Lily was having a slow morning, watching TV on the couch, when Sherlock knocked on her door. At first, she thought he was going to ask her to watch Rosie again, but she saw that Rosie wasn't with him — and neither was John. She remembered his injury just before Sherlock asked her to go to a crime scene with him.
She knew she would get sick and upset seeing a dead body — anybody would, really, except someone who was used to it. Even then, they might just have learned to hold the reactions at bay. But Lily had not; the only dead bodies she'd seen were at the few funerals she'd been to in her life, and it was entirely different from a murder victim. The mortician had done their job, there was no mess, no awful smell. It was still sad, but the sting of tragedy had been filed down as far as it could be.
It was not so with poor William Kirwan.
Sherlock needed her help, though, and she didn't want to tell him no. She had nothing to do that day anyway, so she decided to do what she could, thought maybe it'd be alright. It wasn't, but that Vick's vapor rub the officer had lent her had helped with the smell. The horror never really left unless she was distracted.
The officer with the vapor rub — his name was August — talked to her while Lily waited for Sherlock, and it helped her to calm down a bit. He asked about her name, where she from, stuff to distract her. He was called in the house, though, and Lily was left watching Sherlock and Lestrade standing over the body. The thought of it made her heart ache, made her wonder who he was leaving behind. She thought about how scared he must've been in his last moments, even before she'd heard Henry Cunningham's story.
But Sherlock was reassuring, and he was kind, and talking and joking with him a little really put it from her mind for a few moments. That was the best part of the day, really. And she felt like she'd helped a little bit, despite never saying a word while Sherlock was looking at the corpse.
In the week that follows, Lily doesn't do much but tend the garden, try to work on her new book, and make lemon bars towards the end of the week when Mrs. Hudson returns. She takes them to her, and Sherlock, John, and Rosie.
John's ankle is starting to get better, and he's up and moving around on his own. He can't run very well yet, but he thinks he might be able to join Sherlock in going back to the crime scene. Lily is in a state of hoping he does — since that would mean he'd be better and getting back to work — and hoping he doesn't — because, despite the blemish on her last excursion with Sherlock, she actually wants to go with him again. As long as there's no body, of course.
She probably won't, though, and she does her best to let go of that tiny disappointment and focus on other matters.
She's been talking with Liam often — at least twice a week so far, not including random texts — and he's brought the bakery up a couple times. Lily hasn't looked for a place for it yet, though, as her fund hasn't been fully replenished. The news of a new book in the works has got Liam off her back about it, and the addition of her story of the crime scene definitely takes his mind off it. He was a little concerned at first, but Lily told him enough about Sherlock that he isn't anymore. His fascination with forensics and true crime definitely helped her out on that one.
Her parents have called, too, trying to make plans to come up and see her new apartment. They're planning on staying in a hotel so they can traverse the city a bit by themselves, like a little holiday, and also because Lily doesn't have a spare room. Liam wants to come up with them, which has thrown a wrench in the scheduling due to his work. Uriah, Raven, and Elliot and Gabby all likewise want to see it at some point, though probably not all at the same time. Lily is certainly ready to welcome visitors, considering her clear schedule.
The one day she's planned to go out and do some shopping, though, there's a knock at the door.
Sherlock stands on the other side with a small smile. "Hello. Fancy another trip to Wintermere?"
Lily can't help but smile herself. "As long as there's no dead bodies this time."
"There isn't at present, no."
At that, she raises a brow. "At present?"
Sherlock shrugs. "Well, John's coming, so you never know."
Lily looks to the side of Sherlock but doesn't see him. "Really? Where is he?"
Sherlock nods back towards 221A. "Dropping Rosie off at Mrs. Hudson's. Lestrade is waiting outside."
"Let me just grab my keys and my phone and I'll be right with you," Lily says, then turning and hurrying down the stairs. Her phone is on the kitchen counter, and her keys are on a ring next to the coat hooks at the bottom of the stairs. Luckily, she's already dressed, and so doesn't need to pull something out of her closet at random this time.
John meets her and Sherlock in the hall, and they head out to Lestrade's car, where Lily and John get in the backseat and Sherlock sits up front. Lestrade greets them all with a smile, so he probably hasn't been waiting long.
He updates them on new information in the case. "We didn't find that anything else was taken besides the candlesticks and silverware — and that's only on the Cunninghams word, since we didn't find any record of their purchase. Handed down through the generations and all that. But we've determined the type of gun that was used to killed Kirwan." He tells them, and it means nothing to Lily. "We talked to the Hayters shortly after you left the scene, too. They didn't hear anything, and they let us search the house; we didn't find anything suspicious."
"Of course not," Sherlock replies. "The distance is great enough that they would've heard nothing, and they don't have a motive to kill the Cunninghams' gardener or rob them of their candlesticks and silverware."
"What about the property dispute?" John pipes up.
"They wouldn't've been anywhere near the right place to steal any legal documents. The Hayters already own half of it anyway. They're a bit stuck up, but they're not greedy enough to want the whole property."
"That's true," John concedes. "They donate to a lot of charities, all the time."
Lestrade continues. "Anyway, there's one more significant thing we've found: the gun wasn't fired at close range."
"I could've told you that," Sherlock replies
"So that's a hole in Henry's story, isn't it?" Lily says.
"Precisely. If they'd been fighting over the gun, it certainly would've been close range. I'd go ahead and add the hedge bit as another hole, too. He either knows something he doesn't want to say, or he's done it himself."
"He could've been in shock, remembered a couple details wrong," Lily says.
John shrugs. "Sounds suspicious to me."
"We'll know for certain today, I expect," Sherlock says, and the conversation turns to other matters after that.
When they arrive at Wintermere, they're the only police car there. Lily looks at all the flowers again; they really are beautiful, though she wonders who will be taking care of them now as they walk into the house.
The Cunninghams are there, having been expecting them. They don't look particularly happy about having them there, but they're still civil. Henry Cunningham even offers Lily a smile when he shakes her hand.
"So, what is it exactly you need us to do?" Mr. Cunningham asks Lestrade.
Sherlock answers. "We're all going to go upstairs and have a look around the place."
Henry Cunningham frowns. "Why do we have to go with you?"
"I might have some questions for you along the way. It's just easier."
Both men reluctantly consent to going, and Sherlock gestures up the stairs. "Give us the tour, gentlemen." He smiles thinly, false friendliness behind it.
Henry goes first, then Mr. Cunningham, then Sherlock, and the other three follow behind. Lily looks around the place but sees nothing more than a nice house, with wealth hinting in the chandelier, the pictures, and the like. The second floor has a number of rooms, and they start at the end. "This is one of the guest rooms."
Sherlock glances inside for a few seconds, then says, "I've seen enough. Move on."
Henry gives him an odd, confused look but walks on to the next room, which is another guest room. Sherlock treats that room — and the other guest rooms and bathrooms — in a similar way. Finally, they make it to Henry's room, towards the other end of the hall.
It's large and neat, the bed made, the walls mostly bare, and nothing on the dresser besides a few pictures and, on the nightstand, a book and an inhaler. As Sherlock walks towards the walk-in closet, opening the door, John goes to the dresser, Lestrade looks under the bed, and Lily goes to the nightstand; she thinks she recognizes the book, but she couldn't quite see the title from the door.
Sure enough, it's Les Misérables.
Henry notices her looking and walks over. "Have you read it?" he asks, picking up the inhaler. He slips it into his pocket.
"Many times," she replies. "I reread it recently, actually." According to the bookmark, he's not too far into it — possibly where Valjean reveals his true identity, if Lily remembers correctly.
A detail comes to mind that particularly strikes her, especially considering the suspicion Henry has created around himself with his story.
Lily looks at Sherlock, who's moved on to the dresser. He's opened a drawer, but he doesn't look in it long. His brows are furrowed, as if he hadn't found what he was looking for — or anything at all. He turns. "I've seen enough. Let's move on."
Henry sighs softly and mumbles, "Here we go," to Lily, as if they're both disgruntled with Sherlock for his behavior, as if they're somehow in this thing together. It irks her, but she doesn't dwell on it. She has a pressing issue on her mind; she should mention this to Sherlock. It's circumstantial evidence (a phrase she learned from Liam's interest), but it supports their working theory.
The Cunninghams lead the way, and Lestrade goes after them. Lily walks towards Sherlock, who's already headed out the door. John is behind them. Lily looks at the Cunninghams when they're in the hall, and she sees that they're too close for her to say anything.
So, she thinks, and, after a moment, improvises.
She stumbles a little, stops walking, putting her hand against the wall and leaning on it, her other hand going to her head. Everyone turns to her, though Sherlock does first. "Lily?"
"I-I'm not feeling well," she says, trying to sound sick. "I'm lightheaded."
Sherlock is directly in front of her then, John at her side. "Dizzy spell?" he asks, brows furrowed in concern.
"I just need to- I need a glass of water. And I need to sit down."
"The cook's in the kitchen downstairs," Henry offers. "We can-"
Lily looks up at Sherlock, cutting Henry off. "Will you go with me?" She makes her voice sound almost like that of a child's when they're sick — a bit whining, a bit imploring. A voice she's heard from her students a number of times. It's the best she can do; it's not like she's ever taken an acting class.
Sherlock looks at her oddly, as if he knows she's up to something. "Alright," he says gently. He turns to the others. "You continue on. We'll join you in a minute."
John hesitates before moving on, but he does, and Henry tells them how to find the kitchen before they walk away, Lily leaning on Sherlock, her arm laced through his. She'd feel like she were in a nineteenth century novel if she had on a dress — and actually felt lightheaded.
When they're far enough away, Sherlock asks in a low voice, "What is it?"
"So you knew that was fake?" Lily says, matching his tone. She doesn't stop leaning on him; they haven't yet reached the stairs.
"I suspected when I first walked over to you. John didn't seem convinced, so that confirmed it."
"I hope the Cunninghams didn't suspect."
"I don't think so. And even if they did, it doesn't matter. What is it you need to tell me?"
They're at the stairs by then, and they walk down normally, though still arm in arm; the staircase is wide enough. "Henry is reading Les Misérables.
Sherlock nods. "Yes, I saw that last week."
"Have you read it?"
"No."
"How far into it was he then?"
Sherlock thinks for a moment. "Not very far at all."
"He told us the robber took candlesticks and silverware."
"Yes."
"At the beginning of the book, Valjean stole silverware and was given candlesticks."
Sherlock is quiet for a moment as they sit down on the sofa in the sitting room. "Give me context."
"Valjean steals silverware from a bishop who gave him a place to stay after getting out of prison. The next morning, when the police try to arrest him again, the bishop says the silverware was a gift, then proceeds to give him the candlesticks. If the candlesticks and silverware were fresh in his mind from reading that book, it would make sense that that's what he told us was taken." Sherlock looks thoughtful again, and Lily bites her lip in a bit of apprehension. "It's circumstantial, I know, but I thought it could be possible and help confirm his story doesn't, you know... add up..."
Sherlock nods. "It's entirely possible. Candlesticks and silverware are certainly on odd thing to steal when much more expensive things are around." He looks around. "And I don't see an empty spot where they could've been."
"Who still owns candlesticks, anyway?" Lily says, laughing a little. "It's 2018."
Sherlock chuckles with her. "Well, people like this do, apparently." He gestures around them. "Pretension is written all over this place."
Lily nods, and they go quiet for a moment, waiting for the right amount of time before going back up. As they sit, something else strikes Lily about her interaction with Henry. "There's one more thing." Sherlock looks up at her, waiting. Her brows furrow a bit. "When he came over to talk to me, he picking up his inhaler. He didn't use it, just put in his pocket while he talked to me, in one small motion. It was almost like he didn't want me to notice."
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she makes the connection, and Sherlock does, too. They lock eyes. "The window," he says, then stands, pacing excitedly. "Lily, you are brilliant. That was nagging at me all week. I couldn't figure out why they would open that window..." He stops and looks at her again, watching him. "Brilliant."
"Thank you." Lily smiles and stands, too. "We should probably head back before they get too suspicious." Sherlock agrees and they make their way back upstairs. Lily doesn't lean on him this time, but she makes sure not to walk very fast either. The others are going into Mr. Cunningham's bedroom when Sherlock and Lily rejoin them.
"Feeling better?" Lestrade asks, looking a little concerned.
Lily nods, though slowly as if her head hurts. "Yes. I'm alright now."
Everyone enters the room, Sherlock, John, and Lestrade searching it. It's more full than Henry's, but not in a cluttered way. There's even a small candy bowl on the nightstand, next to the lamp. No book, though.
Sherlock walks over to the nightstand. Lily and John are near him, Lily looking at a picture on the wall of a man and a woman, likely Mr. Cunningham with his wife years ago, and John looking on the nearby dresser. Lestrade starts asking Mr. Cunningham about something on the other side of the room. Henry is with them, all their backs turned.
Lily walks closer to where Sherlock is, and, in an instant, he pushes everything on the nightstand to the floor. As John, the Cunninghams, and Lestrade turn around, Sherlock grabs Lily's arms like he's trying to support her, though he pulls her a bit to make her stumble. Lily looks at him in utter shock.
"What happened?" Henry asks, hurrying over.
"She nearly fell to the ground, knocked everything over," Sherlock replies, his entire expression filled with concern, which Lily knows is fake. But it must be for a reason.
John comes over, and Sherlock hands her off to him. Lestrade is next to him, asking if he needs to call someone, or if they need to go. "No, no, I'll be alright," she says, trying to sound winded.
"If you're falling over, I don't think so," John replies.
"Just let me sit down," she says, and John helps her sit on the bed, and she looks at the floor, where the lamp is on its side, the bowl is overturned, and the candy is scattered everywhere. "I'm so sorry — I've made such a mess. I'll pick it up-"
She starts trying to stand, but makes a show of being unsteady on her feet, and Henry Cunningham stops her, pushing her to sit back down. "It's alright; we'll get it." He then gets down and starts picking things up, handing the lamp to his father. John looks at Lily, at her eyes, feels her forehead to discern her general temperature. Lestrade begins helping the Cunninghams.
And Sherlock is gone.
Lily doesn't say anything, not sure if he wants her to, but the rest notice when Lestrade and the Cunninghams finish picking things up.
"Where's Sherlock?" Lestrade asks. For a moment, everyone looks around the room as if he'll suddenly appear.
Then, Henry says, "We'll go look for him. You two better stay here with her."
"Get her some more water on the way back," Lestrade tells him, and Henry nods, leaving the room with his father.
John looks squarely at Lily and says, "Alright, what are you and Sherlock up to?"
Lily, relieved, drops the act, much to Lestrade's surprise. "What?" he says.
"I'm not sick at all," Lily tells him. "I was acting earlier because I noticed something and I wanted to tell Sherlock without the Cunninghams hearing. Right now, though, I have absolutely no idea what he's up to."
"What did you notice?" Lestrade asks, but before Lily can answer, they hear shouting.