Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Ten

The Crown Jewels, the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison; Moriarty had played a strong move. Because it was a game. A game that Sherlock did not want to play but could not forfeit. A game that Sherlock knew was going to end with his own death.

Sherlock stepped up to the stand, his eyes fixed on Moriarty's smirk as he took his position. It was a smirk that he had seen before, one that could tint even the worst crimes with a sense of playfulness and charisma. But not this time. Now, when Sherlock looked at Moriarty, he saw nothing but the night under St. Bart's Hospital; when all he could do was watch through a pane of glass as his only chance of becoming a father evaporated in front of him. At the hands of that man, wearing that smirk.

III

"Sorry are you in the queue?" Margaux asked an old woman who was standing in front of her in the newsagents.

The woman shook her head and moved to the side, allowing her to join the queue. Margaux stood patiently, hugging a packet of Oreos to her chest and glancing at her watch; she had six minutes to get back to work. The queue shuffled up.

"Mad isn't it. Makes you sick," a man said as he paid for his things. "No way a man gets away with something like that. My neighbour went to jail for eighteen months over a dodgy insurance claim and you're telling me he's walked away scot free? Load of bollocks."

Margaux looked up to the counter, the man was holding a newspaper. She glanced down to the racks at her side, a sudden feeling of nausea wrapping around her like an unwanted hug. His face. His smug, calculating face plastered in black and white across every pile of papers.

'MORIARTY WALKS FREE: SHOCK VERDICT AT OLD BAILEY TRIAL.'

"Excuse me, love. I'm in the queue now, are you still waiting?" said the old woman from behind her.

Margaux's shaking hands grasped the packet of Oreos and pushed them back onto the closest shelf. "No, sorry. You go ahead." Her words were barely audible as she ran out of the shop.

Outside, the air seemed colder, smoggier. She sat down on a step and began to cry.

"Margaux?" A warm voice startled her.

She looked up to see Dr Grant standing above her. He was wrapped in a coat and scarf, holding an earphone in one hand, the other one still playing music in his ear, just loud enough for Margaux to recognise the song.

"Dr Grant." She sniffed.

"Hey, now if I can't call you Dr Cave then you can't call me Dr Grant. It's Oliver." He smiled, offering her his hand.

She took it, allowing him to help her up.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Oh, I just... saw someone I didn't really want to see."

He gave an understanding sigh "Ugh that's the worst, I'm sorry. Here." He extended his arms and pulled Margaux into a hug. It made her feel safe. He really was lovely.

"Dr– Oliver," she began "we never did go for that drink..."

"Oh, right, erm,"

After a moment of silence, Margaux smiled, "Girlfriend?" She asked sincerely. 

"Yeah. She's amazing." Dr Grant gave in. "We've not been seeing each other long but things are going great. She's just... You know when you're with someone who's really romantic and affectionate and they just make you feel so... happy?"

"No. What's that like?" She thought about Sherlock; the cold, distant sociopath. She thought about how even his body was cold; clean and pale like marble. She thought about how his touch was cold; inducing goose bumps with nothing but his fingertips, how his eyes glowed blue like a glacier, and froze over whenever he felt he was getting too close. She had grown to love the cold.