Rachel

I've been running all my life. Away from the horrid memories of the sacrifices my mother made to protect me, and to protect my name from this evil world we live in...
But everything's changed...
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I've recently found out my mother was murdered by a psychopath; choosing the wrong pill in a game of chance that would give away her secret. That gave away my name.
That cost her her life...
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I heard a man named Sherlock Holmes had solved my mother's case along with others who had fallen of the same fate. I must find him so I can warn him: for he does not know what he has gotten himself into...

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38. Home, Alive & Well

A rush of emotions fills that eager hole in my heart, now rushing blood through my system at warp speed. Only a single string of words that make all the difference run through my head.

He is alive.

He is alive.

He is alive.

 

I attempt to open my mouth, but quickly cover it with my hands, searching for words to say, seeking actions to take in reply to this tremendous news.

"Now, I bet you're wondering how I'm alive..." Sherlock practically speaks for my non-active tongue. "That, I assure you, I'll explain later, but for n-"

But I don't give him a chance to finish.

On the tips of my toes, I kiss his lips more passionately than I ever had kissed PJ's. When I release my mouth's grip, I pull him in for a tight embrace and don't let him go. Tears of joy, tears of sadness, tears of fear and sorrow, and tears of ecstasy and glee were all pouring out from my eyes like never ending waterfalls. After I release him, the amount of emotions over flow in my mind, and that one thought again solely protrudes form my mind as the world starts to fade into a black abyss.

He is alive.

 

My eyes open to see the familiar ceiling of my bedroom in PJ's apartment. I bolt up from my bed, secretly praying in my head that all that had just occurred wasn't a dream. I bolt up and look at myself in the mirror, and what I see confirms that what had happened was not a crazy concoction of my brain: I was still wearing the sky printed dress that Tyler had helped me pick out earlier. My shoes had been removed, but the teardrop sapphire necklace was still around my neck, right where it should be.

I quietly tip-toe out of the room and peek around the doorway to the sitting room. There was PJ, holding a cup of tea, and sitting across from him was Sherlock himself, nursing a cup of coffee; black, two sugars, just how he likes it.

My mouth curves into a smile as I walk towards them, and both their heads perk up instantly, as if an electric shock had just jolted them awake. PJ puts down his tea and comes to hold me in a tight embrace.

"God, I was so worried about you." PJ says, kissing my cheek. I look over from the hug and wave to Sherlock, and he politely waves back. I notice, however, he has a large bruise on his left cheek, and he appeared to be clutching his stomach with his hand under the table.

"Well," I say, releasing from the embrace. "I see you and Sherlock did quite a bit of...bonding."

PJ looks nervously between me and Sherlock and scratches his head. "Um...yeah, I guess you could call it that." He laughs apprehensively, and Sherlock and I simultaneously roll our eyes. Sherlock then gets up, tightening his scarf's grip around his slender neck, and heads for the door.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going sir?" I declare as I grab his arm with a tight grip. "You've got quite a bit of explaining to do." Sherlock tugs at my grip, but I don't flinch. His focus is suddenly set on my necklace, that he himself gave me for my 15th birthday. I see a flicker of a smile appear, but it vanishes as soon as it had appeared.

"I'll explain everything tomorrow. It is almost 2:00 AM, after all."

I quickly glance over at the clock on the wall; he was right, as always. I release my grip, and I let him walk out the door, not a single goodbye being said between either of us. 

 

The next morning, I don't even bother to wake PJ while I get dressed to head out to Baker Street. I wanted answers to why Sherlock had left; more importantly why he had to fake his death in order to leave. It must have been something important., I just don't have a clue what.

I thank the cabbie as I step out of the taxi onto the sidewalk in front of the door I once called home. I take a deep breath in, and exhale slowly. I look over at the sandwich shop I used to work at, remembering leaving Bertie to get beat up by an enraged John while I made my way to St. Barts. I chuckle, wondering if I ever thanked him for being a distraction so I could slip away.

Then I remember why.

I shake off the flash old of memories of what happened at St. Barts, thankful that they could be finally put to behind me.

I walk up to the door to knock, but the door opens before I can even raise my hand. I would naturally expect Sherlock, but instead of my eyes meeting his cold blue ones in turn, there is another pair of eyes, not a harsh blue, but a soft greenish brown. I zoom out my vision to see none other than John, whom of which I haven't seen in what seemed to be ages, but was really just two weeks or so. His eyes were now starting to fill with tears, and I realized that Sherlock might have told him what I had explained to him in great detail last night. I didn't even tell him some of the smaller details, and I certainly wasn't going to tell them all to him or John anytime soon.

I just need to wait for the right time. The right place.

The right moment.

Without a word, tears now blinked away, John leads me up the stairs to the old flat we both once knew so well.

 

Everything was covered in a sizable amount of dust, from the lab equipment in the kitchen to the piles of papers on Sherlock's desk. I sneeze a few times, causing the dust rise and drift in a crazed frenzy of a dance. There was Sherlock, as stoic as ever, sitting in his black leather chair in a blue robe and pajamas. There was a wooden chair he was now gesturing to, and I sat down as John took the other arm chair to my left.

John is the first to break the almost deafening silence.

"...Rachel...why didn't you tell me about your..." John pauses as he searches for the right words. "...your issues?"

I take a deep breath. "Because I didn't want you to worry about me. I wanted to make it seem like I had gotten better."

John takes a shuddering breath; he was close to crying. No, he was crying.

"Two months...two months of trying to commit suicide, and you didn't tell me or Mary."

"I wanted to protect y-"

John slams his hand on the arm of his chair, causing a deafening silence to once again fill the room. He puts his head in his hands and takes in choking breaths, tears streaming and falling down onto his lap. I move from my chair and crouch beside him.

"To hell with protecting me," I barely hear him through his staggering breaths. "I want to protect you." I pry his hands from his face, now both wet with tears, and hold them tightly in my own hands.

"Well, I'm here now. You have PJ to thank for that. He's been watching over me, like the good man he is." John looks over at me, eyes slightly puffy with tears. I smile, and slowly, a grin starts to widen on his hedgehog-like complexion.

"I still don't trust him with my life, or yours, for that matter." John jokes, and we let out small chuckle together. Sherlock smirks out of the corner of my eye. Mrs. Hudson comes in with some tea and biscuits, but puts them down abruptly when she spots me. I smell her fragrant perfume as I squeeze her tight in an embrace.

 

It was good to be home.

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