It's Not Real

Chapter Twenty

Evelyn had woken up in bed back at 221B, no idea how she got there or where Sherlock and the others were. She was also slightly confused by the fact that she wasn't dead, but didn't want to get bogged down in the details.

She'd rang all three men, getting their voicemails each time. Her next idea was to call Mary, but she didn't want to send her into a frenzy, especially when she must be worried enough already, although she wasn't even sure if Mary knew where her husband was or the fact that she'd gone missing. Evelyn had to think carefully about her options. She had no idea who was really left, and she certainly had no idea who knew what.

Thinking like a normal person, she figured her best option would probably be to go to the police, and by police she meant Greg Lestrade. He was less likely to turn her away because she sounded crazy.

So that's what led her to storming out of the lift at New Scotland Yard and onto the office floor.

Sally Donovan noticed her first, eyes widening at the sight of her. "Dr. Wilson? Are you okay–"

"Where's Greg?"

Sally gestured to the chair at her desk. "Sit down, I'll get someone to look at that cut–"

Eve had completely forgotten about that, and now realised why Donovan was looking at her like she was mad. She hadn't had the time to stop and clean herself up.

"I'm fine, where's Greg? I won't ask again, I'll just pull this place apart until I find him."

Sally looked a bit scared of the woman in front of her. "He's gone to collect Holmes. He left a few hours ago so will probably be back anytime now." Evelyn finally allowed herself to fall into the chair, her body giving into the relief at hearing Sherlock was alright. "Philip, make a cuppa?"

Anderson, along with most staff at their desks surrounding them, was staring at her. "Oh. Yeah. Tea, I can do tea."

Donovan sighed. "Okay, Evelyn, can I call you Evelyn?" She nod in response. "Right, Holmes and Watson are fine. They've had quite the ordeal but... I'm getting the impression you know that." Again, all she could do was nod. "I'll get a first aid kit and we'll try to clean you up. I'm no professional but wouldn't be the first time, I've had to patch up plenty of the sods around here."

Eve looked up at Sally properly, finding her voice. "They're okay?"

There was a sympathetic look on Sally's face, and Evelyn certainly wasn't used to that. "They're okay."

"Mycroft?"

"Oh, the older one? Yeah, he's fine as well, apparently dealing with stuff back at the prison or hospital or whatever it is, I'm not really cleared to know much more than that," she moved to get some medical supplies but stopped, touching Eve's shoulder awkwardly. "Sherlock is safe. He wasn't physically harmed."

They shared a brief glance. "Thanks."

"Lemme get that first aid kit. Be right ba–"

"Get off me!" Eve's head whipped around. "I need to get back to Sherrinford, please, John, I can't leave her there–"

Sherlock, John, and Lestrade all appeared as the lift doors opened. Sherlock looked a mess, his hair was sticking out all ends and his eyes were bloodshot, but she'd never been so happy to see him.

John was practically dragging him along, his own eyes worn and tired and his clothes were damp. A million questions popping into her head about what they've possibly been put through.

Lestrade was following behind the other two, head in his hand, but also visibly on guard in case Sherlock tried to make a break for it.

"Please," Sherlock sounded utterly broken, his shoulders slumped and legs only barely holding him up. "Please. Please, Greg, let me go–"