Devil Take The Hindmost •Sequel To Life Is But A Dream•

•The Hounds of Baskerville: Part Seven•

Chapter Eighteen: Fear In A Forrest

Noting could stop the violence of my thoughts during the car ride. If I put in earbuds, and played music it reflected on my shock. If I played nothing I was alone with my thoughts. John and Sherlock were silent here and there, but whenever I heard them take a breath before speaking, my heart skipped a beat. I found that my thumb was tracing over my scars, that image of me hitting rock bottom also played in my mind. And what of Moriarty and the stare I received in the memory. It's like he knew I was there.

I buried my face in my blue and white striped sleeve, but the darkness only pulled me in deeper to the games my head was playing. My breathing began to deepen, and my heart was racing. All around my body there were shivers and tingling, an alert feeling took hold.

Suddenly, the car stopped, and Sherlock's door opened. I sniffed, ready to open the door.
"Don't." John ordered as my hand wrapped around the handle. I looked over to him, his eyes filled with sadness.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked, his voice helpless. He was giving me this talk again. "That back there wasn't normal. Nor was it new for me. But seeing you so into it that Sherlock had to take extreme measures, that was new. You know I love you Aspen, nothing can change that; you're my niece. But if there is something going on, something familiar you're going through, please don't hesitate to tell me." He lectured. "You're afraid all the time, and you know how it affects me. I know that my sister wasn't the best mother in the world," he stopped, for his voice had broken during the last part. "I'm proud of you, truly I am, for putting up with that. And I promise, Aspen, that I will never abandon you the way your father did. From this moment on."

My father, I thought, looking out the window to see Sherlock waiting for us. "Okay." I said, my voice hoarse and rough. I looked back over to my uncle, accepting his apology. We both then got out of the car, meeting in an embrace. For the first time in a long time, I felt something near happiness towards joy towards my uncle. I couldn't say the same about Sherlock. We locked eyes for a brief moment before him and John proceeded to walk into a greenhouse, up to a door. I followed behind, amazed at the enormity of the home.

Not long after Sherlock rang the doorbell, Henry Knight opened the door.
"Hi." He greeted timidly.
"Hi." John said back as his flatmate headed inside. I lightly smiled at the young man, still perplexed at the state of his house.
"Are you... um..." John began, searching for a word.
"Rich?" I finished for him, following Sherlock into Henry's kitchen. The architecture continued to amaze me, seeing as his kitchen was in a glass extension of the house, lit from the wall of windows.

I settled myself down onto a stool near John, while Sherlock prepared coffee for our little couplet of people.
"It's a couple of words... that's what I keep seeing." Henry said, standing near me, and eyes down at the island. "Liberty... In." He looked over to John, who had taken out his notebook, and began to scribble on it.
"Are you done?" The young man asked my uncle, to which he nodded his head.
"Mean anything to you?" John asked Sherlock, once had finished his last written phrase.

He slid me a mug of the coffee he had made, myself catching it. I smiled lightly at the gesture, but still couldn't shake his slap from earlier. No doubt either that he wasn't trying to make amends. Nevertheless, I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, letting it toast my skin.
" 'Liberty in death' -is that the expression?" He asked, his voice soft. His blue eyes then locked with mine, my warm hand now supporting my chin. "The only true freedom."

Inside, I could feel my attitude shift once again, as if the man had sent me a message through his words. I removed my hand from my chin, placing both on the edge of the island. Before John could notice, I hopped the stool.
"Need some air." I said, my stomach turning. Quickly, my feet took me outside, a light breeze blowing through, and pushing my hair behind my shoulders.
"Liberty in death, the only true freedom." Sherlock's voice echoed in my head. Something inside began to hate him for saying that, and yet its other half was reminded. Reminded of something...