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

•The Reichenbach Fall: Part Four•

Chapter Twenty- Five: Once Upon Another Time

When I get back to 221, John and Sherlock are already there, speaking about the trial.
"I assume he was guilty?" I asked, some hope in my voice.
"No, they're trying to scramble up witnesses." John told me.
"But, but he'll be guilty right? He has to be." I added, "he's got to be." I found myself glancing over to the detective, who just sat in his chair, staring into oblivion. Fear began to rise, and my uncle noticed.

"John, he can't be innocent, what if he will be? What if he comes for me, oh god what did I ever do to him. I can't-" I began to ramble on, and my uncle placed his hands on my shoulders in an attempt to calm me down.
"Where did you get a silly idea like that from? Moriarty wouldn't give two cares about you. Now Sherlock, he might. We won't know for sure until tomorrow." He assured, but I found his voice had little effect on my hysteria.
"Please, get some rest." John ordered, and sat me down on the couch. Our eyes locked, and I could see he had just as much confidence as I did. Needless to say, it didn't help me at all.
*
It was late in the night when I awoke, spotting Sherlock still sitting in the same chair. Bringing myself up, I went and sat across from the dark haired detective.
"Evening." He greeted, his eyes on a crackling fire in front of him. I said nothing, just gazed into the embers, feeling the radioactive orange glow being cast on my skin.
"What do you think will happen tomorrow?" I asked, my voice hoarse, most likely from the sleep.

"Today. It's two in the morning." Sherlock said, and I heard a different tone in his voice. His shrinking coloured eyes then turned to meet mine. "I don't know. They must... they must find him guilty." He said under his breath. Then, I spotted a rare sighting. Sherlocks hands were trembling. A guest wouldn't be able to notice, but those who knew him could.

"You, you're afraid." I deduced. "But not like in Baskerville."
"Do spare me your attempts at deductions, Aspen. We both know what they'll pick." Was all he said, and I was taken back by his statement. "I would also watch where you place your things," the man then reached next to him and picked up my hat.
"This is evidence."

"It's an accessory." I defended, then took the hat from his hand, standing up. He gazed into my eyes, studying me. I could tell he was thinking of something, I just didn't know what.
I could feel his gaze as I went into the room John and I shared. Quietly, I sat among the blankets on the floor, darkness all around. Soon, the darkness became a dreamless sleep.
*
I woke once more, late in the morning. John's bed was nearly made, and I noticed a note on the inside of my hat. It only had a number on it:
207.67.
It only meant one thing to me: a library book address.
Immediately, I got dressed again for the day, and headed out. I passed Sherlock, who laid down on the couch, seemingly meditating.

Outside was the normal gloom of clouds, and the regular commute. As I walked down this street, I began to put myself in various people's shoes. I tried looking at things from their point of view. It was an exercise Sherlock would do from time to time to better understand John and myself.

When I arrived at the library, there was only one other person in there besides the employees. A light bell rang and he glanced over before going back to his book.
In silence I emerged myself into a world of old spines and ageing pages. I took the paper out of my pocket, and spotted the same number.

Moving to another aisle of seemingly endless novels and stories, I found my destination on a shelf too high for my reach. Sighing, I stood as tall as I could, but my fingers barely brushed the worn spine. Almost as if it was fate, a second hand reached and retrieved the book for me.
"Thank you." I said, then the boy smiled and moved along. He looked fairly familiar, but nothing too distinct.