The Swan Queen | Sherlock

What Happens In The Dark...

 After the fire, Mycroft placed me under house arrest. That's what it felt like anyway. He didn't want me to be left alone, just in case. If either of my flatmates wanted to go out, one of them had to stay behind. That meant when Sherlock went to investigate the theatre, John remained here with me. I felt bad for him, I knew he would want to go too.

"No, I'm perfectly happy here," he said.

"I really don't need a babysitter, John."

"I know you don't."

"Mycroft's just overreacting. I'll bet it was just an accident. I'm not in any danger."

"Yes, well, we'll know more once Sherlock gets back."

The newspaper he was reading had a huge photograph of the theatre on the front. My gaze lingered on it. The place which was once my heart, my home, now reduced to burnt-out remains. So many memories, so many ghosts, finally at peace.

"Sam! Toast! Sam!"

John broke me free from my trace just in time to retrieve my burning toast from the toaster. I put it on a plate and stared at it, losing my appetite.

"Do you think Sherlock will be able to solve it? Find out who started the fire?" I asked.

"You know what he's like. He'll have it all worked out within five minutes." He turned the page of his paper. "It says here the damage could cost more than double what it did last time, and that's only if they deem the structure worth rebuilding, it might end up getting demolished." He glanced up at me and saw my expression. "I'm sorry, Sam. Hopefully, it won't come to that."

"All those workers out of a job, the performers excited to start performing again... What will they do now?" I thought about Amanda and Lauren, of their heartbreaking statuses they put on Facebook expressing their sadness about losing the theatre, their futures uncertain, dreams shattered.

All because of me. My stupidity. My fight with Moriarty.

Sherlock returned and I was curious to hear what he had to say. He entered the flat, took off his coat, paced for a bit then sat in his chair. All the while John and I watched him, anxiously waiting.

"Well?" said John.

"Well," he repeated, "Well what?"

John and I exchanged glances. "What do you think... about the fire?"

"Oh, yes, that." He tapped the edge of the armchair restlessly. "Definitely arson. There were multiple started, in the basement, on the stage, in the attic. The boiler was tampered with, highly flammable liquids were doused. Whoever started it was determined for the whole place to go up."

"Jesus... Christ, Sam, you were lucky to be alive!" exclaimed John. "Who would do such a thing?"

Sherlock looked at me and sighed. "Who know's."

"Could it be the same people as before?"

"Possibly, probably not. There are too many differences."

"What does Lestrade think?"

"He's as clueless as ever. There's no CCTV in the area, no fingerprints. I doubt we'll ever find out who started it."

He said it so calmly, so nonchalant. John stared at him in disbelief.

"So, what? That's it? No bloody fingerprints so the case is dismissed? No, I'm sorry, someone out there could have killed Sam, they've caused millions of pounds worth of damage and all you have to say on the matter is 'I doubt we'll ever know'."