Life is but a Dream... (A Sherlock Fanfiction)

*The Great Game: Part Nine*

Chapter Thirty: Art Is Nothing But A Frozen Moment

3 Missed Calls

Is what I read on my phone inside the cab. I scrolled down to see a message from Wyatt:
Skipped? Sick? You okay?

I just shut off my phone in dissatisfaction, wishing he'd leave me alone for another time since we encountered several weeks ago. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Sherlock shaking his pink phone in slight frustration.
"Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken the pattern, why?" He asked John. "Waterloo Bridge." he requested from the driver.

"Where now, the gallery?" John asked.
As we came under the bridge, Sherlock put his hand up.
"Stop!" He said, causing the cab driver to pull over on the side of the road.
"You wait here, I won't be a moment." Sherlock told us, then got out.
"Sherlock-" John called, then looked to me. "Stay here this shouldn't be long." he said, then got out and followed his companion. I watched them hop the fence and up the stairs. It looked like Sherlock had given a homeless woman money, and I nodded my head in approval. Not everyone has to suffer, I suppose.

When they came back, Sherlock opened the door and got in. "Now we go to the gallery." he said, glancing at me. I twitched a smile at him as he sat down and the cab presumed its course.
*
When we arrived at the gallery, John and I were about to get out with Sherlock when he stopped us.
"No I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address." He said, then closed his door.
"W-what?" I called, then opened my door as the cab started moving. I got out as quick as I could, ignoring John's statements.

I ran up the steps of the Gallery, following Sherlock inside.
"Wait!" I called, and he turned around.
"Why aren't you with John?" He asked, turning back and walking toward a security guard's closet.
"You didn't expect me to go with him, did you?" I said, stopping. He did so too, and turned around once more to face me.
"Listen, Aspen. I'm not John. He is your Uncle, I am not. I'm not your father or grandfather or any relative of yours. There is no reason you should follow me around more then John. Unlike me he cares about you." he explained, then opened the closet to reveal uniforms hanging on a rack.

"Easier said than done, I guess?" I asked, making him pause for a moment, then resume looking through the rack.
I stood there for a moment, letting the words he said dig inside my head. I didn't even notice he had gone, changed, and returned.
"If you're going to stick around, meet me outside in three hours." Sherlock ordered, putting on a hat. "Down the hall- all the way down and the room to the left- is the Vermeer painting. I'm going to be down there in case anything happens." he said, then walked past me to where he was speaking of.

I followed him, but forked off when he went down the hall. I ventured off into the museum, casually striding amongst other browsers. Because I couldn't see some of the art well, I decided to bring them out again and pulled out my glasses I had in my shirt pocket. I felt myself smile when I looked at the smooth black plastic around the lenses. Something about them seemed comforting now. I placed them on my face and continued walking.

There was another person standing at a piece at the end of the hall, probably the only one I recognised. I walked up to it and saw the swirls in the oiled sky, feeling satisfied.
"Starry Night." I said out loud, knowing the boy next to me heard. He nodded, his sunglasses and maroon baseball cap securely on his head. I could tell he was just in the rain because his grey shirt and jeans had stains on it, and small few drops were left on his brown shoes.
"Van Gogh." I said quietly, starting to realise who he was.

I moved on to another painting to avoid him when he followed me.
"You'll miss school but not art, I guess." he said, taking the lens off his glasses. "But nice lenses. Didn't know you wore them." Wyatt continued.
"I don't, they're- they're just for reading." I said, feeling an insecure pulse rise inside. As soon as that came, I took off the glasses I wore, distorting some of the text in front of me.
"Near?" He asked.
"Far. I just wear contacts at school." I said, feeling my face get warm. This started to make me feel weird...

"I gotta go." I said, feeling an invisible knot tie in my stomach, and a weight drag my feet with every step I took as I walked away to meet Sherlock outside.

Outside the cool evening air was breezy as the last slip of sun disappeared under the ground. I stood outside the gallery when I saw Sherlock walking down the sidewalk. he was leaving without me!
"Wait! Sherlock!" I called, and began to run after him. He began to run to, as if he saw someone in the distance. I followed him into an alley, then looked up to see an amount of stars that you wouldn't see in London. I looked back in front of me to see a shadow of a man that wasn't Sherlock in another alley.

"W-what?" I whispered, and at that moment, the shadow flinched, and started getting larger. I backed away quickly, then stated running as I heard it follow me. I came out of the alley and went against the wall as the man got into a car. What I didn't expect was Sherlock and John coming after him.
"No no no no! It'll take us weeks to find him again!" Sherlock cried out in frustration.

"J-John? Sherlock?" I squeaked, trying to calm my racing heart.
"You didn't wait for me." Sherlock said, irritated.
"That wasn't you." I thought out loud, dumbfounded.
"Well this is us, and I think I know where he's going. Come on." John said, and we headed in the direction of the car's path.