. Their eyes met, a little hazy and unfocused. Tengen’s eyes were red-rimmed but bright. He smiled wider than the drunken flush across his cheeks. He tilted his head, long white hair falling over his shoulder. He looked at Sanemi and his eyes crinkled. The smile got smaller, but no less genuine. Serene and true and wholly so pretty. He raised his mostly empty sake cup to Sanemi who raised it back.
Maybe it had been then. Maybe it had been every single before. Now it was everything after.
Kyojuro was humming, chopsticks paused in his mouth. He began eating again. Sanemi squinted at him from over his (Giyuu’s) book. He hummed again a few minutes later. Sanemi frowned.
“Thinking hard, Kyo?”
Kyojuro shrugged. “Thinking about how telephones make communicating easier but messages still manage to get lost.”
Sanemi squinted harder. “What the hell does that mean.”
Sanemi had thought him strange when they had first met. He’d been yelling delicious! behind the school during lunch when Sanemi had gone looking for somewhere quiet to eat. To his surprise, a kid who looked so well-liked and boisterous, seemed so content to be away from the noise. He couldn’t shut up for the life of him, but his company was far more enjoyable than Sanemi could realize.
He made Uzui seem grounded in the way his head sometimes seemed to orbit the Earth. He smiled more than he felt, tripped more than he should have, and kept himself inline better than most. He could stupid well, but never more than he could right himself from. It came with a level of self awareness Sanemi had come to admire. Kyojuro wore his heart on his sleeve, but he knew every curve and angle of it.
Kyojuro grinned at him. “I think,” He paused to put some more food in his mouth. “You two are idiots.”
Sanemi made an affronted noise.
Kyojuro stood and checked his phone. He grinned before going to dump his plate in the kitchen. “Tomioka and I will be out for a while.”
They were out together a lot lately, Sanemi noticed. He watched Kyojuro pull on his shoes at the door. His friend motioned his head to Uzui’s room.
“All this looking down and away isn’t helping. Even if you sound dumb, there’s no use waiting around trying to pull an answer you dont have out of half-things. You might as well go for it.” Kyojuro grinned and flashed him a thumbs-up. ““I believe in you, though. Both of you. To figure it out.”
“So, you into Tomioka or something?”
Tengen looked up from his phone. “No more than usual. Why?”
Sanemi rolled his eyes. “You kissed him like it meant something.”
Tengen raised a brow. He slid his leg off from over his other one and planted it flat to the ground. “Just a friendly smooch. Jealous?”
Sanemi bared his teeth, gritting out a, “No”.
“Good. There’s nothing to be jealous about. If I kiss Giyuu or Kyo that’s my business. I can hug and kiss who I want.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Sanemi said, defensively.
“Sure sounds like it.” Tengen twisted his mouth in an ugly frown. “What’s a little affection between friends?”
“You kiss them like you kiss me?”
Tengen looked away then, suddenly chastened. In a tiny voice he said, “No.”
“No? Whaddya mean no?”
“How it sounds, dumbass. I don’t kiss them like you. We’re just friends. You kiss your siblings all the time, why can’t I kiss them?”
“It’s different! That’s my family! Kyo and Giyuu aren’t your - Fuck.” Sanemi stopped. “Ten…”
Tengen laced his fingers together, opening them up like a book to peer at. His eyes tracked along the lines of his palms, gathering his thoughts along each curve.
“I told you that time how much I envied you, didn’t I, Sanemi? How much I wished I could be greeted the way you were when you came home. Like they couldn’t get enough of you even if they’d just seen you the day before.”
Tengen rubbed one thumb over the other. He kept his eyes resolutely down, too afraid to look up at where Sanemi’s eyes settled across him. He was keenly aware of what expression he might face, what was written across the other man’s face. Tengen set his jaw crooked, sick with his envy, with the chasm he’d cracked open with his words.
“It was a joke at first. I’d kissed Kyo when he got mad about the car. He’d waved it off and told me that it was fine. When Giyuu was making dinner that one time, I’d leaned all over him and he hadn’t even seemed bothered. I’d seen your siblings do it a thousand times with you, with Genya. The same with Senjuro, or the Kamados and Giyuu.”
“I couldn’t really stop after that and they didn’t feel weird about it so I kept going.” He looked up at Sanemi. “It was you I was…”
Sanemi grimaced. Afraid? Had Tengen been afraid? Tengen was rarely ever so vulnerable. Even if he might have been intimidated, he’d forged forward despite all that. Sanemi’s eyes widened a bit in realization.
The stupid part of Sanemi’s brain spoke first.
“Since when are you such chicken shit?”
Tengen’s eyes flashed, shoulders drawn up to his ears but looking like he wanted to dive right at him.
“You wanted all that with me? Maybe I wanted that too,” Sanemi groused. Tengen pointed a harsh, disbelieving finger.
“I didn’t think you felt the same, stupid! I went and made it all weird when I caved and kissed you that one time, what was I supposed to do?”
“Say something, asshole! Anything. I had no idea what you were thinking. I thought you were just messing around!”
“I had know idea what you were thinking, either! You looked so weirded out by it, I thought I’d ruined everything.”
“Asshole, that’s what I thought!”
“I’ve been wanting to hold your stupid hand and kiss your stupid face for years!”
“Turns out I did, too, asshole!”
A beat passed. Sanemi grew fed up and strode across the room towards Tengen. They stared at each other a while, not moving, not crossing the tiny invisible barrier keeping them apart. Sanemi’s hand shot out, faster than even Tengen could track.
“You fucker,” Sanemi said. He hooked a finger into Tengen’s choker and yanked him down. He stood firm when he collided into him, and kissed him with all the frustration and want he’d been piling up for gods knew how long.
He kissed harshly and wild, a windstorm, a stake, and dared Tengen to push back. Tengen hesitated, just a second, before he was settling a hand to Sanemi’s shoulder. He slid it over the curve of his neck, long fingers pressed into the pulse point. Then it traveled along the wide expanse of his back and pulled them flushed together.
When Sanemi finally had to come up for air, he did it with reluctance. For once, Tengen had nothing to say. He looked at Sanemi like all the words he could say too jumbled up inside of him to come out making sense. Snaemi snorted, and allowed himself to smile shyly.
“We’re idiots,” Tengen settled on.
“Big, fucking idiots.”
“I’m in love with your stupid ass.”
Sanemi knocked his forehead lightly against Tengen’s chin. He placed a kiss just under it. “Me, too.”
Tengen shuffled uneasily from foot to foot. “Are you going to make me stop being affectionate with Kyo and Giyuu?”
Sanemi shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t do that to you. Just make sure I get first, though. I refuse to lose to Tomioka.”
Tengen lightly punched him in the arm. He fell over against Sanemi, arms lazily looped around his shoulders and pressed his nose into the side of his neck.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
Giyuu blanched on his way out of the kitchen. "Can you two not makeout on the dining table? We eat there."
AN: a long ride but here we are at the end.
i started it thinking "lol ill just make an uzusane fic for fun" and ended up going, "what if i explored a bit of that fine line between friends and romantic partners because i also have a bit of a messy head distinguishing the two at times. how do you know which is which sometimes."
don't think its that well executed but its been a lot more fun to write than i anticipated.
biggest of all thanks to @cldreality as always for being a great person to bounce ideas off of and understanding my mishmash of thoughts.
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More Human Than Meets the Eye-A Study in Pink, part 3-chapter 4
Freakin tumblr deleted my shit and I had to start this chapter all over!!!! Booooooooooooo
Yall be glad I love yall!! Enjoy the next chapterrrrrr
Previously: Without missing a beat, Sherlock stated, quite nonchalantly, "And I said 'dangerous,' and here you are." Sherlock turned and walked out the door. John sat there thoughtfully for several seconds, then angrily grabbed his cane, following his new flatmate out the door.
knock knock knock
Adaline woke up as soon as she heard what sounded like someone knocking on the front door. She scrunched her eyes tightly together, cursing being a light sleeper, and tried desperately to drift back off into dreamland. When the noise didn't occur again after about a minute, she rolled over, snuggling deeper into her covers, sighing in contentment when she finally found another comfy spot.
knock knock knock
Eyelids flew open.
Groaning and grumbling, the seven year old quite literally rolled herself out of her father's bed, hitting the floor with a dull thump. Eyes still halfway closed, she picked herself off the floor and began walking towards the front door. Still suffering from sleep disorientation, as she walked out of the bedroom, she didn't turn her body quite far enough to make it completely out the door, and she whined when she felt her left little toe hit the corner of the bedroom door frame.
Eyes watering, toe throbbing, she slowly hopped her way into the living room.The girl walked into the living room, flipping on one of the lamps that her father or Mr. John must've turned off when they left. She had almost made it to the front door when suddenly, it was slammed wide open.
Frozen in shock, she listened as Mrs. Hudson made a sharp cry of indignation."You can't go in there you brutes!" she cried fiercely. Adaline watched, eyes wide, as Inspector Lestrade strode into her and her father's living space, followed by several other police officers. "Just search everywhere," Lestrade instructed his crew. "There's no telling where anything might be."
"Uncle Greg?"Lestrade looked over when he heard what had to be his adopted niece's voice, softly call out to him. "Ada?" he frowned, looking the girl over. She was still in her night clothes, which consisted of an adorable set of purple pajamas with kittens all over them. Her curly blonde locks were in a disarrayed mess on her head, and she rubbed her eyes several times. It became very obvious to the detective then that she had just woken up, and he felt a stab of dismay and guilt run through him when he realized that he and his team had probably just frightened the little girl, bursting into the flat like they had. "Where's your father?" he questioned, looking around the flat.
"He's not here! I was watching her while he and John went out." Mrs. Hudson answered, standing at the door. She constantly shook her head and tutted in disapproval at the madness in front of her. "And he would not appreciate you breaking into his flat like this, especially while his daughter was here. Alone," she ended, huffing indignantly.
Lestrade paused at her ending statement, actually beginning to look a bit nervous."What's going on?" Adaline asked. She watched as several officers went into the kitchen and starting opening and closing the drawers.
"It's a…" Lestrade began, not knowing quite what to tell the child.
Adaline simply raised an eyebrow at her 'uncle,' and the Inspector, remembering who's child he was talking to, decided to finish his statement.
"Be a good baby freak," Adaline heard a voice say to her left. "..and keep out of the way," Anderson taunted at her. She had to swerve sharply to the right to avoid being sideswiped by the awful man, who was making it his new goal in life to dump out as many drawers as possible. "We don't want the little girl contaminating any evidence."
"Anderson!" Lestrade barked, not pleased with the words being spoken, or the tone of voice. He was still "Uncle Greg" and no matter whose daughter she was, she was still only a little girl. He wouldn't tolerate a grown man name calling a child. Besides, if Sherlock had heard him…
Right on cue, a loud bang was heard as the front door slammed shut. Adaline heard Mrs. Hudson ask Sherlock what he had done, Sherlock responding in a confused manner. The blonde haired girl heard hurried footsteps climbing up the stairs, and then her father was striding through the door, army doctor close behind. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, eyes searching the room almost frantically.
"I'm here," Adaline called out to him. Sherlock's eyes snapped to hers. The man took three long strides, and then he was standing in front of his daughter. He kneeled down to her level, something he did a lot, and grasped her arms. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking into her eyes and studying her facial expressions. He would know instantly if she were lying.
"I'm fine," she reassured him, hugging him back when he pulled her into him. She pulled away and crossed her arms grumpily. "They woke me up though."
Sherlock smiled for half a second, knowing that she was in fact properly upset at being woken up. His daughter enjoyed her sleep as much as she enjoyed her ice cream. The smile was gone off of his face though when she hugged him a second time, grasping on to him a little too tightly. They had scared her. His eyes hardened just slightly, and he called out calmly to his flat mate."John."
John had been watching as his new living space got violated, scowling when one of the officers dumped out another kitchen drawer. What the hell was happening? He heard a familiar voice call his name, and looked to his right. Sherlock was hugging Adaline who looked to be grasping on to her father's shoulders very tightly. Her green eyes were wide and clearly unsettled at the current events. Quickly realizing what was being requested of him, he went over to the pair, standing behind Adaline and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Adaline unconsciously leaned back into John, and Sherlock stood up, satisfied that his daughter was now taken care of. He turned away from John and Adaline, looking towards Lestrade and his crew. "I don't like repeating myself," he addressed them all, baritone voice ringing throughout the room. "What is happening here?"
"Don't worry, Sherlock," Lestrade spoke. "We didn't interrogate Ada. We knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." "You're correct, Inspector," Sherlock agreed. "You're not stupid."
Lestrade was surprised for a moment at his words, however he scowled when Sherlock continued."You've passed far beyond stupid. You're a complete imbecile if you think you and your lot can break into my flat like this." "You can't withhold evidence," Lestrade argued. "And we didn't break in." "Oh?" Sherlock countered, voice hard. "So you and your men didn't burst into my living room unannounced?"
"I don't believe my daughter knew you were coming over judging by the fear in her eyes."Lestrade had the smarts to look guilty at that last statement. "We didn't know she'd be here alone," he said, glancing over at Adaline apologetically. "What do you call this then?" Sherlock continued.
"It's a drugs bust."
John, who had decided to be silent up to this point and focus on comforting Adaline, now spoke up. "Seriously?" he snorted. "This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?""John," Sherlock said quietly, trying to stop the man. Adaline started fidgeting within John's arms. "I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day," he continued unknowingly, "and you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."
"Mr. John," Adaline said pleadingly.
John looked down, frowning at her tone of voice. He studied the uncomfortable child, and then his eyes slowly traveled to his flat mate. The two held gazes for a long moment as a brief silence fell over the flat.Adaline began fidgeting even more, not being able to handle the tension that had built up in the room. She was somewhat thankful when John's quiet, unbelieving voice finally broke through the silence."No."
"What?" Sherlock questioned nervously."You?" John said, completely surprised. "Shut up!" Sherlock countered angrily, turning back to Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog."
"No," Lestrade shook his head. "Anderson's my sniffer dog."
"What? An…" Sherlock started.
Lestrade nodded towards the kitchen where about four officers were scouring around. Anderson turned around at the mention of his name. He waved sarcastically at Sherlock.Adaline watched the exchange wearily. She felt eyes on her then, and looked up to find her father looking at her closely. Too closely. He was searching for something….
She quickly looked down when his gaze became too much. Sherlock, having received his answer, let out a growl. "Anderson," he snarled, and John noted to himself that he spoke the man's name like it was a curse. "What are you doing here on a drugs bust?"
"Oh I volunteered," Anderson sneered, venom dripping. Adaline glared fiercely at the man, wishing she was tall enough to punch him in the face. "They all did," Lestrade threw in. "They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Adaline scoffed at that and Sherlock bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.
Donovan came into the room then. She was holding a glass jar with white, round objects swimming inside. "Are these human eyes?" she cried, holding the jar up. "Put those back!" Sherlock demanded. "They were in the microwave!" the woman said, disgusted. "It's for an experiment you twit!" Adaline shouted, very upset now at the way they were treating and regarding her father.
John held her tighter when he heard the distress in her voice, shushing her softly. Sherlock threw her a glance telling her to calm down and she huffed, her body going lax against John's.When Sherlock was sure that his daughter wasn't going to spew out any words or phrases that a little girl certainly shouldn't be saying, he looked to Lestrade and spat out, "This is childish!"
"Well, I'm dealing with a child," the Inspector retorted. "Sherlock this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?" The detective stopped where he had been wearing the floor away with his angry pacing and glared at the grey haired man in front of him. "Oh, what, so..so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"
"It stops being pretend if we find anything," Lestrade stated quietly.Adaline was watching the interaction very cautiously, her teeth continuing to bite away at her lower lip. "I am clean!" Sherlock loudly proclaimed. "Is your flat? All of it?"
"I don't even smoke." Sherlock unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirt, rolling up his sleeve to show off the nicotine patch on his lower arm."Neither do I." Lestrade rolls up the right sleeve of his own jacket, showing a similar patch to the curly haired man. Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning away, and both men proceeded to fix their clothing. "So let's work together," Lestrade offered. "We found Rachel."
"Who is she?"
"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."
Adaline shifted away from John a little, and he looked at her questioningly. She smiled at him reassuringly and shuffled over to her father's chair. The child snuggled down into the seat, receiving a small amount of comfort from the familiar smell. "You need to bring Rachel in," her father proclaimed. "You need to question her. I want to question her."
"She's dead," Lestrade informed.
John and the others looked over at the man, shocked. Adaline just sighed, exasperated, very accustomed to her father's ways. "How, when, and why?" he continued, unperturbed. "There has to be some sort of connection."
"Well, I doubt it," Greg said, "since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." John grimaced at this information and turned away. When Sherlock heard the words however, he was confused."No, that's…that's not right. How…why would she do that. Why?"
"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?" Anderson questioned, upper lip going up. "Yup, sociopath; I'm seeing it now." Without even looking towards the dim witted man, Sherlock threw a sharp glance to his daughter, who had at this point, had enough of Anderson's comments. When she met her father's gaze, which basically said, If you get up you'll regret it, she huffed loudly and slammed back into the seat.
Sherlock rolled his eyes at his daughter's antics, and turned back towards the crew. "She didn't think about her daughter," a voice said, and Sherlock swung back around to look towards Adaline again. Her eyes were wide and caught off guard to see everyone suddenly looking at her, and she looked as though she had even surprised herself by speaking up.
Adaline blushed a bright red at all of the eyes that swiveled towards her, and she was seconds away from burying her head in a hole when she spotted her father giving her an encouraging nod. She gulped and forced herself to straighten, trying with all her might to look much more confident than she felt. When she spoke, she was proud to say that her voice didn't waver...that much. "She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying and probably didn't have a lot of strength left. That takes a lot of effort to do something like that. And it would've hurt."
Sherlock wasn't ashamed at all to say that when his daughter finished her explanation, a giant, proud smile stretched across his face. He couldn't have stopped it if he tried. Adaline immediately ducked her head when she was finished speaking, as though all of the courage had suddenly drained out of her.
"The victims all took the poison themselves," John spoke up, feeling sorry for the girl. "You said he makes them take it. Well maybe he…I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow."
Sherlock turned to look at him, genuinely puzzled. "Yeah, but that was ages ago? Why would she still be upset?" John stared at Sherlock for what seemed like the fifteenth time that day in utter disbelief. The detective realized that the whole flat had gone silent, and looked back awkwardly at John. "Not good?"
John glanced around at the others, his gaze stopping on Adaline who was shaking her head at her father hopelessly. "Bit not good, yeah," he confirmed.
Sherlock quickly shook off the incident and stepped closer to John, looking at him intently. "But if you were dying, if you'd been murdered, in you very last seconds, what would you say?"
"Please God, let me live."
Adaline sucked in a sharp breath when John said this, her eyes becoming very sad for the kind man she was growing to like very much. It was obvious from his tone and the way his body slumped a bit that he'd had firsthand experience with that situation. Sherlock, thankfully, seemed to realize that he needn't continue on with that specific line of questioning, and hurriedly continued."Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever…" his voice trailed away.
"Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers; she was clever. She's trying to tell us something."
Just then, Mrs. Hudson walked into the room. "Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock."
aaaaaand that’s the chapter. written twice by the way, if you didn’t hear that already at the top. I hope you enjoyed! till next time!
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