nevermoreraven

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: Teen
DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I'm too tired to think of anything clever. Which probably doesn't bother TV script writers, since they have deadlines. (They just have to keep trudging on regardless.) Unlike fanfic writers.
Summary: Normalcy is insanity.
Note: Pretty sure I'm becoming a Vorlon in summary and 'chapter title'.

That someone happened to be Molly, who John instantly felt sorry for. This must be one of the most awkward things ever. In fact, she'd almost fainted upon seeing the woman, now calling herself Victoriana. However, once the examination was underway, it was relatively quick. She returned with the results, blushing deeply-whoever else Victoriana might resemble, she was, in fact, a woman.

The woman looked down, and John asked, "What's wrong?"

When she glanced up again, she looked a little shocked that he'd noticed anything. "...I...was hoping the results would be different. I suppose she took a DNA sample. The results of that test will be most enlightening."

Mycroft nodded, for once looking not perfectly at ease in a situation. If Sherlock had been here, he would have been ecstatic, and mockery would have ensued. "Why would you have preferred differently?"

Victoriana rolled her eyes. "Obvious. If I had been actually a man, I would have had more data to examine to determine my identity. As it is, I am left with more questions than answers and little to no way to answering them." She didn't have to add that that, above all else, was bothering her. Both John and Mycroft knew.

"Well, Lestrade, what do you plan to do in your investigation?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock would have been snidely remarking that he couldn't keep his meddling fingers out of other people's businesses. He was concerned, so he meddled. Not like that was the best coping mechanism in the world, but then, neither of the Holmes brothers had been famous on that account.

"I can make a few inquiries, I suppose," the detective sighed. "Fact is, we don't really have all that much to go on, do we?"

The woman slammed her hand against the table, and Lestrade sighed.

"Hurting yourself isn't going to change anything, you know." The slightest bit of amusement lingered around his tired, long-suffering eyes.

"I'm useless," she bit out, scared and angry.

"You're not useless. You're anything but useless. Come on, we'll help you as best we can, and you'll figure it out eventually. You're clever, aren't you?" John spoke quietly, trying to calm her down, and she did, in fact, get a little less tense.

"My mind...my mind is not working at optimum efficiency. It's broken. I'm broken. An...and I fear I may never work again." Her head jerked up, staring accusingly at Mycroft. It's all his fault, her eyes were saying. "Go ahead, laugh."

"Never." It was hard to tell whether that was a denial or a promise. "I know what it's like to feel helpless and trapped within events." That earned a shocked glance from Lestrade and John. Mycroft, admitting to weakness? This really must be an emergency. "If you need anything, feel free to ask. It would be easy to provide a place to stay..."

"I'm not taking charity, so push off!" she yelled, suddenly on her feet. She winced and quickly sat again. Was she hurt?

"It's not charity," John quickly put in. "Believe it or not, we really do care. Even that bloke," he pointed at a disgruntled Mycroft, "...in his own annoying, meddling way."

The slightest of smiles curved trembling lips.

"Or," Mycroft suggested, "...you could take the room at Two Hundred and Twenty-One B. I'm sure John wouldn't mind."

The woman stared at John, disregarding everything else in the room. "What if I can't be what you want me to be?"

This question was important. John Watson shrugged. "Then you're not." He felt sure that the woman would read the subtle suggestion that it wouldn't matter desperately one way or the other.

Victoriana's lips parted in surprise. She stared at him in something very much like shock.

No one noticed Molly until she cleared her throat. "H-hi...Victoriana." The other woman was still staring at John, and she bit her lip. "I-I hope you find your answers. We're kind of, um, similar in size, so I brought you a few of my spare clothes. And if there's anything else I can do, j-just ask."

Molly placed the bag next to the mystery woman, and that's when Victoriana finally looked up and smiled. Not large, but enough to make the shy woman blush and run.

She glanced back at John again. "I'm going with him," she stated firmly, and scowled when Mycroft didn't throw a fit but actually smiled.

"John. Do inform me if you require anything further." He left the room, and the woman stuck out her tongue at his back. "You're just as childish as he was," he threw over his shoulder, hardly taken aback, and John began giggling.

"Mad, the lot of you." Lestrade sounds annoyed, but John knows better. He's affectionate, amused, and the return of something resembling normalcy is welcome. (The fact that the Detective Inspector is thinking of this as normalcy shows that he's as barmy as the rest of them.) "Take her home and make sure she's looked after, John. The taxi will take you to the doctor's along the way, as she needs treatment for her foot. Don't worry about it, though; Mycroft arranged for it. Try to stop her from breaking any doctors or nurses. I'll see the two of you in a few days once she's cleaned up and I can get a clean schedule."

She stood up and walked out with him.

"He's doing the opposite you are," she observes conversationally.

"What's that?"

"He's making himself busy so he doesn't have to think. You are hardly busy and yet manage to empty your mind. How do you do it?"

John doesn't really know the answer to this. He ponders for a while and eventually answers, "It isn't hard."

She huffs. That isn't an answer and they both know it.