Lost at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Tea, Dear?

Celestia understood that once she arrived at her destination Sebastian would use the same means to exploit her as he had before. What she did not know was how to maintain the delicate balance of knowledge and intervention.

As she was escorted backstage, she pondered her options. Any deviation from the original memory might endanger the integrity of the rest, but she certainly wasn't getting married, hooked on psychedelic drugs, or losing her vision (again).

A pair of snipers fell in line behind the two and flanked the dark car waiting in the alley adjacent to the theater. Releasing his over-zealous grip on her forearm, Moran opened the door with as much charm as a seasoned killer can.

There was no sign of life to be seen or heard anywhere in the dark space.

As he sat in the seat beside her, Celeste smiled. This was the dream of a lifetime, a chance to take revenge without the unfortunate side effect of being wronged.

This joy soon faded however, and as silence clung to the inside of Celestia's lungs she thought of the horrors she had experienced at the hands of Sebastian Moran. Perhaps no act of justice could ever make up for the atrocities only she remembered.

About an hour later, the car slid through a cast iron gate after passing a guard, and they had arrived.

Shrouded in shadows, her capturer remained quiet, his expression unreadable as he guided Celestia into the large home with a bone-breaking grip. She fought the urge to fight his grasp and maintain a facade of confusion and fear.

As she knew they would, the two snipers that had escorted them inside now patted her down.

"I don't have any weapons," Celestia huffed impatiently as they took her coat. "What would the point be-"

She was cut off by the sight of a handgun being pulled from her pocket. Shocked, Celestia protested.

"No weapons, huh? Frankly I thought you were a bit smarter than that," Sebastian laughed as he turned the gun over in his hand. His expression changed, however, when he saw his captive's face. "Oh, how interesting." He stalked towards her and waved his hand to signal for the guard to let her go. "You really didn't know." A crooked smile made him look almost sane for a moment.

"Oh, Sherlock," Celeste muttered with a frustrated shake of her head.

Stunned, she gasped suddenly for breath and reeled backwards as the words were slapped from her face.

The crooked smile had disappeared along with the guards, and Celestia was in a position she had never encountered before.

"We aren't going to say that name around here if you don't mind," Moran continued nonchalantly, rubbing his hand absentmindedly. "I find it rather... disconcerting."

Mentally hurling every expletive known to man, Celestia regained her balance and nodded slowly. The crooked smile returned (now without a hint of normality), and Sebastian escorted Celeste to a large bedroom which she was all too comfortable with. This was the one room in which she could always find sanctuary.

When her counterpart began to pour tea in the corner, Celestia breathed a sigh of relief. This, at least, was familiar. Tonight would be restful if experience was to have any verisimilitude. It was odd, she remembered, how well she had slept that first night given the circumstances.

Teacups clinked as Sebastian set a tray down on a small table between two chairs. Celestia didn't bother waiting for him to ask her to sit down, and simply watched his precise movements as he carefully placed a cup in her hands, telepathically commanding her to drink.

"I'm going to ask you something, Christine."

"Christine?"

"Yes, that's what I'm going to call you."

Celestia scoffed, "Isn't that the name of your dead-" she stopped herself. This wasn't some fantasy of vengeance she could perform in whatever way pleased her.

She took a long sip of tea to disguise her scattered thoughts. Moran pursed his lips.

"I only meant, how can I replace something so valuable to you?" she recovered.

"You can't, you bloody idiot."

Sipping tea seemed the only safe activity for several awkward moments. God bless the English and their tea, she thought as each gulp helped to calm her buzzing nerves.

"I only mean that you can't replace something that you are, don't you see, dear?"

Celestia frowned, as much because she had reached the bottom of her cup as his patronizing tone. "Yes, I get it, now will you pour me more bloody tea, dear." She was surprised by her own boldness, but frankly, couldn't be bothered to care.

Suppressing a laugh, Sebastian fulfilled her request.

"You should have some tea, you know, I'm not sure I've had anything like it. Did you get it from the queen?" Sebastian smiled with a hint of pity, ignoring her inquiry.

"Christine always did have a spirit to her, a bluntness." He nodded thoughtfully while getting up. "I think you'll play the part just fine, Celestia."

With a strange sort of tenderness, he relocated the cup from her grasp to the tray and began walking towards the door.

"Wait, what were you going to ask me?" Two curious eyes looked up at him with a sleepy expression. Her limbs were splayed across the chair in a most improper way as she dared him to stay with her comical expression.

"I think it can wait," he explained.

His eyes held onto hers, wistful and maybe even sorrowful.

"I want you to remember it."