We sat on that bench until it was dark and Lock was out of cigarettes. When it started to get cold, I reached around him to pull his coat over his shoulders. As I straightened the collar, his arms came up around me, holding me close. He never met my eyes. He just brushed tentative fingers through my hair, smoothing it down and pushing strands behind my ear.
When he was done, I said, “I’m sorry.” And I meant it in ways he’d never understand. It was a ridiculous time for a revelation, but right then, held in his arms, I felt all my anger and resentment wash away. The weeks I’d spent refusing to forgive him felt selfish and wasted as I wrapped an arm around his back. I rested my palm in the center of his chest and felt the faint thrum of his heart as his eyes finally tilted down to find mine, and I realized how stupid I’d been.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “For everything.”
I still couldn’t read his expression, but when he leaned forward to rest his forehead on my shoulder, he seemed lighter somehow. Unburdened, perhaps. I rested a hand on the back of his neck, and he said, “Just like this.”
Chapter 14
I went back to the hospital the next day, without a summons. I half expected to find Sherlock sitting on the bench where he’d sat the night before, waiting for me. When he wasn’t, I sat and sent him a text. I’m outside.
While I waited for his response, I caught myself tapping my coat pocket. Or, more accurately, I was tapping on the envelope that held both drawings in it. I’d told myself I was bringing them along as a just-in-case measure, if Lock needed a distraction from everything. But in truth, it had been a giant relief when I got home the night before to find the cards and my lamp still exactly where I’d left them. It occurred to me that anyone in the house could have wandered in and seen the drawings—my sins scribbled onto card stock in detail. I decided then not to ever leave them behind again. I wanted them with me.
I checked my phone to see if he’d texted me back, then sent him a new text. I’m out front. Which is your mother’s ward?
Nothing again, so I watched the people file in and out of the hospital lobby as if it were a grocery store or an apartment complex. People laughed and sipped coffee as though the building weren’t full of people fighting for their lives.
I tapped at my coat pocket again and started to wonder for the thousandth time who could possibly be sending me the drawings. “Have I really gained a nemesis?” I whispered. I hadn’t expected a reply.
“Come now,” he said. “I know we’re not close, but I’m not sure I’d go so far as ‘nemesis’ to describe our burgeoning relationship.”
I sighed. “Mycroft.”
Lock’s brother leaned lazily against the brick wall behind my bench and smiled at me, but the true state of him showed on his face. His eyelids drooped more than normal and seemed swollen, like he’d just woken. His clothes were rumpled and one side of his coat’s collar was still tucked in by his neck.
“I’m still planning to get you a bell,” I said, standing. “Your sneaking days are numbered, Elder Holmes. Cherish them.”
“Noted. Sherlock told me you were here last night. He seemed in better spirits when he returned to the ward. Well done, that.”
I couldn’t decide which was more unbelievable, that Mycroft was praising me or that me sitting on a bench had any impact at all on Sherlock’s mood. “All he did was smoke. I’m not sure you should be so approving.”
Mycroft shrugged. “There are worse vices. Like naming your boyfriend’s brother as a nemesis.” He stood up from the wall and held a melodramatic hand to his chest. “That hurts.”
I reached over to straighten his collar. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
I wasn’t sure why I’d said that. No, I knew exactly why. I just didn’t want to think about it there in front of his brother. Regardless, Mycroft seemed taken aback, though he shrugged it away in the end and started walking toward the entrance. “As you say.”
“Is he inside?”
Mycroft raised a brow. “He didn’t come here with you?”
We stared at each other for a few seconds.
“When did you last see him?” I asked.
“He left before midnight last night. I assumed he went home or to your house.”
I shook my head, and then raised a hand to stop Mycroft from rushing past me. “You stay with your mother. I’ll go find him.”
I held his gaze until I was sure he would do as I said, and then I nodded once and walked toward the line of taxis.
? ? ?
I tried calling Lock most of the ride to his house, but he never answered. I did get a text, however, the very minute I started to walk up the steps to his front door.
I’m on my way.
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I headed home. I supposed whether he came to me or to Mycroft at the hospital, at least we’d know where he was.
My front stoop was uncharacteristically barren. No reporters. No protesters. No police. There weren’t even any of Alice’s men posted that day. I could almost have tricked myself into believing we’d found a bit of normalcy. I should’ve known better.
“Who are you?” a gruff voice called out from behind me.