No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Case Closed

Dear Firethorne

Celeste lifted up onto her tip-toes and kissed Sherlock gently on the cheek before climbing up into the shaft. He froze, completely still until it was his turn to scramble up through the opening. They were greeted on the other end by a body of people who stood as still as statues, except for Mycroft that is. He had a smug look of victory on his face and hands neatly folded in front of him. Though he fought to hide it, Celeste caught a glimmer of relief dancing across the man's eyes. Sherlock wasted no time in explaining the situation in hushed tones to his brother. After a moment, Mycroft ordered several of the men to get back into the chamber to retrieve the body and any evidence, though Sherlock insisted there was none that he hadn't already found and analyzed.
Celeste waited in the hall at Mycroft's request, slumped against the wall, staring at the opposite wall silently. She was thinking about James, how this hadn't just been about her.

I'm so selfish, she thought.

I was so obsessed with my own life that I remained naïve to the fact that there was a bigger picture.

She had an excuse, of course. All her life, she had grown up privileged and at the center of attention. She didn't even have any siblings to reckon with, but to Celestia it didn't seem a valid excuse.

She felt horrible, not for herself but for those who came before her. Nothing gave her the right to overlook their pain. Suddenly, Celestia wanted nothing more than to be back in that room, helping Sherlock untangle this puzzle and finding anyone else who had been caught in the same trap as her.

She wanted to know Clara's story, even though it promised to he unpleasant. Quickly she pushed herself back up the wall and strode back to the door.
As she reached out to try and figure out the array of keypads and other ridiculous security measures, the metal slid open and she was almost run over by Sherlock. His collar was flipped up again and his hands were deep in his pockets. Celeste jumped back just in time for him to slide past and start down the hallway without so much as a glance in her direction.

She sighed and rushed after him. "Well where are you going then? There's a mystery to be solved!"

"There's nothing."

"Nothing what?!"

"Nothing more here," he whirled around, pausing impatiently, "the suicides have been stopped, the culprit taken care of-"

"But what about the others?" Celeste demanded.

"I've told you! There's nothing more I can do right now! You weren't connected to Clara in any way so why should she be connected to any other of James's victims? And that's assuming there was anyone else. There was no more evidence, the case is over, closed, done." He whirled back around and left a stunned Celeste frozen in her place.
She opened her mouth to speak again, but couldn't find the words as he disappeared down the dank hall. She whispered into the emptiness as his footsteps hollow echo began to fade. "I will never understand you." She could have sworn she heard a break in his quiet walking pattern, but accredited it to her over active imagination.

"Do you know why I asked you to leave, Miss Firethorne?" a voice over her shoulder asked. Celeste turned around to face Mycroft, his hands loosely clasped and lips held in a whisper of a smile.

"N-no," she replied, finding her voice. She ran her hand over her disheveled hair quickly.

"Sherlock was concerned that you might have a sort of mental relapse, if that's even possible." He didn't wait to continue, staring hard at the woman's surprised features. Her hair had been forgotten and her hand was now held clenched at her side. "My brother is rarely concerned for anyone. May I ask what your relationship is to Sherlock Holmes?"

Celeste looked at him for a moment, trying to determine his motives (something she thought Sherlock would do) before answering. "I'm his friend. Well, he'd probably think of me more as an acquaintance I suppose, but the point is he saved my life more than once actually. I could see it, the loneliness and the hole that John left, I still see it everyday. He may act like he has no emotions and I don't know, maybe he doesn't, but he still gets lonely, he still needs something to keep him grounded. So I listen to him, I stay quiet, I help him as much as I can because I owe him my life, and because I hate to see his brilliance unappreciated and scorned. Don't worry, I won't impose upon him. If and when he asks me to leave I will. My flat will be finished this week and I can get out of his hair."

As she spoke the last words Celestia realized that she hoped she was wrong. She had grown fond of the cases and the excitement, even though it could be quite frightening at times. And Sherlock. Sherlock was different than anyone she had ever met. He was a genius, there was no denying that, but she could tell that in some ways he was a lot like her. Maybe he wasn't emotionless; he had just fought feelings for so long that they were no longer instinctive. Celestia remembered how hard she had tried at the beginning to hide things, to remain untouchable and separate. Everyone had seemed to buy into her illusion of strength and security, even she could almost believe it at times, but Sherlock peered right through her. Even after James had been found and she completely expected to be exposed, the story to get out and to be sent back to Australia, he had given her a choice. John and Sherlock had kept everything quiet even though she was basically a stranger.

Celeste shook her head lightly. He would have done it for anyone. "The only interest he holds in me is of this weird deduction sort of thing I've developed; that and my photographic memory. If I didn't offer him anything in helping him solve cases he wouldn't care a bit, don't worry. I'm sorry if I've upset you Mr. Holmes; I truly just want to help."

"You are not in the wrong, Celestia. I just worry about my brother sometimes," he admitted slowly. "But you'd better not tell him that," he added with a smile. He took a step in her direction and held his arm out. "May I have the honor of escorting you home, Miss? Perhaps you'd appreciate the company of someone more relatable to you in status." And with a regality even Celeste's mother would applaud, the two began the journey up and out of St. Rapheal's.