Hey guys I wanted to get this out of the way up here. I am American. More specifically, I'm an American high school student. As many of you may know, school shootings are becoming more and more prevalent and that's really terrifying to people like me. So please, if you're in the USA, take a stand. If you're old enough to vote, vote! I can't vote, I'm not old enough, so please, use your voice to keep me and my friends alive. We're dying like flies and we're sick of it. This is just my opinion but help a girl out, ya know? Alright, enjoy the chapter!
John's POV
It had been a week since Alice and Olivia had been moved to the safe house, six days since we'd learned the identity of the skinhead. Everyone had been on edge ever since, even as the location of the Soldiers of the Superior came closer into view. We still weren't even close to sure, but the list of possibilities was beginning to narrow.
Sherlock was currently pacing the sitting room, muttering things to himself that I couldn't hear. Occasionally, he would come and lean over my shoulder, looking at the case board on the wall. I was standing in front of it, running over everything in my head.
Sherlock groaned in frustration, catching my attention. I looked over my shoulder, watching as he ran his hands through his raven curls. "What are we missing? Have we been missing something?" I asked. He shook his head, eyes turning to me.
"No. But it's exactly how Mycroft had said. This web has spiders and has been waiting a very long time for its flies. I'm sorry, John."
My brows knitted together, had he really just apologized? "For what?" One hand floated under his chin, the other crossing his chest. His gaze was watery, exhausted. We'd been working from sunrise to far past sunset, the hours of daylight now long gone. We'd visited Alice and Olivia, met with their guardians, and been working nonstop on the case all day. He had to be exhausted at this point.
"For dragging you into this!" He snapped, voice growing louder. "If it hadn't been for me, you could be living happily, maybe with someone else, but not in danger of terrorists for God's sake." I stepped back, stunned by his sudden outburst.
"Sherlock." He continued to stare hopelessly at the case board. "Look at me, Sherlock." I caught his elbow, forcing him to turn to me. His eyes were downcast, ashamed. "Love, why would you say that kind of thing?" He continued to stare at the floor, refusing to meet my gaze.
I brought my hand under his chin, gently prodding it up. "Look, I don't know what got into you to believe that kind of thing, but listen to me." His face softened, silver lining his eyes. "I love you, William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes. Dear God, that's a mouthful," he laughed, his hand coming to cover my own. "Nothing will ever, hear me, ever change that. Are things a bit rough right now? Yes, but I wouldn't change being with you for the world."
A tear slipped down his cheek, even as he smiled. "I love you too, John Hamish Watson-Holmes." I leaned in, brushing my lips against his once.
"How about we stop for today? We've been working all day, and we promised to be at Olivia's mini-concert at the house tomorrow, so we're going to have to get up kinda early." The corners of his mouth turned upwards at the mention.
Alice and Olivia were girls that liked to do things and go on adventures together, so shoving them in a house with a fairly limited walking area outside it wasn't exactly the best idea. They'd taken to going on walks around the garden area outside, and hosting mini-concerts indoors for their families and agents. It was silly, but good, just like teenagers are.
"I'm fairly thrilled for it, the third one so far, correct?" I nodded, chuckling. He leaned in, kissing me deeply. He pulled away, draping his arms around my neck. His head came down to rest on my shoulder as he wrapped me in a loose hug.
"I'm okay with being done for the night, we could just watch crap telly while you read," he turned his head to catch my reaction. "That sounds wonderful, my love."
We ended up doing just so, Sherlock's head in my lap. My fingers twirled around the dark locks as I read, the book resting on top of his head. He drifted off after awhile, evidenced by the light snore escaping him.
I placed my bookmark in, setting the book off to the side. "Sherlock, love," I whispered, kissing the top of his head. He mumbled a response, clearly not wanting to move. I chuckled, sweeping him into my arms. I carried him to the bedroom and tucked him under the covers, without him even fully waking up. I climbed in next to him, and wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him to me. I pressed my lips to the nape of his neck before falling asleep as well.
***
"Do you think Ruth really recognized Turk at the end? I almost think she didn't, I would've thought she would've called him by name or something." Olivia took a sip of her hot chocolate. I nodded before launching into more detail.
"I think she didn't for a reason. I think she was almost giving him a second chance, a chance to be a different man than she'd known him for."
Sherlock and I were visiting the two girls, nearly two weeks since they'd moved in. Just about everyone's moods had soured in that time, growing more impatient as the days passed. We weren't much closer to finding Paul Stewart, every lead had been a dead end. We were stuck, perpetually stuck until they gave us a clue. Or someone died. Everyone involved in the case, even my husband and I, were now under police protection.
Alice looked back and forth between the two of us as we discussed the novel, trying to understand what we were saying despite her apparent refusal to read it.
The conversation topic eventually switched, and all four of us were talking together. It was a sort of peace that one wouldn't expect from times like this, yet here it was. Though that peace wouldn't last much longer, Sherlock and I were to head to Scotland Yard to discuss the case more with the girl's guardians.
Sherlock glanced at his watch before moving to stand. "It's been lovely to talk to you two, but we really should get going. We're meeting with your guardians at four." I nodded, standing as well. I hugged them both goodbye before we slipped out of the cottage back into an agent car.
"I hate leaving them. I always feel as if something will happen the moment we turn our backs," Sherlock murmured once we were moving back towards London on the highway.
I glanced over at him, watching as he leaned his head against the window. His raven curls were getting quite long now, curling around his ears and the nape of his neck. His cheekbones jutted out sharply, his eyes were downcast. "I know, love, I know." He reached his hand out, intertwining his fingers with mine.
The ride back to London was spent in silence, an understanding passing between us. It was terrifying, leaving them. They had armed guards, and they were safe. But I still couldn't shake the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sherlock's hands shook at nearly all times of day now, he hadn't slept well in over two weeks.
London was bustling with energy, renewed by the warming weather. It was March now, with rays of sun gracing the sidewalks and warming the air. Another agent car had pulled up at Scotland Yard, bringing Olivia's parents with it. Nneoma gave a small smile when she saw us and walked with us into the building.
"How are the girls? We haven't visited them today?" Afiba asked quietly, his hand on the small of his wife's back.
Both Olivia's parents and Jack were allowed one visit per day, though it had been recommended that they only go every few days to avoid attention. We'd all agreed to it, though we all went on separate days so that the girls didn't have to spend more than one day alone. Well, without family members or Sherlock and I at least. They were never truly alone, but that didn't mean they didn't feel that way.
"They're doing alright, they've got their game console all set up now. Olivia and I had a great discussion about books. Your daughter is a very bright girl." Nneoma gave a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Yes, she is." Greg and Mycroft were waiting inside for the four of us, a meeting that we'd set up to have every couple of days to discuss the situation, reassess, and make any changes. A couple of other agents and specialists were also at the meetings to report status. Jack was already there, leg bouncing as he ran a hand through his hair. Mycroft and Greg both shook hands with Afiba and Nneoma, exchanging pleasantries.
The pair sat down next to Jack, conversing with him, even as the tension in the air thickened. Both of them and Jack were becoming increasingly impatient to put a stop to Paul Stewart, understandably so.
Their conversation died down after a minute, leaving the room in silence. Mycroft cleared his throat, beginning the meeting.
"As always, Sofia," he motioned to the professional, middle-aged woman sitting to his right. She stood, straightening her stack of papers. She was Mycroft's head of security, acting with an air of authority.
"My operatives have reported that no one out of the ordinary has entered the property. One suspicious car was seen four miles out, but upon inspection, the owners of the car were lost. The gas station half a mile away hasn't had any suspicious activity either. Paul Stewart has yet to be seen, though agents are currently looking for him. His accomplice has been profiled but not identified."
Greg nodded once, glancing out at the three skeptical adults across from him. Jack nodded as well, but Afiba raised a finger. "May we hear the profile?"
"White man in his mid to late thirties, natural red hair based off witness statements. More than likely has military experience based on his combat skills, though he was likely discharged. It's possible that the discharge was because he has a sort of psychosis that the Skinheads are using to take advantage of him. He likely has anger management issues as well. We've sent the profile out, so anyone with matching the description will be found."
Afiba nodded, though his hands clenched and relaxed. He sighed, clearly unhappy with the little information.
Mycroft thanked her and she sat back down, and the psychologist stood up. "I examined both Alice and Olivia's mental health yesterday, as you all know. Miss Truby's depression and anxiety were known before, and it appears that the situation has worsened her panic attacks. She is currently mentally stable, but I'd like to continue working with her. I think she could benefit from more behavioral therapy than I am able to give her in the current situation."
Jack sighed, blue eyes watering. One hand massaged his temple while the other ran aggressively through his hair again. His eyes turned towards the table as the psychologist continued.
"Miss Bolaji has OCD tendencies and compulsions, specifically towards tidiness and arrangement of items. A quick look through her file told me she was taken off medications a year ago, though, given her current situation and amount of times that she gives in to these tendencies, I would recommend going back on them, at least for now. Her mental stability is questionable."
Nneoma nodded and began asking a few questions. The psychologist answered them patiently until she nodded. He sat back down and Sherlock rose from the chair beside me.
"I've been working closely Sofia and her team, and while we have a profile for the accomplice now, we are no closer to finding Paul Stewart, or any of the other Skinheads. All leads have been dead ends."
Afiba ran his tongue across his teeth, fingers drumming on the table. "How can you be no closer to finding him? You have his name, you know what he looks like, he hasn't been reported outside of London, yet you can't find him? Or anyone else for that matter? What have you been doing this whole time?"
I stared incredulous, opening my mouth to retort. I crossed my arms, but Sherlock pressed his hand to the table in warning. "It's an underground hate organization, they're not exactly going to have a public office." His eyes shot to Mycroft, who nodded.
"I've been working with a network of mine, many people who live on the streets and in alleys. No one can go around London without being seen by them, and they have not seen him or his accomplice. Meaning that they're sticking to their base right now, wherever that is.
All currently known Skinheads disappeared off the map on Valentine's, meaning we have no idea where any of them are. We're trapped, we can only know what they want us to. We have to tread carefully right now, this is thin ice we're on."
Jack shook his head, his hand rubbing the beard that was beginning to grow in. Sherlock locked eyes with him, seeing the burning frustration in them and leaned across the table. His voice was low and quiet, I could barely even hear him.
"The Soldiers of the Superior have been in business for over thirty years, there's a reason they haven't been caught. They are a web, a spider web, and we are all flies. We tread carefully right now because one move could get us all killed."
Jack held his stare but scoffed at the notion. Sherlock straightened, eyes narrowing. "Don't believe me? Look around. The majority of us are hated by them, they'd like to kill all of us. Two African immigrants, two gay men, two bisexual men, and two lesbian teenagers. It isn't that hard to think that they would do it. One wrong step really could kill us all. We tread carefully right now because that is what keeps your sister safe." He sat back down, sighing heavily.
Jack paled as he glanced around the room. Sherlock was right. Afiba and Nneoma, two African immigrants. Mycroft and Sherlock, two gay men. Greg and I, two bisexual men. And two teenage lesbians, gone from the city because of this mess.
He looked at the table, taking in a shaky breath. "You're right, I apologize. It's just a bit hard, you know, to know that I can't do anything. I just want this to be over with."
Nneoma took his hand, giving a sympathetic smile. "We know. But the two of you," she glanced at her husband and back at Jack, "Are not helping by criticizing the people that are helping us. It's frustrating to all of us, but we cannot blame them for this."
She looked back up to us, fiddling with the prayer beads around her neck. "Who is this Paul Stewart anyway? What's his motivation for all this?"
I glanced over at my husband, watching fro his reaction. His eyes slid down to mine, and he nodded. He drew in a breath, hands knotting together.
"As you all know, my childhood was quite similar to Alice's. When I was quite young, my father would have his friends over, and well, things got violent. One of those men happened to be Paul Stewart, a highly ranked Skinhead. I believe he has a personal vendetta against my brother and me."
My gaze flashed to Mycroft, who gave a grim nod of his head. Sherlock and I had discussed that briefly, but the two had appeared to talk extensively about it.
"After all, it wasn't until my father attempted to murder me that he got sent to prison. Why wouldn't he want to get payback for that? He could've chosen any lesbian couple in all of London, but he chose Alice and Olivia for a reason. Because they matter to me. Paul Stewart is a man hellbent on vengeance. That's who he is."
Nneoma blinked a few times, trying to clear the tears from her eyes. I grabbed Sherlock's hand under the table. He squeezed it, drawing in a shaky breath.
The meeting went on for half an hour more before it was agreed to stay the current route. The psychologist ended up prescribing Olivia's medication, just until everything was over. He and Sofia left quickly to take care of business for the case. Afiba left to go back to a meeting of his own company, his wife in tow. Jack left shortly after, needing to get back to the shop.
Soon it was just Sherlock, Mycroft, Greg and I left standing in the room. Greg handed a sheet of paper to Sherlock, explaining another possible lead. He simply nodded and tucked the paper under his arm.
"We'll get going, have a nice night you two." I looked at him, a bit surprised by his cordialness. Greg nodded, wishing the same. I followed him out, blundered by it still. It wasn't until we were in the agent car, heading home, that he explained.
"They're having a bit of a domestic at the moment. It wasn't exactly our place to be there." I dipped my head, brows knitting together. He shrugged, still looking out the window.
"I'd like to go to bed early tonight if that's alright with you," he said softly. Both of his hands were in his lap, where I couldn't reach them.
"Of course, love. I might join you actually." He glanced over, not quite meeting my gaze.
"Actually, would you mind leaving me in there for a while? I need time to think." I nodded, though confused, and he turned back towards the window. My stomach knotted and I swallowed. I turned towards the other window for the rest of the ride home.
I hung up both of our coats before he dipped down, kissing my cheek and headed in the direction of our bedroom. I stood in the sitting room, not quite sure what to do. Were we having a domestic now? Was he mad at me? What was going on? My mind spun in endless circles as I tried to figure out what I'd done.
I ended up making chamomile tea and reading for a while. My eyelids began to droop as I settled into my chair, trying not to fall asleep. A familiar shuffle came into the room. I looked up from my book, finding Sherlock standing awkwardly in the doorway. He was in pajama pants with a dressing robe wrapped tightly around his bare torso.
We stared at each other for a moment, before he finally spoke. "I can't sleep without you." I felt my face soften as I took him in, quiet pain in his eyes. How much he was affected by it all, by this endless tearing at his heart.
I shut my book, leaving it on the coffee table as I strode to him. I lead him into the bedroom, shutting the door behind us. He crawled back into bed as I changed and got in on the other side. His body curled around mine, his head buried in my chest.
"Are we okay?" I asked softly, wrapping my arms around him. He nodded and lifted his face to look at me. He sighed, searching my eyes for something, anything.
"I wanted to know if I could handle it if something happened to you because of this case," his voice began to shake and tears clouded his ocean eyes. "And I couldn't sleep. I couldn't sleep without you. I need you here, with me." His voice cracked, and he placed his head back down.
I rubbed his back soothingly, even though I chose my next words carefully. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you." He murmured it back, before falling fast asleep. I clung to him, letting his even breathing lull me into sleep.
***
Only three days later, Paul Stewart was spotted by one someone in Sherlock's homeless network. He'd been seen near Hampstead Road before disappearing again, meaning that their headquarters had to be nearby.
Sherlock and I ended up working with his homeless network extensively, doing interviews and getting more information on what he looked like. It had been nearly thirty years since Sherlock and Mycroft had last seen him, so more information was needed. The face tattoo, frustratingly, was still unintelligible. That hadn't deterred Sherlock, though, as he'd dived back into the case with more optimism than I'd seen him express in a while.
"There's only one thing that doesn't make sense," he murmured, seated at the lab bench. Molly was working diligently beside him, her mousy brown hair pulled back in a braid.
"What would that be?" I asked, leaning on the table across from him. He glanced up, blue eyes hopeful. He gave his infamous crooked smile, he was onto something, the case was beginning to come to a close in his mind. The smile vanished and his eyes darkened.
"Why give us the clue of Quaran? They clearly have Muslims pinned as a target, so why focus on Alice and Olivia first?" I held his gaze, shrugging. "I don't know either. They have to have something else planned, something big. Something awful focused solely on innocent Muslims. But why focus on them first?" His eyes searched mine for answers before he returned to the task at hand.
I continued to fix my stare on him, trying to work out what was going on in his mind. The door of the lab opened. I straightened, turning my head towards the sound. Josh, Molly's boyfriend, poked his head through the door. His platinum blond hair was pushed back, revealing a pair of bright green eyes that shone with mischief.
"Molly?" He spotted his girlfriend and grinned. He pushed the rest of the way in as Molly looked up. She smiled and snapped off her gloves.
"Sorry, Sherlock, I've got to jet, we've got plans tonight. Just lock up when you're done, okay?" Sherlock nodded, barely looking up from the microscope. Josh and I exchanged pleasantries while Molly switched her lab coat for a moccasin one. Josh was a good guy, I was glad that they'd ended up together. The left shortly after, leaving the two of us alone.
"Sherlock?" He hummed a response, still focusing the microscope. "When do you think this will be over?" He finally looked up and pushed the microscope to the side.
For a moment, our eyes met, and neither of us spoke. His unending eyes flashed down to the table before back up to mine. "I don't know yet. With our new information, both with a clue on location, as well as Paul Stewart 's credit card being used on the street over, we've got a good lead. I'd say ten more days, tops."
I nodded, arms crossed on the table. I leaned in further, pressing my lips to his. "You're brilliant, you know that?" He flushed, the color skittering across his cheekbones up to the tips of his ears.
I kissed him again, slowly. I could feel his smile when I pulled away. "Get back to work, love. We've got to leave in a while, it's our day to see the girls." His eyes were soft and warm, glowing. It was the happiest I'd seen him in a while.
"We're going to catch him, John. We're going to put a stop to this mess." I smiled, nodding. I grabbed his hand, squeezing it once before leaning back in the chair. He smiled again before returning to the microscope.
He worked for a while longer before locking up the lab. The agent car was already waiting for us, the sleek black car blending into the chaos of the city. Sherlock was in a considerably better mood, and even made a couple of jokes on the ride to the cottage.
Olivia was rearranging the bookshelves when we arrived, one of her main compulsions, to my understanding. Alice was helping her, kneeling beside the small stack of books. Olivia was arranging them by color, red on the first shelf, orange on the second, and so forth.
"Alice, Olivia," Sherlock called, catch their attention. Alice turned her head, noticing us. Her hair was done in a top knot, and she hadn't changed out of her pajamas. Neither had Olivia, both girls were wearing oversized t-shirts and flannel pants.
"Hey guys, would you give us a hand? We've gotten all but four books back on, and we can't decide where they should go." Olivia turned around as well, her usually calm eyes wild with anxiety.
Sherlock stepped forwards and began talking to Olivia about the different books that lay around her. Alice stood, brushing off her knees and padded across the floor to me. "How is she doing?" I asked quietly, watching as both of the people we loved worked together to find the correct places on the shelves. Sherlock, being an encyclopedia of a man, had figured out quickly where they should go.
"Not well, this is the third time she's wanted to rearrange the books in the last two days." I nodded, watching as she began to calm at the order, apprehensively happy with the arrangement.
"And how are you?" I turned my head to catch her reaction. Alice shrugged, releasing her long brown hair from its updo. She ran her hands through it, a habit that she shared with her brother.
"I've been better, but at least I don't want to kill myself anymore, you know?" She smiled grimly, meeting my gaze. "I just want this to all be over, I want to go back home." I nodded, understanding what she meant.
"You're safe right now, that's what's important. I know it sucks to be stuck here, but this is easier." She nodded, her attention turning back to her girlfriend as Sherlock helped her to her feet. Her ebony skin had gained an ashy quality and her hair had gone back to its naturally curly state.
She smiled, despite her current mental state, and offered us drinks. We both declined, and she sat heavily on the couch. "Okay, I am officially sick of this place." Alice chuckled, plopping down next to her. Olivia placed her feet in her lap as Sherlock and I took opposing chairs.
"We've seen everything on T.V. even the crappy TLC shows, and I've read every single one of those books. We've played all 15 million board games at least a hundred times." Alice laughed, massaging her feet.
"I doubt there's 15 million, and I doubt we've played them one hundred times," she teased lovingly. She turned her attention to us, raising an eyebrow. "However, more board games might be in order." Sherlock nodded, remarking that he'd pass that on to Jack. The conversation continued for a while as Olivia began to relax from her anxiety attack. She'd had to get up three times to wash her hands before she'd fully calmed.
"I've sung every song for my April recital every day." She huffed, dramatically throwing her arm over her eyes. Alice laughed again, smacking her playfully.
"You love this years program, don't deny it." She turned to us, "Olivia's doing a lot of American folk songs in her next recital, songs like Shenandoah and Wade in the Water. She's fantastic at them."
I raised an eyebrow as Olivia sighed playfully and sat up. "Only if you're willing," Sherlock said, though he wanted to hear it too. Olivia stood and went to the piano that was crammed into the corner. She hit a note, copying it with her voice before she began.
She sang Wade in the Water, an old tune from American slaves on the run. Her voice floated in the air, its rich sound wrapping the rest of us in its spell. Her eyes closed as she swayed to the music, letting herself get swept up into the story of the song. The very sound of her voice gave me chills.
The song continued on, and tears pooled in the backs of my eyes. Her haunting voice matched the tone of the piece perfectly. She opened her eyes when the song was over, smiling slowly. We applauded her, speechless. Sherlock found his voice first, "You're going to move a lot of people during that recital. I can't wait to see it."
We left soon after, not wanting to crowd into the girls night. We watched the sun sink into the rolling hills as the car sped back towards London. Sherlock leaned into me, placing his head down on my shoulder. The girls were safe, and we were moving closer and closer to fixing this mess.
Alice's POV
Two days later
Olivia's anxiety was much higher today, near hysterical amounts. Jack had visited this morning, and ever since, Liv had been pacing the cottage. She'd gone through and rearranged the bookshelves, and tidied the whole cottage. Her hands were raw from being washed so often.
It wasn't until after dinner that I suggested we go for a walk. She nodded, barely hearing me. One agent trailed after us, not a hundred feet back.
We were constantly followed, watched. I understood why, we both did, but it was still frustrating. Her arm was linked with mine, even as she talked.
"Sometimes I think it would be easier if we just ran away. Just made a break for it." I laughed at her joke, but she pulled me to a stop. Her tawny eyes were serious, deadly serious. My laughter faded as I shook my head.
"What?" She grabbed my hands, looking down. She met my gaze, and a nauseating sense of dread washed over me.
"I'm so tired of living in fear, Alice." I pulled away, wrapping my leather jacket around my body. "Yeah, but running away? That's ridiculous, Liv. I know you're anxious, but we're safe here."
"Safe, maybe. But we're trapped, like birds in a cage. I don't want to live like this anymore."
"Live like what?" Her face crumpled, and she threw an arm out to gesture to the agent standing a hundred yards away.
"Like this, Alice. I can't do it anymore." She walked forwards a few feet before I caught her arm. "I'm sick of this too, Liv, but stop this. We can't run away."
"Why not? Why not just leave?" Her tawny eyes were wild, a deer in headlights. An icy sense of dreaf filled my bones, but I shook my head again.
"We're safe here, Olivia. Come on, let's go back, you're being ridiculous." I held out my hand, tired and chilly from the cool night. She glanced at my hand, her eyes flickering back up to mine.
And then she ran.
She took off, sprinting towards the treeline. I screamed, running after her. In an instant, the agent pulled me back, throwing me to the ground. He sprinted after her, disappearing into the trees as well.
Two more agents ran past before one came to my side. He pulled me to my feet, practically carrying back to the cottage. I heard a guttural scream before realizing it was me. I was screaming, tears pouring down my face. The agent ran up the stairs, myself in tow. He was already on the phone with police, back up was coming.
What if he got to her first?
I was sobbing as he released me once we were inside. My back hit the wall, my legs shaking and stumbling. I crumpled to the ground and my hands covered my face. He hung up the phone and knelt beside me. "Give me your phone," I ground out. He gave me a pitingly look before handing it over. Taking a deep breath, I dialed the familiar number.
Sherlock's POV
"So, Paul Stewart is either in this warehouse or this abandoned church, right?" John clarified, his hand coming to the small of my back. I nodded, still looking at the extensive case board on the sitting room wall.
My phone began to ring, vibrating in my pocket. I fished it out, answering it.
"She's gone, Sherlock. She's gone," Alice's voice cracked, rattling through the speaker and deep into my bones.
"What's happened? We're on our way." Alice explained, as John grabbed our coats quickly, that Olivia had run off, tired of living the way they were. I could hear that she was crying, could hear it as her world was crumbling around her.
"You have to come, you have to find her." She hung up, leaving us in silence in the agent car. John ran a hand through his hair, "Oh my God. I didn't think that, oh my God." I sat in shocked silence as the car sped at lightning speeds to the cottage.
Mycroft texted me when we were nearly halfway there. 'Every agent I have control of heading that way. We will find her. -MH.' I showed John the text, who nodded grimly.
"You grabbed our guns, right?" He nodded, handing me my own. I took it and sighed. Not once had I dreamed that this could happen, that Olivia would get so mentally unstable that she would just take off. And now her life might be over.
I'd seen the signs. I'd seen the anxiety, the wild fear. But it had always been Alice to be concerned about. Alice had always been the less stable one, I hadn't even thought that Olivia might do this. And now she might be dead.
Jack was already there when we arrived, holding his little sister in his arms. She was on the floor, tears running down her face, staring out the door. In shock. Her head snapped up when we came through the door.
She began to wail, hands covering her face. I knelt beside her, grabbing her shoulder. "Hey, listen to me. We're going to find her." She nodded, attempting to collect herself.
"I'm coming with you. I can reason with her, please just let me come." I shook my head, glancing over to Jack. He shook his head as well, but tears were falling down his cheeks too.
"No, Alice," my voice shook and I cleared my throat. "We're going to go look for her, but you have to stay here." She began to cry again, her dark hair sticking to her neck. She was shaking, hands unable to keep still as she clasped them togther.
Her bright blue eyes peered up at me."Find her. You have to find her. I love her, please, find her."
I nodded, standing. Jack squeezed her tighter as she buried her face into his shoulder. "Find her. She's lost so much already, don't let her lose Olivia too." John nodded along with me, and we ran back out. An agent was waiting and gave us a rundown of what had happened. She wasn't in the surrounding area that they were currently sweeping.
John looked up suddenly, wide-eyed. "The gas station. There's a gas station nearby." My eyes widened with the same realization, and we scrambled into the nearest agent car and sped off.
Third POV
It hadn't taken long to break her. Hadn't taken long for her spirit to be broken, for her to become so damaged that she ran away. And straight into the arms of death.
Paul had known exactly where the safe house was, had found it easily. His associate had located it, and now, he'd been waiting. He had been at the gas station when his two associates called with the news. He'd been hiding in the forest when she'd run directly for it. He'd instructed him not to kill her, but merely lead her to him. And there she was, in the payphone booth. Scared. Terrified.
Yes, she had broken easily. So sweetly easily.
Sherlock's POV
Multiple agents had gotten into the car with us and even took more cars as we sped towards the one place she could've run to. I was out of the car before it had even stopped moving, my gun already out.
We began searching the area, calling for her, begging her to come home. I was still in the front of the building when an agent called from behind the building. "OVER HERE!"