The wind and the trees and the insects made this odd humming, brushing sound that lulled me into a heavenly place where I could let go of every thought—just for a while—live in that blissful emptiness that I almost never could indulge. Even now, it wasn’t meant to last for long. The constable in charge of guarding the crime scene at the willow tree cleared his throat. I didn’t think he could see me, hidden as I was against the far side of the bandstand, but I could see glimpses of his ginger head and the yellow police tape creating an imperfect circle to surround the place where Sadie had died. The bandstand would never be an escape for me again. My sanctuary had been invaded.
Sherlock slid his fingers between mine and scooted closer, though he wouldn’t look at me, not even when he finally spoke.
“I called the police.”
My voice was a weak croaky thing from all the coughing. “I noticed.”
His face was directed toward me, but his gaze shifted down. He still would not see me. “I tried to let you go, tried to trust in your plan.”
He paused, as if I was supposed to respond, but there was nothing to say, really.
“You looked so alone walking down Baker Street, and I didn’t want you to be alone with him. Not after what happened last time.” Sherlock looked directly into my eyes before speaking again, and there was no disgust there—no pity, only pleading. “When I saw him go into the house, I called the police.”
He wanted me to tell him it was okay, that it was for the best. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t look at him.
“I would ask you to forgive me, but I find that I am not sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I could not give you up. And I knew, were I not to intervene, tonight would end in one of three ways. Either he would kill you, and . . . I . . .” He cleared his throat again. “Or you would go with him in some deal to leave your brothers behind and out of his reach. But what scared me most of all was that I knew you were clever enough to see what I saw from the moment you showed up on my doorstep today.”
He was so quiet, the sounds of the evening insects drowned out even his breathing. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t. And still, I asked the question that hung in the air above our heads. I didn’t even have to think the words, just open my mouth.
“What did you see?”
His eyes found mine again, looking more like mine than they ever had. They were so calculating, I felt a shiver trip down my spine.
“That your father should die.”
“Die.” I whispered my echo. He knew. Impossibly, he knew. I opened my mouth again. “Why? Why did you stop me? Why bring the police?”
His gaze shifted down again, and I could see him wrestle with his words in the pained expressions that cycled across his face. “If you did this thing. If you . . . You would not be you anymore.” He took a breath, but I could not. “And I . . . Mori, I—I cannot give you up. Not now. And I cannot even be sorry about it.”
Hot tears trickled unchecked from my eyes. My Lock. The one man who could not even take credit for saving a life if his motives were known to him to be selfish. I should’ve thanked him, but even then, watching the pained furrow of his brow, I couldn’t help but think through all the ways this night could have ended better if only he hadn’t gone to the police. If he’d come to me with what he knew, we could’ve worked together to end my father. If he had just even come alone, he could have stopped my father from killing me long enough for me to find the knife and finish him. If Sherlock hadn’t done the one thing I told him not to do, Dad would be gone, and I would be free. If only I could have stopped him myself.
“He was stronger than I had anticipated,” I whispered.
“Don’t.”
“There was a moment when I knew I could get away, but I also knew—”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Well, you will know!” I shouted, then glanced over to the crime scene. The ginger head didn’t seem to have noticed my outburst. I turned back and stared directly at Sherlock, forcing him to look back at me, but as soon as he did, all my anger fled, leaving only exhaustion behind. “You will know how you ruined—”
“Mori.” His fingers traced down the side of my face, along my jaw to my chin. He pulled me close so that he could rest his forehead against mine. “Tell me if you’d like, but it changes nothing.”
A sob escaped my lips and I felt one of us tremble. “He hurt me.”
His thumb swept across my eyelid and down under my eye, where I knew the skin was probably purple. “The bruises will heal.”
“He hurt me.” I laughed softly, which only seemed to release more tears. “Even now I hear his voice. I will always hear his voice. . . .”
His hands surrounded my face, and his cheek slid down to rest against mine. “He can’t hurt you again.”
“It was all so perfect, my plan. And you know what stopped me? My own frailty. I went into that house to prove he couldn’t beat me, but he did. Because I was helpless. Weak. And now I’ll only ever be that.” Because of you.
I felt Lock release a breath against my cheek, felt the cool trails of both our tears. He didn’t speak for a long time, and when he did, he said, “You are the strongest of all of us.”
x x x
Flashes went off all around us, even before we stepped out into the open, and I watched as the looming light of a news camera swooped toward me with an almost supernatural speed. Sherlock’s arms surrounded me, pulling my face to his chest as the shouting began.
They shouted my name.
They knew my name.