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It was my turn to make the post case hot cocoa, which meant it was a little too sweet and not quite fully dissolved. But at least it wasn’t scalded (Lockwood) or too bitter (George). We drank quietly, soaking in the calm familiarity of the kitchen.
“Did Tufnell pay us?” George asked, looking up from the case book where he’d been making notes.
“He did. Holly can deposit the check tomorrow.”
“Should have charged extra for solving the murder on top of subduing the ghost,” I muttered, not looking up from where I was sketching on the Thinking Cloth.
“You could send an invoice to Barnes,” George suggested with a cheeky grin. “Seeing as how we did his job for him and all.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure old Barnes is up to investigating supernatural murders,” said Lockwood. “He’s alright at checking to make sure agencies aren’t using out of date lavender water, but solving mysteries takes a very special skill set.”
“Is that our future? Lockwood and Co., psychical detective agency?” George asked.
“Could be,” Lockwood said, his grin flashing like a flare in the night.
“Well I’m off to bed,” said George, shutting the case book and swallowing the dregs of his cocoa with a grimace (somehow he still hadn’t learned to avoid the sludge at the bottom of the cup).
We said good night to George. After he departed, tromping noisily up the stairs to use the bathroom, Lockwood and I shared a glance, then turned away, him to his cocoa, me to my half finished doodle of Kipps as a baby fox (don’t ask, I’m really not sure). Somehow this part was still a bit tricky, but we were getting better at it.
I waited until I heard George finish up in the bathroom and shut the door to his room up above. I drank the last (good) mouthful of my cocoa, then looked up to ask Lockwood if he wanted to share a room tonight, but he beat me to the punch.
“All finished?” he asked with a quiet smile, reaching for my cup.
“Oh, yes,” I said, handing it over.
He placed all three cups in the sink to deal with tomorrow (or really for Holly to deal with tomorrow), then turned to leave the kitchen. I watched him, an uncertain flutter in my stomach. As he reached the door he looked back at me, cocking his head quizzically.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said slowly, unsure if he meant up to bed or up to, well, bed. “Yes,” I said more firmly at his puzzled look.
He held the door open for me to pass through, then followed me up the stairs. When we reached the landing I hesitated for a moment.
“I’m going to get my…” I said, trying to read his bland expression for some indication of his expectations.
“Sure,” he said with an easy smile. “Turn the lights off when you come down…?”
There was just the slightest hint of uncertainty in his voice as it canted up at the end. A question, an invitation. I smiled back and nodded, then went upstairs to change into pyjamas and brush my teeth.
When I came back downstairs, Lockwood was already back in his room. I switched off the light in the stairwell, then slipped quietly into his room, closing the door behind me.
He was lying on one side of the bed, illuminated by the glow of the little lamp he always slept with. I slipped into the other side and he held an arm out to me, an invitation to lay my head on his shoulder. His arm came around me as I did, his warmth and touch as familiar to me now as any other facet of Portland Row. Of home.
We lay there for a while, just breathing.
“Luce,” he whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know you seemed… You were upset after the case and I wondered…”
Ah. Yes, I had been upset. I was upset by the way Lockwood had marched placidly towards death. I was upset that he’d been fooled by some stroppy actress pretending to be me. I was upset at how close I’d come to losing him.
I was quiet for a long moment, then... “I couldn’t do this without you,” I whispered into the silence. “If something happened…”
“Of course you could. You were the best independent agent in all of London over the winter. You and George and Holly would be just fine.”
“No, not that. I mean… this. I could keep working, keep fighting ghosts and Marissa and Gale… but I don’t know that I could keep just… living. I was terrible at it over the winter. I didn’t do anything but work. Everything else felt so empty and pointless.”
He was quiet for a minute, absorbing my words. Finally, he cleared his throat quietly and spoke softly from somewhere above me, “I know what you mean.”
It made sense. From what I’d been told, Lockwood had thrown himself into cases just as hard as I had over the winter. Focused on work to the exclusion of all else. We were similar in that way. In a lot of ways.
“So just… don’t go, okay?” I said in a small voice.
“Okay.”
The silence stretched again. I yawned and snuggled deeper into his side, my face turned into his shirt. I began to drift in and out, sleep gently pulling me under. Just before I lost consciousness entirely, I felt him press a kiss to my forehead, as soft as a sigh. For once, I didn’t think it was a dream.