Staying Alive - Sherlock (BBC)

Chapter 15

The detour on the way to Meiringen was inevitable, they both reluctantly desired to visit the lake again. It would only be a short amount of time spent on the shores of the lake, but it was enough time.

The huts still stood there, a little less grand as they had been. Now owned by some rich British Lords, they had taller fences surrounding them, and more alpine trees. This did not stop Sherlock and Lizzie from climbing into the deserted grounds and strolling to the lake.

Neither of them fully new why they had chosen to come here, nor did they know how to feel about it. Their memories of the lake were never brought to a close. The situation had never been talked about or resolved, they had both remained curious of the other's actions for almost 20 years.

Not a single word was exchanged as they walked towards the lake. Both of them were too busy caught in their own minds to acknowledge the other, but they were both walking towards the same destination. The grass had been tended to since their last visit, it was neatly cut and beautifully coloured, but neither of them noticed the beauty surrounding them like any other onlooker would.

Sherlock sat in exactly the same spot he had when he was reading his book all those years ago. Despite his attempts to erase the memory from his mind, it was too strong a memory to get rid of. He could remember every small detail of what had happened, why? That was the first time Sherlock had damaged someone in such a way, the first time someone had been scared of him. But ultimately, that was when he first recognised the line between good and evil, and that was the first time he had crossed it.

It was not long before Lizzie was joining him, setting herself down right next to him. A moment of tranquility followed, where the presence of nature, the birds, the trees, and the water, became exaggerated. It made Sherlock feel out of control, he felt like he was in unknown territory, it was then when he wished he was back in London.

Digging in her pocket, Lizzie brought out the postcard they had recieved. She held it up so that they could both see it. Instantly, Sherlock noticed that the photo had been taken from exactly where they were sat, the camera angle was accurate to the last degree. "There is no such thing as a coincidence." He said under his breath.

Whoever was behind this, had been present at the fight almost 20 years ago.

*****

They had cornered him. The boys had followed Sherlock out of the school gates and had managed to get him in a dead end. He turned to face them, trying to look uninterested, but the panic still rose in his throat.

"We don't like you." The boy at the front sneered.

"Oh really," Sherlock said bluntly. "What a shame."

He glared at Sherlock. "You should learn to keep quiet, or things might end badly."

"Or you and your friends could turn around and walk back the way you came, a feat that even someone of your intelligence could manage, and then nothing will end badly."

Clearly his tone of voice did not go down well as, within seconds of this being said, he had grabbed Sherlock's shirt collar and pulled him sharply in his direction.

"Sebastian," Someone behind them said warningly. "You don't have to do this."

"I told you to call me Moran." Sebastian hissed, looking over his shoulder quickly. But it was not long before he turned his attention back to the squirming boy in his grasp. His lips curled into a wolfish half-grin, half-snarl.

Then he began to punch Sherlock in the stomach.

*****

The realisation dawned on them quickly, but neither of them said it aloud. Moran had been there, he was involved in this. Instantly their brains were racing, trying to patch this all together, what was Moriarty going to do? They must have been sent here for a reason.

"Why did you do it?" Lizzie asked, her question tore apart the puzzle being connected in Sherlock's brain, she knew that he didn't like to be disturbed while thinking.

"Do I need to tell you to go away like I do with John?" He said in annoyance, trying to dive back into his mind palace.

Lizzie stared at him expectantly. "Why did you do it?"

He glared at her, she was asking about why he had broken the boy's leg, why was she doing that? It is completely irrelevant. "I'm thinking."

"No, you're answering my question first."

"Working out what's going on is a little more important don't you think?" He hissed raising his hands to his temples and closing his eyes.

"You can do that any time, you're Sherlock Holmes."

"No I cant!" He exclaimed. "Not with you here. I cant think."

Lizzie did not take offence to this, she knew Sherlock, and she knew he would justify what he had just said. "What do you mean?" She asked calmly.

"The woman, she made me think faster. But you just cause blockages, gaps in my mind."

"Why are you comparing me to Irene Adler?"

Sherlock did not reply, he simply closed his eyes and stood up. He slowly paced across the grass before standing still, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. He was muttering hurriedly under his breath, trying desperately to connect the dots, trying to find Peter Steiler.

Without any warning, he felt Lizzie's moist lips pressed against his right cheek. His mind ground to a halt. Letting her warm breath fan across his face she whispered. "Solve the puzzle Mr. Holmes."

By the time Sherlock had opened his eyes and turned to look at her she was already walking away. Her back turned, she did not look over her shoulder.

A breath caught in his throat. She had never done something like that.

She had worked out the puzzle.