She had just shot a man. Or something.
And then, in her hurry to flee the scene, she'd run smack dab into a brick wall and now her nose was bleeding.
At twenty-four, the strawberry-blond girl bore a striking resemblance to her mother. Her mother who was getting old and losing her legs. Finch never understood what exactly her mother did, actually. All they ever told her was business woman, and she knew that her classmates who had parents who were business people were not taught how to shoot from a young age. Or warned about kidnappers, or taught hand-to-hand combat 'just in case'. So, to be fair, she'd suspected for a while there was something a bit dark about her mother's career. Her fathers' and her uncles' too. But when she'd heard her mother complaining about taking a cane to a business meeting, her legs feeling too-off to walk, and they'd left Tiger-Papa home so Jack and Mum were unprotected- well, she'd been listening in. And she'd followed, as best she could. And when it looked like Mum needed the help...
Finch had shot, without thinking.
And then turned tail and run because if Mum found her she was going to be furious.
Which is when she ran into a wall, gun shoved into the waistband of her jeans, jacket zipped up tight. So she didn't know the entire alley system of London like some other irritating younger brothers. She- sh- she could manage. Right?
"Oi, oi, oi, 'ello, 'ello" came a smooth talking voice. A slim, greasy haired bloke in a heavy parka slipped around Finch. "Wha's your hurry, love?"
They were just outside one of many alleyways.
She flinched away, backing herself right back into the wall she'd hit. "Leave me alone."
"Why, you gonna get me with this?" he said, holding up the gun. He let out a low whistle as he turned it in his hand. "Shiny." He sniffed it. "Oooh, been shot recent too. Naughty girl."
Finch paled, eyes blowing wide. "P-please give that back. It's not mine. I mean, I f-found it."
Vance twirled the gun on his finger, catching the handle after a few loops. "If it's not yours, then you ain't needin' it. Though from the look of your face, you are. Who're you running from? I know a bloke who helps people out. Good man."
"I'm fine, I just- I'm going home," Finch lied. She reached for the gun. "Please, give it back."
"How bout you and me go see Mista' Holmes, and I'll ask him if it's a good plan," Vance said. "The good Doc can take a look at your face too. He's a bit naff, but he'll still treat ya good."
Finch pinched her nose, trying to get the blood to stop. "You, um, you going to take me to Sherlock?"
"Oi, you one'a his too?" Vance said, tucking the gun in his low riding jeans and slung an arm around Finch's shoulders.
"Could say that," Finch muttered, trying to shy away from the young man. Not before her fingers gripped around the gun again, tugging it free. "I was on my way there. I got-" She blushed. She didn't want to say lost. Do not say LOST, Finch! "Distracted."
Vince put up his hands, grinning slightly. "Awright, awright, cool," he said. "No harm in a little sticky fingers."
"You'll show me the way?" Finch asked, brows pulling together, large green eyes overwhelming her pixie-like features. A few reddish curls were pulling loose from her hair elastic.
"Yeah sure," Vance said, tossing his chin. "You're pretty close anyhow."
They were only a few twisty blocks from Baker Street. Of course, Vance tossed in one extra turn to spend a few more moments with the girl and bring them up outside the back alley of Baker Street. It had been cleaned up a lot, and short list of instructions had been posted beside the back doors.
Vance rang the bell in his usual pattern.
"Oh how funny, you ring the bell," Finch said, taking out a key and letting herself inside. She stomped up the stairs, leaving the stranger to follow. "Dr. John! Dr. John!!"
"Is that- I think that's Finch," John said from the direction of the kitchen. He came out into the sitting room, drying his hands on a towel. The blogger-doctor had only softened slightly with age, years of running after Sherlock keeping him fairly trim. His blond hair had begun turning a soft salty grey. "Christ, girl, are you bleeding?"
And then Finch burst into tears.
"Oh shi-" Vance swore. "I didn' do nothin', I swear!"
Sherlock came out of the kitchen with a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. The barest streaks of grey had lightened at his temples, but he continued to retain that ageless look about him.
"John, shush, get out of the way," Sherlock fussed.
"If she's bleeding I ought to look at it," John said and Finch waved her gun at him.
"I-I didn't- I didn't know where else to go," she said through clenched teeth, trying to calm herself. "I heard mum talking, and I, I don't know, I'm - and then- and ran into a bloody wall-"
John took the gun from her hands, unloading it and setting it aside, before he angled her chin up. He prodded her gently, stroking a finger over her cheek in a fatherly way. "Shh, here, keep your head tilted back. I don't think it's broken, love, but I'll need to get you some ice and a flannel to wipe your face. Here, just sit in the chair-"
"No, no, come sit on the sofa, dear," Sherlock said, making grabbing gestures towards "his" little girl. "Tell me what happened. Hello Van, have a seat. John'll get you a cuppa."
Vance was staring, gaping.
"Y-yessir, Mista Holmes," Vance said, gingerly sitting in one of the wooden chairs.
Sherlock fussed over the Mary-like girl, running soothing hands over her straying curly hair.
"I sh-shouldn't say. Not with an outsider here," Finch sniffed, trembling fingers pawing at the blood on her face. "I ran into a wall. I'm the least graceful assassin ever."
"Technically, you were runnin' pretty good," Vance offered with a laugh. "You just forgot to look."
Sherlock pulled a hanky out of his pocket and wiped at Finch's nose. "He's not an outsider. He's one of my irregulars. There we are," he said, rubbing Finch's back. "Is your mother alright?"
"Sh-sheeee, ummm, she went to do one of her things. Meetings? And she left Papa at home. B-but I heard her say her leg hurt, and I worry about her when Papa isn't with her. She's so little," Finch said worriedly, blinking up at Sherlock. It didn't even matter that her and Mary were almost the same height and stature. "So I nicked his gun and I went. I followed, I mean. And then I saw these men and they had guns- and I- I-I-"
"Shh, shh," Sherlock said. "She doesn't like getting your Papa involved. He's meant to be retired." He sighed, hugging her. "You're too young to be pulled into all this."
"I-I just wanted to make sure she was safe," Finch shuddered, leaning into Sherlock. She always liked how her brother's father smelled. John came back, pressing a cool cloth into her hands.
"Here, here," John fussed. "You shouldn't have gotten involved. Your mother wouldn't want you to know."
"I-" Finch gulped. "I shot someone. I'm going to go to jail."
"Oh shit," Vance swore again.
"Vance, do shut up," Sherlock said rolling his eyes. "You are not going to jail, Finch. Your grandmother would roll in her grave."
"I didn't know where else to go. I can't tell Mum and I know, I know you aren't my- but we're, I mean, we're family, and I didn't know," Finch said, leaning back, putting her head on Sherlock's shoulder, like she used to do as a child.
Sherlock snuggled with Finch. "I've always considered you my daughter, darling," he said, petting her hair. "Your mother will understand. I'll talk to her."
"And just what, pray tell, do you plan on saying to her mother, when the lady appears?" Mary asked from the doorway. She was leaning heavily on her cane, but made it look like a casual gesture. Her red hair was swept back from her face in a complicated bun, body clad in expensive trousers and a black trench coat. She looked imposing. Important. Evil.
Vance's eyes went wide.
"Mary, she's just a child. A baby," Sherlock said, cupping Finch's head to him. "She was worried about you."
"She had no right sticking her nose where it didn't belong," Mary said calmly. "Her sloppiness and disregard for protocol almost cost me. Not to mention she involved an outsider," Mary's green eyes swept over Vance before turning back to Sherlock, "and almost got Jack and I killed. Had I lost him I would have surely been put out. For at least a week."
"Mr. Kincaid is fully capable of containing himself," Sherlock sniffed. "You on the other hand are applying more pressure than usual to your walking stick and therefore are having more difficulty than usual." He turned to drop a kiss on Finch's head, standing as an adversary now, not the life-long lover. "You're growing older, Mary. You won't keep what you hold much longer on your own."
"We had it under control, Mr. Holmes," Mary replied, regarding him with a hint of disdain. "She shot someone who wasn't even a threat. The resulting chaos took more effort to control. And then she broke a vital rule in being a criminal, she led them here. The damage control in securing your block alone was a nightmare."
"We can handle our own," Sherlock hissed. "She'd be better if you taught her."
"She was not meant to be involved in this," Mary ground out. "She is not going to be what I am, Sherlock." Finch was afraid to even look her mother in the face, but she was bold enough to ask.
"What are you, Mum?"
"None of your concern," Mary snapped, her tone full of authority.
"She was involved in it the moment you decided to take on the name, to have her, to keep her," Sherlock said, drawing closer. It had been several months. He could read the pain in her face. "You haven't trained any other successor. You've given her all the skills, with none of the knowledge. No wonder she's running into walls."
"Hey!" Finch protested.
"Sherlock, Mary's right," John said, taking in the tension blossoming between the two lovers. "Finch, she's just a kid. A good kid, usually. She's got school on, and a chance for better things."
"Listen to John, Sherlock. He's the only one with any sense in this madhouse," Mary said, nostrils flaring as he stepped close enough for her to smell. Smelled beautiful, like home.
"Mum, I-I'm sorry. I won't, I mean, I won't follow you," Finch said, even though she knew it was a lie. As with everyone else, she found herself drawn in by Mary. She had this nonsensical urge to protect her mother at all costs. "But your legs-"
"None of your concern," Mary said again, without ever looking away from Sherlock.
"None of your concern," Sherlock echoed. "Mary, I think we'd best discuss this in private. I take it you can manage to find us somewhere secure?"
"Yeah, yeah, John babysit the children while the two of you go off and shag," John muttered, heading back to the kitchen now that the kettle was beeping. Finch looked a little ill at the thought.
"Fine. Downstairs, now," Mary said. "But we are not shagging and there is really nothing to discuss." She turned, her motions elegant even with the ebony cane, and descended the stairs.
Vance looked pale. He watched as Sherlock disappeared behind Mary, closing the door behind him with a firm tug. Vance never saw that door closed. Ever.
He got up, feeling rattled. He fished something out of his parka pocket.
"H-here," he said, offering Finch her mobile back. "Beggin' your pardon, I didn't know who you was."
Finch took the device from him, curious how he managed to snag it. She shrugged. "I'm no one special. Just a silly girl."
Vance tossed his messy hair from his eyes, scar showing. "I may only be half-blind, but even I can see you're more'n one of Mista Holmes'. That woman, yer Mum? She's wicked scary."
She looked over his face, curious, but trying not to be rude. To her, the line that seemed to pierce it's way over his eye, slashing down, looked like the stroke of a paintbrush. "Um, yeah, she's not usually like that. I mean, not to me, anyway. This is um, all pretty sudden." She watched John set mugs on the table before going back into the kitchen, probably to resume his cleaning up. She cleared her throat. "Sherlock, um, he's kind of one of my dads."
"Ah, doc," Vance said, smiling as he reached for one of the cups. "One of?" He skirted around the coffee table, perching on the other half of the sofa. He blew on the warm tea. "Oh right, cos he and Doc are-" he made a sly face, raising his brows. His eyes both tracked where John had disappeared, but in the light, his left eye looked clouded over.
"Yeah. And y'know, my Mum has my Papa. And a bodyguard. There are a bunch of dads, it's really complicated," Finch blushed, half-burying her face in the mug. Her eyes were watering. "I'm sorry. Poor little rich girl blubbering over a cuppa isn't attractive."
Vance smirked. "I wouldn't say that," he replied. "So which one is your real erm..?" He sipped at the tea, humming as the warm liquid soothed him. He wished Dr. Watson had brought out a few biscuits.
"Oh, um, he's not here. He's at home," Finch sighed. She read the wistful look in his eyes and set her cup down. "Hold on, they always have a box of something to snack on. For the idiot."
"Oh, no! I'm fine," Vance said, flushing furiously.
"Please, it's the least I can do. You did bring me home," Finch said, and she went in search of snacks. John watched her rummage through the cupboards.
"Alright?" he asked.
Finch nodded, trying to look innocent. "Yeah. Yeah, I, um. Just wanted something to eat. I might share."
John smirked, and shrugged. "Don't get too attached. The irregulars never stay around long and I'm sure your mother wouldn't approve."
The younger girl's lips quirked up in a smile that implied she didn't really care if her mother approved or not and she went back into the sitting room with napkins and a box of chocolate digestives in hand. "Biscuit?"
Vance licked his lips. He shook his head. "Nah, I'm not really hungry," he said, shuffling his lanky legs.
"Don't be stupid," Finch said, placing a few on a napkin. It was like trying to feed a wild animal, coaxing him closer with the promise of a snack. "Here. If you don't want them now, you might want them later."
"Maybe just one," Vance said, plucking one up and dunking it in his tea before popping it in his mouth. He bounced his knee, feeling a bit.. trapped. "They're not really shaggin', are they?"
"I would really not like to know the answer to that," Finch replied, sipping her tea like a lady. Dainty, without the natural grace Mary seemed to have, but possessing a level of class all her own. "If you have to leave, I mean, they're probably not by the door. You could sneak past."
"It's just, Mista Holmes never closes the door," Vance laughed. "It's warm in here though." He didn't fancy finding a place to curl up. The downstairs flat was usually reserved for the littles. "Just the cuppa, then I'll try for an out. Might wanna consider skippin off yourself. I know a place, if you're still worried about getting nicked."
"I'm- I'm almost certain it's safe to go home," Finch whispered, but she wasn't quite sure. She gulped. "Papa wouldn't be too angry, I think."
"If he's your papa, I doubt he'll stay angry too long," Vance said, sitting his sadly empty cup back on the table. "Just smile sweet at him and he'll melt like butter."
"Th-thanks," Finch said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She smiled at him. "For bringing me. Not for stealing my gun or my phone."
"I'll jist nick your biscuits this time," he said, pocketing the napkin full. "Vance Reed. If there's anything you need in London, I'm your man." He held out his hand.
"Finch Morstan," the girl replied hesitantly, putting her hand in his. "If there's anything I ever need in London, I'm sure I know seven other people I'd call before you. But it's nice of you to say, anyhow."
Vance grinned, flicking beside Finch's ear. "For that, I'll keep this too," he said, a white card appearing in his hand. "Not e'ry day someone leaves their oyster card in their back pocket. Not on. Never know when someone'll pick your pocket." He winked over his bad eye and let Finch's hand go. "I think you can handle the loss, rich girl."
"Yeah, I s'posed I can," Finch agreed with a nod. "Better go, though. Wouldn't want my mum to see you robbing me."
Vance disappeared out the door of Baker Street, down and out into the streets. Home, for the homeless.
***
Downstairs, Sherlock had pressed Mary against the door to 221C, smashing their lips together. Her hands gripped his hair, keeping them locked together while they kissed desperately.
"Been months," Mary groaned. "Too long."
"Not my fault," Sherlock moaned, biting her lips before sliding his knee between Mary's legs. Not only to grind themselves closer but to support her as well. "Oh, God. We're not shagging." He kissed her harder, delving his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like danger.
"Not shagging," Mary agreed, his skin burning against hers. "So angry with you! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck why do you feel so nice?"
"Because I'm on the side of the angels," Sherlock purred in Mary's ear, taking it between his teeth.
"I do believe you argued once that you weren't one, either way," Mary hummed, gasping against his throat. "You're a monster. You're a demon, just like me."
"Yesss," Sherlock hissed. He groaned against Mary's neck. "We need to talk," he complained as he parted her trench coat.
"About what? She's my daughter, Sherlock," Mary said, sucking a mark under his jaw. "She's not becoming this. This monster that I am. She's just not. No arguments."
Sherlock panted. He pulled Mary away from the door, towards the bed. The bed itself had been replaced over the years, but their son had been conceived in 221C. Their own little world. He sat, pulling Mary towards him.
"I want to retire," Sherlock rumbled out. "Sebastian is well past time, and John's not getting any younger. Your legs will only progress in the coming months, years, if you're lucky. Let's retire together. After all these years. The children are practically grown. I've been teaching my skills to every new recruit in Scotland Yard.. My training sessions can continue through video with the occasional appearance."
"R-Retire?" Mary asked, and the practiced Moriarty edge dropped away, turning into genuine confusion. "You didn't bring me down here to yell at me about our daughter shooting a man?"
"There's a property. You own it already," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "John taught Finch to shoot. You need to teach her where to shoot. I don't need to tell you that. She's nearly twenty five next year. Spencer will be twenty. We were more than well off at their age."
"She's not going to be a criminal, Sherlock," Mary repeated. The mastermind herself leaned forward and rested her head on Sherlock's shoulder. "She's better than that. She's just a baby."
"How many lives have you saved, by making the choice to end others?" Sherlock asked, petting her hair. "I know you, Mary. And I know our daughter. It will be an ugly end if you don't usher in the new Moriarty. It doesn't have to be her, but it's time."
Mary pushed into his petting like a cat, kissing his throat. "I liked it better when you were snogging my brains out. You're awfully bossy. And I can't believe you would want that sort of future for Finch. She's too innocent, too good."
"Spencer is becoming a right prat," Sherlock chuckled. "Then again he threw up when he found my collection of lungs in the freezer."
Mary smiled, wishing the lingering numbness in her hip would go away. She sighed. "I'll talk to Sebastian about it. Retiring, I mean. Maybe I am getting slow, because for the life of me I can't imagine what property you're referencing. This one?"
"No, the cottage in Sussex, or the estate in Paris, but I imagine you'll want to bring your pets along, and I'd rather stay close. Come sit," he said pulling her in his lap. He rubbed over her numb spot. "We've danced around this for decades, Mary."
"I know. I'm just," Mary sighed, curling into him, snuggling. "I hate to give it up. It's what I've done for so long. I was lucky, that I've been out of the chair as long as I have. I'm loath to return to it."
"I'd rather long walks on the beach, in the gardens, than you running from gunmen," Sherlock said. "John and I, we- Everything has been perfect, wonderful. Everything you've given me, Mary, but I'm ever greedy. I want you and John back. Together again. Mine."
"Jack and Seb? Where do they fit into that? Because I don't know if I see Jack living in the same house as you," Mary hummed, stroking over his heart.
"Sebastian will," Sherlock said. "It's high time you dropped Mr. Kincaid. He could take over for you."
"You be nice to Jack. I love him dearly," Mary sulked, but she kissed his pulse anyhow. "He's been with me almost longer than you. You only edge him out with a chance meeting when I was ten."
"I still win," Sherlock said, turning his head to kiss her. "We'll work out the living arrangements once your empire is under control. Remember where you came from, Mary. You were innocent, young, and afraid once. You went through hellfire. Finch is not a wilting flower. She doesn't have to go dark. She doesn't have to be a demon. With Spencer at her side, they could be unstoppable."
"Hush up, Sherlock. We're clearly going to have a difference of opinion on this," Mary sighed, kissing him back. She cupped his jaw, his dear, sweet face so close to hers. "I've missed you. That's what I'm going to think about right now. Everything else can wait until tomorrow."
"John's going to be so jealous," Sherlock chuckled. He pulled her in for a kiss, falling back and pulling her with him. They needed this, so badly.
"Been months," Mary groaned. "Too long."
"Not my fault," Sherlock moaned, biting her lips before sliding his knee between Mary's legs. Not only to grind themselves closer but to support her as well. "Oh, God. We're not shagging." He kissed her harder, delving his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like danger.
"Not shagging," Mary agreed, his skin burning against hers. "So angry with you! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck why do you feel so nice?"
"Because I'm on the side of the angels," Sherlock purred in Mary's ear, taking it between his teeth.
"I do believe you argued once that you weren't one, either way," Mary hummed, gasping against his throat. "You're a monster. You're a demon, just like me."
"Yesss," Sherlock hissed. He groaned against Mary's neck. "We need to talk," he complained as he parted her trench coat.
"About what? She's my daughter, Sherlock," Mary said, sucking a mark under his jaw. "She's not becoming this. This monster that I am. She's just not. No arguments."
Sherlock panted. He pulled Mary away from the door, towards the bed. The bed itself had been replaced over the years, but their son had been conceived in 221C. Their own little world. He sat, pulling Mary towards him.
"I want to retire," Sherlock rumbled out. "Sebastian is well past time, and John's not getting any younger. Your legs will only progress in the coming months, years, if you're lucky. Let's retire together. After all these years. The children are practically grown. I've been teaching my skills to every new recruit in Scotland Yard.. My training sessions can continue through video with the occasional appearance."
"R-Retire?" Mary asked, and the practiced Moriarty edge dropped away, turning into genuine confusion. "You didn't bring me down here to yell at me about our daughter shooting a man?"
"There's a property. You own it already," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "John taught Finch to shoot. You need to teach her where to shoot. I don't need to tell you that. She's nearly twenty five next year. Spencer will be twenty. We were more than well off at their age."
"She's not going to be a criminal, Sherlock," Mary repeated. The mastermind herself leaned forward and rested her head on Sherlock's shoulder. "She's better than that. She's just a baby."
"How many lives have you saved, by making the choice to end others?" Sherlock asked, petting her hair. "I know you, Mary. And I know our daughter. It will be an ugly end if you don't usher in the new Moriarty. It doesn't have to be her, but it's time."
Mary pushed into his petting like a cat, kissing his throat. "I liked it better when you were snogging my brains out. You're awfully bossy. And I can't believe you would want that sort of future for Finch. She's too innocent, too good."
"Spencer is becoming a right prat," Sherlock chuckled. "Then again he threw up when he found my collection of lungs in the freezer."
Mary smiled, wishing the lingering numbness in her hip would go away. She sighed. "I'll talk to Sebastian about it. Retiring, I mean. Maybe I am getting slow, because for the life of me I can't imagine what property you're referencing. This one?"
"No, the cottage in Sussex, or the estate in Paris, but I imagine you'll want to bring your pets along, and I'd rather stay close. Come sit," he said pulling her in his lap. He rubbed over her numb spot. "We've danced around this for decades, Mary."
"I know. I'm just," Mary sighed, curling into him, snuggling. "I hate to give it up. It's what I've done for so long. I was lucky, that I've been out of the chair as long as I have. I'm loath to return to it."
"I'd rather long walks on the beach, in the gardens, than you running from gunmen," Sherlock said. "John and I, we- Everything has been perfect, wonderful. Everything you've given me, Mary, but I'm ever greedy. I want you and John back. Together again. Mine."
"Jack and Seb? Where do they fit into that? Because I don't know if I see Jack living in the same house as you," Mary hummed, stroking over his heart.
"Sebastian will," Sherlock said. "It's high time you dropped Mr. Kincaid. He could take over for you."
"You be nice to Jack. I love him dearly," Mary sulked, but she kissed his pulse anyhow. "He's been with me almost longer than you. You only edge him out with a chance meeting when I was ten."
"I still win," Sherlock said, turning his head to kiss her. "We'll work out the living arrangements once your empire is under control. Remember where you came from, Mary. You were innocent, young, and afraid once. You went through hellfire. Finch is not a wilting flower. She doesn't have to go dark. She doesn't have to be a demon. With Spencer at her side, they could be unstoppable."
"Hush up, Sherlock. We're clearly going to have a difference of opinion on this," Mary sighed, kissing him back. She cupped his jaw, his dear, sweet face so close to hers. "I've missed you. That's what I'm going to think about right now. Everything else can wait until tomorrow."
"John's going to be so jealous," Sherlock chuckled. He pulled her in for a kiss, falling back and pulling her with him. They needed this, so badly.
***
Vance took advantage of the lifted oyster card and road the Tube down further than usual. There was a crack house, not his favorite, but usually it had the heat on. He headed inside, hoping to score a cigarette or something off someone. He saw a fire burning and an empty mattress.
"Oi, V," a younger girl called to him softly. Her joint burned as she sucked on the end, orange dots reflected, glowing in her eyes. "Where you been, then?" Her filthy brown hair was braided into pigtails, smudges on her face.
"Hey, Jen," Vance said, heading over to her. "Jus' dealing with some Holmes stuff. Bloke's got a daughter. Can I?" He held out his hand. She elbowed him playfully.
"Get your own!" Jen said, her glassy eyes shining. "Alrigh', but jus' a puff, then. I 'ad to do a lot of work for that one." She passed him the joint. "Dunno 'ow you manage to stand that Holmes. He's weird."
Vance took a quick puff, hissing as he passed it back.
"No shite," he coughed out. "Pays good though. Didn't get much outta bringing his daughter back 'ome though. Ah, but feckin' hell, what a bird." He grinned, nudging Jenny. "Just the right sort of ginger and these big green eyes."
Jenny's face puckered up, eyes squinting. She laughed through her nose. "Yeah, well. That sort's only good for a shag, then they always pop you back on the streets. Sounds like a pretty one."
"Yeah, rich as fuck," Vance sighed. "Seven other people afore me, is what she said. Still couldn't just let her run into walls in a stupor. Poor thing scared herself silly. Who gave her a gun, I'll never know. She was soo easy to lift off of. Had the gun, her mobile, and her bloody oyster card."
"Sounds stupid," Jenny giggled, watching his face skeptically. "She'd ge' eaten alive out 'ere. Forget the richies, V. We ain't like them."
Vance laughed, dropping down onto the mattress. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Still, nice to dream sometimes," he said, pulling out one of the chocolate biscuits. He bit off a piece. "Dreams that taste like chocolate biscuits and the best milky tea in London. Warm houses. I miss being one of the littles."
Jenny shifted uneasily. She didn't like him talking about places ain't neither one of them going to get to. "Yeah. Guess it's all milky tea when you're one uv them littles. But wishes ain't for the grown ups, V. We gotta stay sharp, or we're dun for." She reached over and took the rest of his biscuit, biting into it. "You an' me, V. We're out 'ere. That's where we're going to stay."
"Yeah, but it dun mean I can't find her and nick her pockets like," Vance yawned. "Bet she carries cash. Stupid rich girl. Could've sold that phone, had a room for the night."
"Why didn't'cha?" Jenny slid her hand over his hip. "Could've made a party out of it."
"Felt bad," Vance shrugged. "She was all crying, bloodied nose. Plus the doc was there, and I didn' feel right. Not in their house, y'know? If Mista Holmes can't trust his sources, he'll stop payin' us."
"Soun's weak," Jenny said, clicking her tongue. She leaned closer to Vance, continuing to rub him. "We could still, make our own lil' party. No more talk of Holmses and fancy birds." She brought her joint up to her lips again, inhaling. "Them posh bastards. Just you forget all about them."
"Jen," Vance said, grasping her hand. He squeezed it. "Too cold tonight for all that." He wouldn't be able to see anyone but Finch in his mind's eye. It felt dirty to do that. She was a clean girl, for all that she was an accidental killer.
Jenny soured, clearly disappointed. "What? Gon'ta go dream abou' your gold girl?" She shook her hair, glaring at him. "Stop that line o' thought righ' there, V. She ain't good for you. Girls like me, we understand." Jen reached up to touch the scar on his eye. "We don't mind certain fings."
A sick feeling turned in Vance's stomach. He ducked his head, shaking his hair back into his eyes.
"Ain't got nothing to do with her," he scowled. "Just too bloody cold. Shouldn't warmed up earlier, makes the cold worse. I'll nick a wallet tomorrow, get us a room, yeah?"
Jenny grinned, showing her missing front tooth. She'd lost it in a fight with one of the other girls. "I'll 'old you to that, V. Until then, let's find a place to crash. I'll keep ya good an warm."
"Yeah, sure, whatever." Vance said, shrugging tighter into his parka. He'd gotten it from a coat donation place, and it was his prized possession. The high collar kept his neck warm, and more importantly his face covered. Plus it had lots of pockets.
Still he knew he'd dream about the pretty golden girl. Everything about her warm and sweet. Like milky tea. He licked his lips, tasting chocolate. It wasn't fair how some folks got to live. He didn't want riches, just a warm place to sleep, and to keep out of trouble. Maybe some money for cigarettes once in awhile.
He'd have to shake Jenny in a day or two. She always ate up his extra funds with drugs. He didn't mind the pot, but he drew the line at anything else. He didn't care for sharing a room on his hard-stolen money either.
"Oi, V," a younger girl called to him softly. Her joint burned as she sucked on the end, orange dots reflected, glowing in her eyes. "Where you been, then?" Her filthy brown hair was braided into pigtails, smudges on her face.
"Hey, Jen," Vance said, heading over to her. "Jus' dealing with some Holmes stuff. Bloke's got a daughter. Can I?" He held out his hand. She elbowed him playfully.
"Get your own!" Jen said, her glassy eyes shining. "Alrigh', but jus' a puff, then. I 'ad to do a lot of work for that one." She passed him the joint. "Dunno 'ow you manage to stand that Holmes. He's weird."
Vance took a quick puff, hissing as he passed it back.
"No shite," he coughed out. "Pays good though. Didn't get much outta bringing his daughter back 'ome though. Ah, but feckin' hell, what a bird." He grinned, nudging Jenny. "Just the right sort of ginger and these big green eyes."
Jenny's face puckered up, eyes squinting. She laughed through her nose. "Yeah, well. That sort's only good for a shag, then they always pop you back on the streets. Sounds like a pretty one."
"Yeah, rich as fuck," Vance sighed. "Seven other people afore me, is what she said. Still couldn't just let her run into walls in a stupor. Poor thing scared herself silly. Who gave her a gun, I'll never know. She was soo easy to lift off of. Had the gun, her mobile, and her bloody oyster card."
"Sounds stupid," Jenny giggled, watching his face skeptically. "She'd ge' eaten alive out 'ere. Forget the richies, V. We ain't like them."
Vance laughed, dropping down onto the mattress. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Still, nice to dream sometimes," he said, pulling out one of the chocolate biscuits. He bit off a piece. "Dreams that taste like chocolate biscuits and the best milky tea in London. Warm houses. I miss being one of the littles."
Jenny shifted uneasily. She didn't like him talking about places ain't neither one of them going to get to. "Yeah. Guess it's all milky tea when you're one uv them littles. But wishes ain't for the grown ups, V. We gotta stay sharp, or we're dun for." She reached over and took the rest of his biscuit, biting into it. "You an' me, V. We're out 'ere. That's where we're going to stay."
"Yeah, but it dun mean I can't find her and nick her pockets like," Vance yawned. "Bet she carries cash. Stupid rich girl. Could've sold that phone, had a room for the night."
"Why didn't'cha?" Jenny slid her hand over his hip. "Could've made a party out of it."
"Felt bad," Vance shrugged. "She was all crying, bloodied nose. Plus the doc was there, and I didn' feel right. Not in their house, y'know? If Mista Holmes can't trust his sources, he'll stop payin' us."
"Soun's weak," Jenny said, clicking her tongue. She leaned closer to Vance, continuing to rub him. "We could still, make our own lil' party. No more talk of Holmses and fancy birds." She brought her joint up to her lips again, inhaling. "Them posh bastards. Just you forget all about them."
"Jen," Vance said, grasping her hand. He squeezed it. "Too cold tonight for all that." He wouldn't be able to see anyone but Finch in his mind's eye. It felt dirty to do that. She was a clean girl, for all that she was an accidental killer.
Jenny soured, clearly disappointed. "What? Gon'ta go dream abou' your gold girl?" She shook her hair, glaring at him. "Stop that line o' thought righ' there, V. She ain't good for you. Girls like me, we understand." Jen reached up to touch the scar on his eye. "We don't mind certain fings."
A sick feeling turned in Vance's stomach. He ducked his head, shaking his hair back into his eyes.
"Ain't got nothing to do with her," he scowled. "Just too bloody cold. Shouldn't warmed up earlier, makes the cold worse. I'll nick a wallet tomorrow, get us a room, yeah?"
Jenny grinned, showing her missing front tooth. She'd lost it in a fight with one of the other girls. "I'll 'old you to that, V. Until then, let's find a place to crash. I'll keep ya good an warm."
"Yeah, sure, whatever." Vance said, shrugging tighter into his parka. He'd gotten it from a coat donation place, and it was his prized possession. The high collar kept his neck warm, and more importantly his face covered. Plus it had lots of pockets.
Still he knew he'd dream about the pretty golden girl. Everything about her warm and sweet. Like milky tea. He licked his lips, tasting chocolate. It wasn't fair how some folks got to live. He didn't want riches, just a warm place to sleep, and to keep out of trouble. Maybe some money for cigarettes once in awhile.
He'd have to shake Jenny in a day or two. She always ate up his extra funds with drugs. He didn't mind the pot, but he drew the line at anything else. He didn't care for sharing a room on his hard-stolen money either.
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