Chapter Text
“He did it again,” Felicity announced from her computer, her head shaking in slight disbelief as she continued to read the article about Sherlock Holmes’ latest solved case. She had stumbled upon his website back at MIT and had been a fan ever since. She regularly read his partner, John Watson’s blog to get details about the cases they solved, placing a Google alert for him for her own amusement and curiosity. Ever since he ended up in the paper for recovering Turner’s “The Falls of the Reichenbach” painting, she’d been telling her team about him. They picked up rather quickly that she was a big fan and didn’t even need to ask when she made declarations like the one she just did.
“What did he do this time?” Diggle asked as he began putting away his weapons and gear. He and Oliver had just gotten back from patrol and he was going to call it a night. Oliver, on the other hand, seemed to be preparing for a long night training as he traded his leather suit for some workout clothes.
“Captured Interpol’s Most Wanted,” she told him, rolling to the side so the older man could see the headline and article. A fond, amused smile appeared on her lips when she saw Sherlock wearing the hat that had thrown him into the limelight a while back. The fake smile he was sporting was evidence enough that he was not fond of the accessory, which made it all the more funny for her. “I think it looks good on him, but he hates it.”
“How could you possibly tell he hates it?” Oliver questioned, his tone clearly annoyed as he began setting himself up at the salmon ladder. “All you see is a picture. He’s smiling. How do you know he doesn’t like it instead?”
“That’s not a smile, that’s a cringe. Yes, he’s showing teeth, and his mouth is turned upwards, but look at his eyes,” she directed, pointing at them. “He looks pained. And his nostrils are flared. I bet that they bought him the hat because they knew he didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to seem rude in front of the press, so he put it on. I’m even willing to bet John Watson told him to do it. As great as Sherlock is, he’s a bit clumsy when it comes to social courtesies. John helps him with that, kind of like our John helps you when you’re being a prickly grump,” she added, turning to face him with a smirk. He simply grunted and began the salmon ladder, garnering her attention for a few moments before she turned and faced her screens again. “A lot of people think that-”
“They’re dating. You already told us,” Diggle interrupted teasingly, reaching down to give her shoulder a squeeze. “And you’re sure they’re not right? Unless Watson’s his bodyguard, it’s not very common for a guy to spend every waking moment with another guy unless they’re together.”
“I spend every waking moment with you and Oliver, and none of us are dating,” she pointed out. Diggle’s knowing look had her glancing away, pinching her lips together tightly. While they didn’t openly talk about it, her friend knew that her feelings for Oliver were more than platonic. Of course, Oliver had no idea, and probably never would, if she had anything to say about it. “Plus, I can read their body language in the photo. There’s definitely a closeness there, far closer than most partners go, but it’s not romantic. It’s not even really familial either. It’s just… strong. I’d probably have to spend time with them in person to really figure it out.”
“Too bad they’re in London and you’re in Starling City,” Oliver chimed in from the top of the ladder before making his way down.
Felicity shot him a glare over her shoulder before sighing in resignation. He was right of course. She had a job and a life in Starling, and no reason to travel across the country and the Atlantic Ocean to go to London. Even if she did travel all the way there and wanted to meet the great Sherlock Holmes, chances were that he wouldn’t agree to see her. Unless she had a case for him to solve, there was nothing she could offer him that he couldn’t do on his own. At least, that was what she thought.
“Felicity, have you seen this?” Diggle asked as he walked into her office at Queen Consolidated. She had been working on an independent project, and a line of code had been screwing her up for hours. She wasn’t even sure how much time had passed since she had started, but from the way he was looking at her, clearly enough time had gone by that she had missed something. He handed his phone to her, an article about a tri-location, simultaneous break-in in London. “Some guy broke into the Tower of London, the Bank of England, and Pentonville Prison. I made a few calls before coming up here. They’re saying that he used some code.”
“What? All three using the same code? But that’s not possible,” she shook her head. She knew code, and as useful as it could be, there wasn’t one blanket code that could do all three of those things, and certainly not at once. She continued reading the article, then handed Diggle his phone back as she switched to her computer to search for information on James Moriarty.
“I’m surprised you hadn’t heard. Apparently your detective crush is going to be an expert witness. I’m assuming it has something to do with that Moriarty guy writing his name on the glass before shattering it,” he mused. Felicity made a sound of acknowledgment, but was too wrapped up in her research to provide anything else. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. No one can do something like that and get away with it. He was found at the scene of the crime, after all.”
“Right, of course,” she nodded, her eyes locked onto a photograph of Moriarty. He looked far too calm and happy to be arrested. “Hey, remember when I made you come see Marvel’s The Avengers with me?”
“Yup, and I remember you making me binge-watch all of the other Marvel movies to prepare for it,” he stated, giving her an annoyed look before shaking his head when she didn’t even glance up at him. “Why?”
“Do you remember that scene when Loki was caught and brought to the helicarrier, and he looked really happy about it?” she asked.
“Yeah… It was because he had wanted to be captured. It was part of his plan,” he recalled. “You think James Moriarty wanted to be captured too?”
“I think it’s a possibility,” she replied, biting the inside of her cheek.
Months later, when the trial began, Felicity kept the news feed on her computer while she worked, regularly checking in. She actually stopped working when Sherlock Holmes and John Watson arrived at the courthouse, nervousness filling her in a way she was unfamiliar. She wanted to believe Diggle was right, and that Moriarty would be locked up, but if there was one thing she had learned working with Oliver, it was that things weren’t always that simple. Because she knew this, she wasn’t all that surprised when Moriarty was found not guilty, even without his defense calling any witnesses.
“He had to have gotten to the jury,” Diggle stated as they sat in Big Belly, discussing the case. After the article had come out, he had gotten rather invested in the case, even though it was thousands of miles away. “There is no way, with all of that evidence, that he could be let free without some sort of manipulation.”
“The fact still remains that he’s free, Digg… A very dangerous, very powerful man who openly targeted Sherlock Holmes is now free,” she expressed, her hands wringing under the table as she shook her head at the thought. “I need to do something. I can’t just sit back and watch the man I’ve admired for years be taken out because of this guy.”
“How do you know he’s going to kill Sherlock?” he asked, brows furrowing. “Maybe he’ll just disappear off the map and do his crimes behind the scenes now.”
“He’s a free man. When he was committing his greatest crime, he took the time to call out Sherlock. If he doesn’t kill him himself, then someone else will for him. Either way, he’s in danger and I can’t… I can’t do nothing. You guys have taught me that when there’s something wrong in the world, it’s my responsibility to do something,” she stated, her lips pinched together in a determined expression.
“No offense, Felicity, but what are you supposed to do from all the way over here?” he questioned, raising a brow.
“I could email him? Or call him? I have half a mind to hack into his website and leave him a personal note so that he can’t ignore it,” she mused, but even as she said it, she knew that it wasn’t big enough. Sherlock Holmes was a man who thrived off drama, so a dramatic gesture was the only thing he would probably respond to. “I need to go there.”
“Go? To London? You can’t be serious,” he muttered, looking at her like she’d lost her mind a bit.
“I could try all of those other things, and he could ignore it, and by the time I had done it all and then flown out there, it could be too late. Or I could skip the middle part and go right to what I know has a higher chance of working,” she explained. “I haven’t taken a sick or vacation day since I started working at QU. If I haven’t managed to meet him within a week, I’ll come home, okay? I know that you and Oliver are all about saving the masses instead of individuals, but this is more than just one person. Sherlock Holmes has been doing so much good, and if he’s taken out now, it could mean countless others never getting the justice they deserve,” she pointed out. She offered a small smile before adding, “And if I don’t get to meet him, or he doesn’t need my help, then at least I got to finally see London.”
“You’re really going to do this? What about Oliver? What about, you know, what we do at night?” he reminded, frowning slightly. “I know we can probably handle things on our own, but I’m worried you’re just setting yourself up for disaster. Besides, if this Moriarty is as dangerous as everyone thinks he is, getting involved with Sherlock could put you in the line of fire. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I’ll be careful. I’m not a target. Not right now, and if I’m careful, not ever. I’ll make sure that I keep in touch, and if anything goes south, you’ll be the first person I call, okay? I promise,” she assured him, reaching over and covering his clasped hands with hers. “I’ll be fine.”
It turned out that getting a flight to London was not as easy as she would have liked. Because of her bank account and work policy, she had to wait about a month and a half before she could fly out. In that time, she did the things she had contemplated when she had been talking to Digg. The six emails she sent had been ignored. The dozen or so phone calls had been rejected, and her voicemails did not warrant a call back. A few days prior to leaving for London, she placed the message on his website. She expected it to be ignored as well, but as she was getting out of her cab at the airport, her phone began ringing.
“Felicity Smoak,” she answered, trying her best not to drop the handle of her suitcase as her carry-on slipped from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow.
“You are quite a persistent individual, Miss Smoak,” the man on the other line replied in lieu of introducing himself. “Very few continue trying to contact me after I’ve ignored emails and phone calls.”
Her eyes widened when she realized who she was talking to, the shock causing her to drop the handle and her bag to slide off her arm completely and onto the ground. She scrambled to pick it all up and not drop her phone in the process before finally replying, “Well I had good reason to keep trying.”
“So you claim. You are aware who I am, correct?” Sherlock asked, turning the page of his book as he continued reading.
“Of course. I’ve actually been a fan of yours for several years now. I’ve been following your career since I was in college. MIT, to be exact, not that I’m bragging, although out of the things that I would brag about, that would probably be the most impressive to you. Not that I’m trying to impress you. I mean, I’m sure you have plenty of other incredibly smart people trying to get your attention on a daily basis for one reason or another, some less innocent than others. And you’re probably wondering what my motives are-”
“You think you can help me with Moriarty,” he interrupted.
“I… Yes. How did you-?” she started, but was interrupted once more.
“You told me you were from MIT, so clearly you have some sort of degree involving technology. It is also something you are very proud of, as you believe it to be something worth bragging about, so you are passionate about whatever it is you specialized in. From the way you were able to break into my website and leave a message specifically for me, I would say that would be information technology. You also told me you were a fan, so you must have been keeping up with the news about Moriarty’s case and have either figured out or garnered further information about how he broke into those high-security locations. Because of your background and your admiration for me, not to mention your persistence and apparent urgency, it was obvious why you have been trying to contact me,” he explained. “Normally I would not accept help from any other than my closest confidants, but since this is more your area of expertise, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give you a chance to explain. Not to mention, I find myself curious to meet the woman who went as far as to hack into my website just to get my attention. That was very clever.”
“Thank you,” she replied, stunned at the praise as she walked through the airport. “I wish you had contacted me sooner though. It would have saved me some money.”
“I would suggest you return your ticket, but chances are, they won’t give you a full refund. It makes more sense for you to come here anyways,” he stated.
“There’s no way you could have figured out what I was doing. I gave nothing away,” she insisted, getting into line to check her bag.
“You dropped your suitcase and carry-on when you realized who I was, and there was an announcement about a flight while we’ve been talking. Not to mention, the next obvious step after the ones you’ve already taken would be to try to contact me in person. I will have a car waiting at the airport when you land Miss Smoak,” he told her.
“Wait, how will you know when I’ll be landing?” she asked, brows furrowing.
“Do you really have to ask?” he retorted, the smirk clear even over the phone. She could only laugh at that, her head shaking as she accepted that there was nothing that she could hide from him. “I look forward to meeting you in person. Have a safe flight.” With that, he hung up, leaving Felicity with several hours of travel to accept that what had just happened was real and not a dream this time.
The flight had been long, with a layover in New York City that she was too excited to rest during. She did manage to catch a few hours of sleep on her flight over the Atlantic, but by the time she landed in Heathrow, she was exhausted and probably looked a little worse for wear. She yawned for probably the ten thousandth time as she grabbed her bag off of the belt and began wheeling it towards the exit. Among the sea of placards, held by drivers waiting for their passengers, was her name. With a quirked brow, she made her way towards it, only to stop, once again stunned, by who was waiting for her. “You’re John Watson.”
“I assume you’re Felicity Smoak?” he asked, managing a small smile, even though his tone was a bit tired.
“Yes, have you been waiting long?” she wondered, figuring that might have been the source of his tone.
“Not at all. Follow me, please,” he requested, tucking the sign under his arm as he began walking towards the exit.
“You hate that he sent you to come fetch me, don’t you?” she asked, following after him with more pep in her step. She was talking to the John Watson, after all. “He does know that cabs and hired drivers exist, right?”
“I have a cab waiting outside. He insisted it would be improper to not greet ‘his biggest fan’ in person,” John replied, holding the door open for her before directing her towards a waiting taxi.
“Then why didn’t he come here himself?” she questioned, a smile starting to grow on her lips. She had a feeling she knew the answer, but it was too good not to ask.
“Oh, don’t you know? He’s far too busy for all that. Me, on the other hand. I have nothing but time that can be spent doing his bidding,” he answered, shaking his head as he held the car door open for her. “After you.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, sliding into the cab while the driver stowed her bags in the trunk. “I’m sorry you had to come all this way. If I had known, I would have just called my own cab.”
“It’s quite alright. I will admit, I was intrigued enough to meet you that it wasn’t that much of a trouble. I just hate it when he does things like this,” he admitted. “You’ll find that while he understands how people should behave, that does not mean he will behave accordingly.”
“That’s what makes him special, isn’t it?” she pointed out.
“No, that’s what makes him a royal pain in my arse,” he corrected, causing her to laugh, which in turn pulled a smile from John’s previously grumpy face. “Because I know him so well, I will apologize ahead of time if he says or does anything that offends you. I assure you, he doesn’t usually mean anything by it. It’s just the way he is.”
“Well then I guess I should apologize now if I say or do anything that embarrasses either of you. My mouth tends to have a mind of its own,” she admitted, smiling awkwardly. “If Sherlock hadn’t interrupted me on the phone, I probably would have said something I would have regretted and lost my chance to meet him.”
“He did mention you rambled a bit. Coming from him, I was quite dubious, if I’m being honest. So far, you seem to have control over that wild mouth of yours,” he teased, smiling over at her. “There’s very little that will leave Sherlock flustered, so I am sure you will do just fine. I just warn you not to have your hopes too high. They say never meet your heroes, and if Sherlock is yours, you might be in for a shock.”
“He’s not my hero, exactly. I just think that what he does, and how he does it, is fascinating. He can gather so much information, just by sight or smell. Since I discovered his website, I’ve been working hard to improve my own skills of deduction. Your blog has been an interesting read as well, by the way. Truly magnificent stuff. You should be proud,” she complimented. “I’m a fan of yours too, but that’s much newer, which is the only reason why I’m not freaking out as much as I probably will when I meet your colleague.”
“‘Colleague’, huh? You don’t follow the thoughts of the rest of our ‘fanbase’ that we’re together?” he asked, quirking a brow.
Felicity bowed her head before shaking it, glancing back up at him with a sheepish smile. “Like I said, I’ve been working on my deduction skills. I’ve picked up on more than a few things that proves otherwise. Not to say that there would be anything wrong if you were, but after growing up in Vegas, I’d like to think my gay-dar is pretty spot on, even if you Brits blur the lines every now and then,” she joked. “Besides, I saw you in the reflection of the window staring at my ass when I got into the cab,” she added, causing his eyes to widen and his mouth to drop. When he started to apologize, she waved a hand. “You don’t have to. I’m flattered,” she assured him, laughing softly. “Nice to know after travelling for close to twelve hours that I still look good enough to draw the attention of ‘confirmed bachelor John Watson’.”
“Oh you’re a funny one, you,” he commented, wagging a finger at her before shaking his head. “Even if it doesn’t end well, seeing you and Sherlock interact will be fine entertainment while you’re here.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I have a feeling he’s never met anyone quite like you, and I assure you, that is a compliment,” he told her, shooting a playful wink before turning his attention to his phone. Felicity smiled at that, then looked out the window to watch the sights of London rush past, her excitement mounting as they got closer and closer to 221B Baker Street.
When they arrived, there was a letter on the doorstep. John picked it up and opened it, only to find bread crumbs inside. Felicity found this odd, but instead of saying anything, she followed him up the steps to the apartment. With each step, her heart beat faster and faster until it was racing far faster than what was probably healthy. She was about to meet the man she had followed the career of for years, a man that had influenced the way she saw people and things completely. As they approached the open door, she began ringing her hands, her mouth growing dry from nervous excitement.
“Sherlock, this is...” John trailed off when he noticed Lestrade and Donovan were also in the apartment. “What’s going on?”
“Kidnapping,” Sherlock answered, pausing when he noticed Felicity. He looked her over, very analytically, then nodded once and returned his attention to the task at hand. Felicity remained in the doorway, silently watching as Lestrade explained what had happened. It all happened very fast, and as Sherlock was heading towards the door, Donovan asked who she was. “This is Felicity Smoak. She’s my new technical liaison. Feel free to leave your bags here, Miss Smoak. You won’t be needing them,” he told her, brushing past her and heading down the stairs.
Felicity opened and closed her mouth a few times, unsure what had just happened, before bringing her bags further into the apartment and leaving them. She gave a small smile to the officers before following him down the stairs, falling into step beside him once she caught up. “‘Technical liaison’?”
“Would you have preferred I call you ‘the woman who travelled from America to try to save my life’?” he asked, glancing over at her. “Or would ‘my number one fan’ been better?”
“Point taken,” she acquiesced, sliding into the car after him and folding her hands over her lap as John joined her in the back seat. It was a mostly silent drive, so Felicity pulled out her phone and sent a text message to Digg.
[TEXT; John Diggle]: Made it to London safely. Got picked up by John Watson himself. Sherlock named me his technical liaison to the local police. Let the adventure begin.
[TEXT; Felicity Smoak]: Adventure? That doesn’t sound like you being safe.
[TEXT; John Diggle]: It all happened so fast, Digg. I love you for worrying about me, but I’ll be fine. Trust me.
[TEXT; Felicity Smoak]: You know I do trust you. It’s the rest of the world I don’t trust.
“He has a point, you know.” Felicity looked up suddenly to see Sherlock looking down at her. “The rest of the world can be very untrustworthy. He has cause for concern.”
“Do you normally read over people’s shoulders when they’re having a private text message conversation?” she retorted, giving him a look.
“Yes,” he answered plainly. “brother, cousin or friend?”
“Huh?”
“This ‘Digg’ fellow. Is he your brother, your cousin, or your friend?” he asked.
“Why are those the only options?” she wondered, wanting to see him show off a bit more.
“Fathers are usually in phones as ‘dad’ or something to that effect. Uncles and grandfathers as well, and they would probably have the same last name as you, which he does not,” he explained. “You wouldn’t tell your boss or co-worker that you love them, unless you were being a very naughty girl at work. You’re the type of girl that would use a pet name for someone you were dating, and while ‘Digg’ appears to be a nickname, it’s not obnoxious enough for him to be your boyfriend. That leaves brother, cousin, or close friend. The brother would either be a half- or step-brother due to the last name of course, so that’s one of the less-likely options. I’m going to assume friend, probably someone you talk to on a regular basis and who you are close enough to that he’s aware of your crush on me.”
“I don’t have a crush on you,” she insisted.
“Don’t you?” he challenged, his bright blue eyes unwavering on hers.
“No,” she lied, looking forward as her cheeks grew warm when she remembered they were not alone in the car. “I’m too smart to develop a crush on someone way out of my league twice in one year,” she insisted, nodding once as she mentally ordered herself to let go of whatever non-platonic feelings she may have for the man beside her. Perhaps she did have a small crush, but that was mainly due to his achievements. Surely, the more she got to know him as a person, the quicker those feelings would go away. She could feel his eyes linger on her a few moments longer before he turned away, her body only relaxing when he did.
Watching Sherlock work compared to reading about it was a mind-blowing experience. Between his treatment of Miss MacKenzie, his observation of how the ambassador's son would see things in his room, and his eventual discovery of the footprints, she was blown away. She couldn’t help but snort at the way he behaved around Anderson, her head shaking when the scientist wrote off Sherlock’s discovery so quickly. Even she knew that footprints told way more than people might expect. The trip to the lab was interesting, especially when Sherlock insisted that his colleague (friend?) Molly skip her lunch date to help him.
“You know, I could probably help you. I have some experience in a lab,” she told him. “That way Molly can make her lunch date.”
“She has access here. Her presence is vital for access to certain documents and information,” he explained as he settled in at his station. “Besides, I meant what I said about her love life. It would be best if she just went without one.”
“You sound jealous,” she stated, lifting a challenging eyebrow when he scoffed and looked over at her in disbelief. “What? You don’t want her to date, possibly because you want to date her yourself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Molly is a friend. Nothing more,” he insisted, then paused and began smirking as he looked over at her. “I, too, can recognize jealousy. Are you sure you’re not projecting your emotions onto me?”
“What? You think I’m jealous?” she asked, it now her turn to be shocked.
“That is what I am implying, yes,” he nodded.
“I couldn’t possibly be jealous because there’s nothing to be jealous about, right?” she shot back, smirking right back at him.
“Point taken,” he gave in, squinting at her slightly before returning to examining the evidence.
They all got to work, Felicity helping to analyze materials with Molly. She gave Sherlock a look when he mistakenly called Molly “John”, then shook her head when the shy girl quickly corrected him and continued working. “Is he always like this?” Felicity asked Molly, nodding towards Sherlock who was intently analyzing the materials that had been found in the shoe print.
“Usually,” Molly nodded, a small smile brushing her lips as she glanced over at Felicity. “You said you had experience in a lab. What do you do back in America?”
“Well, actually, I work in the IT department of Queen Consolidated, but…” she trailed off, contemplating making something up but eventually deciding that if Sherlock Holmes trusted her, she could too. “At night, I work with the Starling City vigilante,” she told her. “I help him behind the scenes, whether it’s hacking into different places, being his eyes and ears, or analyzing blood or other materials he brings to me.”
“I take it no one knows you help this vigilante?” Molly asked, visibly impressed by Felicity’s nightly activities.
“Oh no. If anyone found out, I’d be arrested,” Felicity replied, shaking her head. “So let’s keep what I said between us, okay?”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me,” Molly assured her, miming zipping her lips before nodding once.
While Felicity walked over and began helping John, she couldn’t help but overhear Molly and Sherlock’s conversation. Sherlock might not have romantic feelings for Molly, but it was clear to Felicity that Molly was in love with Sherlock. It broke her heart to hear her belittle herself, a soft sigh escaping her when she realized she knew exactly how she was feeling. Falling for a man who both didn’t notice her in the way she desired and was completely out of her league was not a foreign concept to her after all. Hearing Molly stumble over her words, a few innuendos thrown in accidentally, had a small smile growing on Felicity’s lips. Yes, she and Molly Hooper were kindred spirits, and she made a mental note to keep in touch with her once she returned to Starling City.
When Molly left, Felicity made her way back to Sherlock. “You need to stop taking advantage of her. You may not even realize you’re doing it, but she would do whatever you ask, and so you ask everything of her,” she stated, knowing she was coming across more bitter than she intended.
“She can say ‘no’,” Sherlock insisted, his attention still mostly on the microscope before him.
“But she won’t, because it’s you,” she told him, matter-of-fact, causing him to look up at her.
“And how do you know that?” he questioned. The fact that he was asking either meant he hadn’t picked up on the subtle hints she had already given thus far or he wanted to hear it from her himself.
“Because I’ve been where she is. Hell, I still am where she is, and a part of me wishes that someone would say what I’m telling you to the man I’d do anything for,” she admitted, glancing down. “I’m not asking you to stop coming to her for help, but making her cancel her lunch date when you have no interest in her romantically is cruel. She deserves to make a life apart from you if you’re not going to give her what she wants.” She finally looked back up at him, her mouth growing dry from the intense way he was observing her. He looked like he was about to say something when John came over, asking about the envelope in the kidnapped girl’s trunk.
The next few hours were a bit of a whirlwind. After figuring out what the book, the breadcrumbs, and the kidnapped children meant, Sherlock finally realized what the last compound was. They quickly made their way to the police department to explain to Lestrade and get assistance in finding where they five compounds connected. Once he got some resources from his homeless network, he was able to decipher where they kids were being hidden. Felicity looked around with the rest of the officers, rushing over once Donovan called out. The boy had to be brought to the hospital, but the girl, Claudette, was brought to the police department for brief questioning. She was shocked when Claudette began screaming at the sight of Sherlock, but she quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him out with Lestrade. Donovan’s comment on their way out had Felicity shooting her a dirty look, but she didn’t say anything, and neither did Sherlock. When the man in question left her and John to take a cab herself, she sighed defeatedly.
“Do you think he’s okay?” she asked John, sliding into the cab once it arrived.
“I’m not sure…” he admitted, which left her incredibly uneasy.
Their drive was silent, both lost in thought, but those thoughts were quickly interrupted when they turned a corner and found Sherlock standing in the middle of the road with a dead man on the sidewalk nearby. Not for the first time since landing in London, Felicity was completely perplexed by the situation she had found herself in. Sherlock spoke so quickly, expressing the details he was aware of, that she was having a little trouble keeping up. However, when he mentioned cameras, she jumped into action.
“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked as she sat at his computer and began typing away, even as he continued moving around the room.
“If there’s a camera nearby, I can find it,” she told him. Just as she had pulled up the feed, he was pulling it from the bookcase, his face and the approached detective in the background clear for her to see. She tried to figure out who the camera belonged to, but it was connected to Sherlock’s wifi, and anyone could have hacked in or out to get access. Whoever had placed it there knew what they were doing and were good at hiding their footprints. “I can’t trace back who had been watching it. Anyone with a computer and minimal hacking abilities could have gotten access to it,” she explained, moving out of the seat so Sherlock could see. “If Moriarty did this, he’s better than I thought.”
She stood by silently as Sherlock and John argued, her eyes darting between the two of them like she was at a match at Wimbledon. A sharp gasped escaped her when Sherlock shouted about Moriarty playing with John’s mind, but she knew that John was loyal. She knew that after everything they had been through together, he wouldn’t believe he wasn’t the real deal. Of course, Sherlock was right about Lestrade, and within ten minutes, he was back, but with a warrant this time.
“You know this isn’t right. Why would he agree to solve a crime he committed?” Felicity tried to reason with Donovan as John argued with Lestrade.
“Don’t try to interfere or I shall arrest you, too,” Lestrade warned John, his eyes shifting to her as he sighed. “The same goes for you, Miss Smoak.”
Felicity sighed as he took Sherlock away, leaving them with Donovan. She could only shake her head as Donovan completely missed the mark on Sherlock. She had met her fair share of criminals; she knew Sherlock was one of the good guys. When the chief began insulting Sherlock, she had to restrain herself alongside John, her eyes darting to meet his as she shook her head. She tried to stop him when he went to attack the chief, but she wasn’t fast enough, and she felt herself being pulled back by Donovan as an officer arrested John.
Not for the first time and probably not for the last, Felicity could only watch as Sherlock’s great mind took the lead. She wasn’t affected like the rest of the officers by the feedback, but she did jump at the gunshot, her eyes darting to Sherlock as he pointed the gun at John’s head. “Couple of morons,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head as they escaped. When the chief ordered for Lestrade to go after him, he looked at her expectantly, causing her to snort. “Don’t look at me. I’ve only known the man a day,” she reminded, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Why am I seeing on the news that Sherlock Holmes is now a fugitive?” Digg asked when Felicity answered the phone. After Sherlock and John had disappeared, she had gotten her stuff and checked into a hotel. She made sure that Mrs. Hudson had her phone number, but she didn’t hear anything for days. The silence was starting to drive her stir-crazy, so she had been relieved to see Diggle’s face pop onto her screen.
“Because the local police are morons,” she replied, moving towards the window and looking out. “They think that just because he solved the case quickly and the little girl screamed when she saw him that he’s behind all of this.”
“Is he?”
“Digg, be serious, please,” she requested, sighing softly.
“I am being serious, Felicity. The police aren’t always wrong, you know,” he pointed out.
“Yes, well these ones are,” she insisted.
“And what makes you so sure?” he asked. When she paused, he pressed further, “I know you’re a fan of him, but you don’t really know him. All of this, it could be a fabrication.”
“I saw him at work. I actually saw his thought process in person. For a normal person, it could sound fake, but I watched him, step by step, figure out how it had happened. He solved the case himself. Why on earth would he do that if he committed the crime?” she shot back. “Sherlock Holmes is not the bad guy here. He’s the victim.”
“Are you sure your personal feelings aren’t clouding your judgment?” he countered, his tone steady and non-judgmental.
“Don’t. It’s not like that,” she insisted, shaking her head firmly.
“Felicity, you flew across the Atlantic for him, and that was before you even met him. Now you’re defending him, knowing what he’s being accused of?” he began. “You forget that I know you. I know what you’re willing to do for someone you care about.”
“So what if I care about him? He’s a brilliant man. That doesn’t mean he’s a criminal,” she stated.
“All I’m saying is that maybe you’re too close to this. You’ve already been wrapped up in one man’s darkness, and you nearly lost your head for it. Now, I can protect you here in Starling from what we do, but I can’t protect you when you’re all the way in London,” he told her. “I’m worried about you, Felicity. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’ll be home soon. Once this is all cleared up, I’ll catch a flight back,” she assured him. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
John sighed, accepting her promise knowing fully well that arguing with her anymore would be for naught. They said their goodbyes, and Felicity was left alone with her thoughts again. Everything that Moriarty was doing, everything he was putting Sherlock through, was like a game to him. It was one big puzzle that needed to be solved. The trial, the fairy tale envelopes, the arrest, all of it was part of his plan, but why? And what about the assassins? Why had they moved in but not made a move on Sherlock himself? That’s when it all hit her.
The code . Moriarty had hacked into three of the most secure locations in London simultaneously, and the trial had made how he claimed to have done it public. Of course, she knew better, but the average person - the average criminal - wouldn’t. Then he used the few minutes before the police arrived to arrest him to call Sherlock out, not just to get him involved in the case but to also say to the world that he was the key. The camera in Sherlock’s apartment showed Moriarty and Sherlock meeting to interested parties, and they all appeared thinking that the now-fugitive had the code they wanted. It was a brilliant plan, and one Sherlock had unwittingly fallen right into.
She rushed out of her room and down into her street, calling a cab and directing it to Baker Street. The drive took too long, her legs bouncing from nervousness as the scenery passed by too slow for her liking. As she pulled up, she saw another taxi speeding away in the opposite direction. She tossed the driver enough money to cover the ride and a tip, then scurried up to the door before knocking loudly. “Mrs. Hudson?” she called out. “It’s Felicity!”
After a few moments, the door swung open. “I need to get in touch with John or Sherlock. There’s something they need to know.”
“What? Oh, John was just here, dear. Left in quite a hurry, actually,” Mrs. Hudson told her.
Felicity ran back outside, looking in the direction of the cab that had just left. “Where could he be going?” she muttered to herself. Where would Sherlock be hiding out? Who could he trust to protect him while the police searched for him? “Of course! Taxi!” she shouted, sprinting to one nearby and sliding into the seat. “St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, and quickly!”
Time passed slowly as she made her way to the hospital, then began racing past once she arrived. She saw John standing in the street, looking up at the roof as he talked to someone on the phone, her eyes immediately darting up to where he was looking once she got out of the cab. “No…” she breathed, her feet slowly making her way towards John when she saw Sherlock drop the phone. “No, no, no,” she muttered, quickening her pace, but it was too late. The last thing she saw before someone ran into her, knocking her to the ground, was Sherlock falling from the roof.
Her head ached from where it had hit the ground, her feet stumbling as she stood and began walking towards where a crowd was gathered. She only caught a glimpse of the body as it was being wheeled away, her stomach turning at how still and covered in blood it was. “John,” she spoke softly, her eyes welling up as he turned to face her. “I-Is he…” The silent shake of his head had her hand covering her lips, her eyes closing as the first few tears rolled down her cheeks. She was too late. She had come to save him, and she had failed. Sherlock Holmes was dead.