Poison & Wine//A BBC Sherlock fanfic

Now

Note: This conversation is- for Sherlock, Cosette and Margot- entirely in French, just written in English (because I don't speak French and it would probably be a difficult read if it had all been in French). You get what I'm saying? I hope so, hehe.

Also... A warning for this chapter. It contains abuse and death which may be triggering for some. 

Now

Sitting in an armchair was a little old lady who was asleep, the TV still turned on. Without a word Sherlock turned it off and looked down at her, a small frown on his face. He had hardly talked to Margot Bellamy during his stay here. Teddy seemed to get along with her well, though. She had accompanied her whenever she went into town and Margot seemed to be a welcomed distraction for Sherlock's younger sister. Sherlock picked up a blanket from the sofa and draped it over the old woman. She reminded him of Mrs Hudson: small and short and kind. There were only a few differences between Margot and Mrs Hudson. One of them was that Margot had long, wiry white hair that she kept tied back with a bandana. She also wasn't much of a baker like Mrs Hudson was. And, the obvious difference, was that Margot spoke entirely in French.

If I had asked her about Cosette's past, would she have told me? Sherlock couldn't help but wonder as he left the room and walked down the short hallway. He passed the door that led into the room that he and Teddy shared, able to hear Teddy's soft breathing from behind it. She wasn't sick anymore although she still had that heavy breathing thing going on that usually occurred whenever someone slept while they were sick, like her nose was still blocked slightly. That didn't really bother him, though, and anyway, he couldn't talk. He snored.

The bedroom door right at the end of the hall was closed but Sherlock could hear the soft voice of a singing lady coming from it, accompanied by a piano. He stood outside the door for a moment before rapping his knuckles against the wooden door.

"Come in."

Opening the door Sherlock found Cosette sitting in bed, the sheets around her waist and a book in her lap. It was one of those books that blind people could read just by tracing their fingers over the words. The radio in the corner beside the window continued to play softly, French words musically filling the room. Cosette looked up towards the door, her gaze not quite meeting Sherlock's. She pushed a strand of her honey-gold hair behind her ear before speaking.

"Mother? Is that you?"

"Er, no, no, it's Sherlock," he answered, feeling stupid for not telling her before. Cosette's face seemed to pale slightly after hearing his voice and she cleared her throat, playing with the sleeves of her nightgown.

"Oh, yes, hello Sherlock. Would you like a seat?" she asked, shuffling over and patting the side of her bed. Sherlock walked over, slightly hesitant, before sitting down on the edge. His gaze landed on the wardrobe next to him and he swallowed, the things that he had discovered early yesterday morning coming to mind. He hadn't really spoken to Cosette since yesterday, too shocked about the discovery he had made. It was only now that he felt brave enough to tell her what he had did and to ask her about it.

"Cosette?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I want to discuss something with you," Sherlock replied, noticing Cosette's hesitation. She licked her lips before nodding.

"And what is it you wish to discuss?"

"Tell me about your husband."

Those five words had the power to completely drain Cosette's face of color. Sherlock watched as she opened her mouth to reply before closing it again, deciding not to. Her fingers scratched at one of her scars on her wrist absent-mindedly, her face contoured in pain.