Mae and The Doctor

19 - Turning Pages

We're back at 221b, and everyone and everything is just sprawled everywhere. Sherlock's getting frustrated about not being able to understand the message and is pacing in unorganized shapes; the Doctor's worried about the whole army thing and laying on the coffee table; John's probably thinking about something irrelevant - like me - while he's sitting on the couch, staring out the window; and I'm over here, sitting upside down in John's chair, trying to figure out how many eyeballs were in that jar in the cupboard.

Every now and then someone will start a sentence, but never finish. Twice the Doctor's started by saying, "So where's....?" Nobody can finish his sentence; nobody's really even paying attention.

"The child of ice," I say, not remembering talking or wanting to talk. "That's clearly the person building the ice army."

"But why?" Sherlock half shouts, "Plus, we still need to figure out the second half of that message." He picks up a gun and quickly fires it at the wall. I somersault out of the chair, startled. But I stood too quickly, so I start seeing stars and fall back into the chair.

"Mae," John's worried voice comes. The Doctor sits up, also concerned. "I think what we all need is sleep. It's been a long day; that's probably why you can't figure it out, Sherlock - you're tired. We all are." John helps me stand as the Doctor walks over to make sure I'm okay. "Come on, you can sleep in my bed; I won't mind the couch," John insists.

I can't remember anything after my head hits a pillow. It's probably because I went to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~

The first thing I notice is sunlight. There aren't any curtains on the window, so the room gets pretty well lit. A bacon smell floats to my nose and rumbles my stomach. As I move to the door, I let down my hair; most of it was already down, because I guess it came out of its bun while I was sleeping. Everyone else is already awake. To me, it looks like Sherlock and the Doctor never even slept.

"Morning, Mae," John says. The Doctor turns and smiles to me. Then he gives me a hug, and I smile.

"Morning, everyone," I say, my voice slightly hoarse.

John sets a tray of breakfast on the table beside his chair. "This is for you," he says, giving me a smile.

"Thank you, John," I say, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. I take a seat in his chair and start eating.

"So," the Doctor says, clapping his hands together, "Sherlock and I have managed to crack the code.  While you two were sleeping, Sherlock opened a couple of books and suggested that 'the child of the page' was figurative language, unlike what the first part said when the child of ice is literally a child born of ice. So, I did some digging," he continues, walking over to pick up an open book from the cluttered desk, "and found out that 'page' could represent knowledge."

"Yes," Sherlock says, picking up where the Doctor left off, "so we thought that maybe this child of ice is targeting someone with information. They think that the 'child of the page' is a threat."

"Delightful," I remark as he finishes. For a moment he stares at me, but then he goes off to flip through some books on the desk. The Doctor takes a seat over on the couch, and I think he falls asleep.

Once I finish my breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast, John suggests we try to look for a pattern. I agree, and we go to his laptop. Sherlock decides to help and tapes a map to the mirror over the fireplace. John names locations of where ice people were found, and Sherlock and I put markers on each location. After a while of doing this, I realize Sherlock and I are actually bonding. If I notice this now, his light bulb is sure to turn on soon.

John has to run out to the grocery store and tells Sherlock and I to not wake the Doctor. When John leaves, Sherlock looks at the Doctor as if he were thinking of things to draw on his face. He seems to shrug it off and turns back to the map.

"Alright, so," he starts. There wasn't a second part to that sentence, so I make one up for him.

"That's a very neat circle," I say, tilting my head a bit. Sherlock chuckles, and I glance over to him. "What?"

"I don't meet very many bad guys who are perfectionists," he remarks, smiling over to me. I smile back, and then we both go to analyze the map some more.

After a moment, Sherlock speaks up, "The very center is just a field; an empty field."

"Why would they be surrounding an empty field?" I pause, "Maybe it's not really empty. There's probably some sort of crazy alien technology there."

"Probably," he mutters, squinting at the map where the field is. All of a sudden, his posture straightens, and he glares at me. "Are we bonding? Is this bonding? Am I getting attached?" He sounds like he's interrogating himself rather than interrogating me. I give him a small sympathetic smile, and he lets out a huff.

"Damn," he mutters under his breath as he walks off to his room. Hearing the door slam, I smirk.