The boys upstairs

Clara

"We'll drop Rosie with Clara, she's been dying to meet her anyway and it was unfair to ask Mrs Hudson..."

"... we won't be able to attack him head on, we'll need a plan, a strategy. We cannot rely on the element of surprise as we don't know whether he's following us..."

"Is (Y/n) asleep? Bless her... yes give me your coat to wrap her up a bit....

"... as for what we do with him- he's too slippery to pin down, he'll want something..."

You half listen to their butchered conversations, the rhythmic sway of the train offering a small comfort.

Darkness had long since fallen and you haven't stopped travelling all day. It was easier for you to stay calm if you feigned sleep; this way you weren't involved in their planning. None of it would matter anyway, he would have thought of every eventuality and trying to trick him would only aggravate him.

You get off the train an hour later and shiver, pulling Sherlock's coat around yourself tighter. It brushed the pavement with every step, such was his height.

When escaping the first time you had not brought much with you, and certainly nothing as substantial as his coat which tonight he insisted was too warm to wear. Instead he carried Rosie close, strapped into her pappoose and kicking her fat little legs happily.

They wait for you to move then follow you to the cab where John orders a street you forget the name of the second he says it. You drive for another twenty minutes, all of you silent in your own thoughts with just the occasional snifflings of Rosie to break the blanket of quiet.

The cab pulls up beside a quaint red brick house with large windows and a light on downstairs. Upon knocking, a small woman opens the door and squeals, hugging John furiously and then Sherlock, and finally Rosie.

She has a pretty heart shaped face and dark hair held back with a red bandana that compliments the blush upon her cheeks. Within ten minutes you are settled inside, hot teas on the coffee table and a small inferno flickering in the fireplace creating patterns on the mosaic rug. Clara holds Rosie on her lap, bouncing her quietly, completely enthralled by the giggling child. She looks up and catches your eye and you smile shyly.

"John doesn't tell me anything these days, it's lovely to finally meet you Mary"

You glance at John, swallowed by the tepid silence that follows her statement.

"This isn't Mary, this is (Y/n). Mary... passed away a few months back" says Sherlock with halting concern.

"Oh" says Clara simply, biting her lip then rising, handing Rosie to you and taking John in for a long hug. Rosie sleeps soundly and you are grateful to feel her warm weight grounding you. Clara whispers some comforts to John who pats her shoulder and sits back as she withdraws.

"I should have told you Clara, I just didn't know how to get hold of you" he says blankly and she nods understandingly.

"Lie" says Sherlock suddenly and John glares at him.

"Well I say couldn't get hold of you... I mean I couldn't face it..."

"Lie"

John glares some more and sighs heavily.

"I... liked pretending that she was still alive. If I had told you sooner... it would have made it final. Would have made it... Permanent"

He looks at Sherlock, daring him to contradict but Sherlock is silent.

"Pretending... is good for some time. But at some point you have to stop running. And remember her" says Clara and you repeat her words in your head. They make a lot of sense and none at all, but you like them. It is at this point that Rosie wakes up with some fussing and John follows Clara to the kitchen with her to prepare a bottle. You sit with Sherlock who mulls too, chin resting on his slightly parted hands.

"You're good at reading John" you say but he doesn't break his gaze into the fire, moving just his mouth to answer.

"People are not orignal (Y/n)"

"And Clara?"

"Still grieving her relationship with an alcoholic, on antidepressants and suffering from insomnia. Mother comes round twice a week to check on her. Has recently turned vegetarian and as a result is suffering from low iron. She has a great respect for John and is happy he has found purpose with me"

You blink, never getting used to that. "Should I even ask?"

"It will probably bore us both, I would advise against it"

You sigh and slip back into silence, leaning into the comfy cushions of the sofa, your blinks getting longer and slower.

"Sherlock" You say finally into the glowing fire.

"Hmm?"

"Why wouldn't you let me go alone? You know what Moriarty is capable of and I know you would rather be shot a thousand times than see harm come to John or Rosie"

Sherlock finally moves, standing and walking to the window, back straight, one hand in his pocket and other wrapped around a glass of untouched red wine.

"Rosie will be safe with Clara, and John will be safest by my side" he says monotonously and you sigh.

"Lie"

He clears his throat.

"If I left John behind, he may try to find me and stumble into even more danger"

"Lie"

Sherlock is frustrated now.

"You don't want me to say it"

"Lie" you whisper

"If I let you go alone... John would never forgive me"

You are silent as you let it sink in. You didn't like being lied to, yet the truth burned just as hard. Neither of them really cared for you, it was only ever the pair of them. You were here to keep the plot going, to aid them to the next stage, to help them to find Moriarty where he would do with you what he so wishes and they could continue in their quest to bring him down. You were unimportant and impermanent.

"I'm going to die tomorrow" You say quietly. It comes out as more of a plea than a statement of fact or indifference.

There is a heavy pause before he sighs and finally turns to you.

"Lie"