Human Error ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book IV}

Chapter LXVIII - Tooth and Claw

Graphic by SeraSki.

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-Emily-

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"You're the one they're all talking about."

I look up from my plastic tray, startled. Someone in an identically grim grey jumpsuit pulls out the chair beside me and sits down without invitation; she's a small woman, slim and dark and patterned with tattoos, both forearms a technicolour collage. Her eyes – almond-shaped, the colour of burnt coffee – regard me with distrustful curiosity. She sets her own tray down.

"Funny," she says, tilting her head to one side. "I thought you'd be older."

"Sorry to disappoint."

She smiles, revealing a set of teeth that look a little too small for her gums; capped in chipped gold.

"Aika. Your resident coke dealer. Pleasure."

I nod, stiffly. She scratches the back of her neck – printed with the sketched outline of a rose – and inspects the edges of her nails. We sit in silence.

"Is it true?"

I prod the solidifying contents of my bowl. "Is what true?"

"You and Howaito shi."

The Japanese catches me off guard; it's staccato, sharp, unforgiving against the soft swell of background conversation.

"Who?"

"It's what we called him. My gang. White Death." She doesn't blink, and leans forwards as if in anticipation of my response. "Is it?"

I give her my icy silence as an answer and turn back to my saturated oats.

She doesn't take the hint.

"Did you help him?"

"No."

"Did you know what he did to them?"

"No."

She lowers her voice. "Did you marry him?"

I grip my plastic spoon very tightly. She laughs, seemingly unaware of my growing irritation, and reclines in her chair.

"I'm surprised you got away alive. They say if your name's not Millie, you're dead the second you take his arm–"

"Look," I say, as calmly as I am able to. "I have an interrogation at eleven. I had an interrogation yesterday. I'll have another one tomorrow. I don't need you – or anyone else – asking me more damn questions. Got it?"

"All right, all right," she says, rolling her eyes. "I was just curious. No-one's ever lived to tell the tale, see. Howaito shi is an urban legend. You made him a reality."

I grit my teeth. "Good to know."

"It got so bad we couldn't let female members out alone. We operated in pairs."

"Wonderful."

She pauses, speculative. "What does he look like?"

"I told you–"

"Some say he's got white hair like the flowers. I've heard–"

I slam my spoon down with enough force to rattle the trays next to me; heads turn, voices hush and the guards begin to converge on our table with every intention of preventing another outbreak.