#like my. second thought watching this scene (after the incoherent screeching ofc)

[chronicowboy]

eddie diaz + the song of achilles

[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 22

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 21 - Chapter 23

Chapter 22- Repercussions

~~~

And we try and try to figure out what "normal" is around here. Is "normal" solving murders? Is it saving one another from the week's newest maniac? I can't imagine any of us in a nice little house with a fence and a dog, so what is even "normal" anymore?

~~~

The first video showed up the next day.

Amelia had been alone in her room when she screamed, throwing her phone across the room, bringing down a few plants when it hit a shelf.

By the time Sherlock and John got to her, she was in her closet, blanket over her head, hyperventilating. John coaxed her out and Sherlock watched the clip with a steely expression.

Later that night, Mrs. Hudson’s cell phone rang an achingly familiar American Country tune floating from the downstairs, the landlady complaining that the ringtone was different.

The second video appeared on the tele when John and Amelia were waiting for Sherlock to return from a case at the Yard a few days later.

This one was similar to the one that John and Sherlock had received back in December, except Amelia was ripping at her arms, screeching like a wounded animal. It replayed, over and over, and when John finally ripped the power cord from the wall, it popped up on their cell phones and laptops.

Amelia didn’t say a word, eyes glazed over while the screams permeated the walls of the only safe place she had in this world.

When they met with Mycroft at the Diogenes Club, he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He kept his questions directed to John and Sherlock, only being straightforward when Anthea stepped in and offered to take Amelia for some lunch.

“We know he’s a madman,” Mycroft waited until the door was shut before speaking. “And it’s clear what his game is at this point.”

“What about the court? Amelia’s therapist should have submitted-,” John offered, only to be cut short by more bad news.

“Thrown away,” Mycroft looked like he was seething at the news. “All three judges voted against a criminal proceeding against him, though they were willing to move forward against the board at Chemco.”

“He’s the one that bribed them,” John snapped.

“He likely bribed the judges as well,” Sherlock muttered, earning a grunt of agreement from his older brother.

“He also gave one of my agents this,” Mycroft held up a USB that was sitting on his desk. “After he was released from custody.”

“And what’s that?” John demanded, still seething from the previous news.

“It’s the entire surveillance footage from December,” Mycroft’s focus fell on his younger brother.  “Everything up until the moment we knocked on the hotel room door. It isn’t pleasant, but I think you should see it.”

Sherlock wordlessly reached for the device, fumbling with it a moment in his hands before tucking it into his jacket pocket.

“What now?” John asked the brothers. Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged uneasy glances before the older brother spoke.

“We move onto the next case,” he replied tersely.

John fumed out of the room at that, leaving only Sherlock and Mycroft in the ornate office.

“Would you like some advice, dear brother?” Mycroft leaned back on his desk, watching Sherlock. “Move forward.”

“It’s not so simple,” Sherlock replied, standing up and straightening his scarf.  

“It is once you detach yourself from your self-blame,” Mycroft noted firmly. “The only person to blame is James Moriarty.”

“How bad is it?” Sherlock held up the USB.

“I felt sick to my stomach by January,” Mycroft answered truthfully.

“I shouldn’t have let it go past twenty-four hours,” Sherlock pocketed the USB and started for the door. “Let Anthea know we will be meeting them.”

~~~

No one knew how to handle themselves after that.

Sherlock, against both Amelia and John’s insistence, watched the video.

After a few days, John skimmed through it as well, shutting himself away in his room for a few days. He wouldn’t leave her alone after that, treating her like a fragile glass figurine.

Both men refused to let Amelia have access to it, but Amelia knew exactly where to look for the USB, finding it tucked inside of the skull on the mantle.

She saved it to the same drive as the Chemo data, returning it less than an hour later, no one was the wiser. Amelia knew she needed to get her nerve up to watch it, unsure of what she’d find on the other side.

She told Ruthie that she was staying with her mother, then boys she was staying with Ruthie and her mother that she was staying with Molly, and checked herself into a hotel across town. Under her fake ID, of course, knowing that neither Sherlock nor John had any reason to know that particular name.

She brought a small bag of clothes, two bottles of wine, and her computer. Hooking the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door to her room. She pressed play, the video starting out familiar; her escaping the room after shoving Moriarty, the subsequent capture, and so on.

She sped up the time, watching scenes she recognized, and slowing it when she didn’t recall something.

The whole thing had sound, and she winced when she heard some of the beatings, and gagged when the force-feedings started, all were still relatively clear in her memory. What she didn’t recall was those last few weeks to days.

There was more blood than she remembered, between vomiting and fighting back as much as she could. At least Amelia could say she fought like hell to the very end.

What broke her heart were the times she was tied in the metal chair, whispering to herself, occasionally screaming for help, begging for John and Sherlock. Or the times she had what she’d thought were full conversations with the detective but were actually incoherent ramblings of her talking to herself out loud.

All in all, it wasn’t quite as bad as having experienced it herself. There was certainly savagery that she didn’t quite remember, but the incessant sense of dread was all the same.

That was when she realized that the video wasn’t ever meant for her.

It was meant for everyone else.

She returned back to Baker Street a day later, Sherlock demanding to know where she’d been, and she handed him her laptop, disappearing to the basement while he opened it.  

It was only fair that they all be on the same page, she later defended when John asked why Sherlock wouldn’t leave his room.

Amelia knew that they’d all have to confront each other about it eventually. There was no way they’d all be able to move forward without having done so. Sherlock was the one who made the first move, crawling into Amelia’s bed one night, wrapping his arms over her.

“I understand if you want to leave,” his voice rumbled against her back.

Was that what he was worried about?

“And go where?” she asked, still facing away, her hand finding him and tracing circles over his palm with her thumb.

“Back to Brooklyn? Away from all of this,” he replied.

Away from me, she could hear between the lines.

“None of this was your fault,” she stated, hearing his breath caught when she spoke.

“Moriarty targeted you because of your relationship with me-,” he began and Amelia rolled to face him, scowling at his insistence.

“All of this happened because I couldn’t listen to you for five seconds and not taunt the bad guy,” she replied sternly.

“It’s a defense mechanism, you didn’t know any better,” he countered. “You were kidnapped because of me.”

“I was kidnapped because some guy has this insane obsession with you and your magnificent mind,” she tapped his forehead lightly. “How is that your fault? You can’t control other people, as much as I know you wish you could.”

He huffed in response.

“I should have found you then,” he corrected. “Rescued you before…”

“The crazy guy did crazy things to try and make us all crazy?”

“Stop brushing this off!” he protested, voice cutting the still night air. “I’m trying to be serious.”

“You’re trying to justify your self imposed misery,” she murmured softly, reaching for his cheek and running her thumb over the skin soothingly. “You can be angry and sad, but don’t put it on you, put it on the person to blame.”

He sat upon his elbow, looking down at her, his expression impossible to read in the dark light.

“Where have you been?” he whispered, fingers tangling themselves in a few of her stray hairs on the pillow.

“I was on Bleecker Street for a while in college-,” she teased, silenced when a small smirk tugged at his lips. He was so pretty, her mind buzzed, the dim street lights catching the subtle blues of his eyes.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he continued, his brows furrowed a moment, as if he was trying to analyze something.

Slowly, he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

Amelia reciprocated in kind. It was the type of kiss that had them panting, and Amelia desperately wanting to pull her nightclothes off, but he caught her by the hand before she could grab the bottom of her shirt.

“Not… not yet,” he rumbled, pulling her to his chest and wrapping an arm over her.

Sighing, Amelia peeked up at him with a pout.

“Making me wait,” she grumbled, earning a light chuckle from her companion.

“It’ll be worth it.”

“Don’t make checks you can’t cash, Holmes.”

~~~

Elsewhere in London, behind expertly trained marksmen and steel doors, James Moriarty stared at the wall while another hapless MI6 agent tried to get something of use out of him.

It was to be expected, after all. He had a brilliant mind and those in power feared those more clever than them. They usually wanted to extinguish those minds or exploit them.

Still, he was enjoying the brief respite from his obligations. There meals a day, a bit of peace and quiet- lots of time to think. Unfortunately, it was when these agents came by and rambled on and on about negotiations or how he can help the world, he grew weary.

What could they offer? He had anything he could have ever wanted in terms of material goods. Immaterially, he had power, influence, and ruled over his global kingdom with fear.

He heard the shift of the agent leaving the room, the door not quite closing when footfalls stopped a few meters away.

Someone new, he realized with a small twinge of excitement, freezing and waiting for them to speak first. He never wasted his time with such boring things such as small talk or reasoning.

“What if we discuss Sherlock Holmes?”

Chapter 23