Shadows of the Past (BBC Sherlock) -1-

21. "Forgive Me."

Knowing that John would keep me up-to-date about Mrs. Hudson, I turned on my heel and walked back towards the lab. As I was about halfway there, I saw the door open. Thinking on the fly, I ducked behind the closest corner I could find. I peeked around to see Sherlock coming out. I quickly pulled my head back when I thought he was looking my way.

My heart sprinted in my chest. Just where was he going? After a quick minute, I peered around again. I just barely caught a flash of his black trench coat. Curiosity got the better of me.

Feeling a little ambitious, I calmly began pursuing Sherlock from a safe distance. At times, I did a fast trot so I wouldn't lose him. I knew something had been off. I scowled as I thought of the possibility. What if Mrs. Hudson wasn't actually shot? What if it was some trick that Sherlock conjured up so he could get John and me out of the picture?

If that suspicion was right, then what purpose would that serve him?

I continued to think about whether or not Mrs. Hudson was really injured as I continued to stalk Sherlock.

Employees working in St. Bart's didn't see my behavior as unusual, they paid me no mind. On occasion, I flashed a few people a smile as they did so to me when I passed. I kept myself focused.

I stopped against another corner, looking past. Sure enough, I found Sherlock in his trench coat. I squinted to get a better look. My legs moved before my body told them to. Like a cat, I crept down the hall, making sure to not make too much noise. If Sherlock knew I was following him, he'd surely lecture me, or insult me. I had a feeling the latter would be more likely.

I didn't stop as Sherlock disappeared through a door. I sucked in a sharp breath, picking up my pace. The door was almost halfway closed, still continuing to shut, as I reached it. I slipped through with plenty of room to spare.

Once the door clicked shut, temporary silence fell over the stairwell. I tiptoed to the railing, looking down. We seemed to be up a good few flights already. My head snapped up to the upper flights of stairs.

Faint echoing footsteps told me Sherlock was taking his good old time heading up. Just how far are you going, Sherlock? To where? And why? Biting my lip, I snuck up the stairs, making sure to not stomp my feet.

I sometimes took two steps at a time as I kept a close tab on Sherlock. My theory kept running through my brain. If Sherlock had made someone else make that fake call about Mrs. Hudson to get John and me out of St. Bart's, what was the reason?

The longer I made the treacherous climb up the never-ending stairs, I realized the gap between Sherlock and I was shrinking. I wasn't about to let the small gap grow. I continued to lightly hop up the steps.

As I completed yet another flight of stairs, I was literally feet from Sherlock's calmly fleeing figure.

My heart skipped a beat when he stopped in the middle of his current flight.

"Like I said before, you would be a terrible spy," he murmured.

I halted abruptly. Slowly, he turned. I shot him a dark look.

"You should have continued with just your socks on. Maybe then I wouldn't have guessed you were following me."

"You would still know somehow." I put my palms against the cool wall behind me. "How did you know?"

"First mistake, you pulled away too late on your first corner. I just caught you." A smile wobbled on his face. "Second mistake, your shoes scuffled on the tile. Though you may have thought I wouldn't notice, I did. You thought it would blend in with others passing by. Last mistake, you took the time to look and see how far up you were. I looked down and easily saw you."