Chapter Text
"The only thing I know is that I know nothing — Socrates
Lestrade was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, a good twenty years older than I was. His brown eyes were a deep brown, years of exhausting experience behind them. He dressed in normal suit-wear that was required of the Yard. Today, Lestrade chose to wear a gray suit. I was occupied in my own world, fingers pressing diligently into the off-white keyboard the Yard had provided me for my internship. I had been here for half a year now, deciding there was no point in returning to New York after University. None of my family lived there anymore. Off to the side, the Detective Inspector fumbled around his desk, scratching his head in frustration.
Lestrade looked over at me and asked softly, “Alice, go make copies of these papers for me, will you?”
I glanced up from my computer and tried to process his mumble of words for a minute. I instinctively reached up to my ears to ‘fix’ my hearing aids, but they weren’t there. I internally cursed myself with a sigh, recalling I had left them charging on my nightstand. I felt like slapping myself silly. Of all days, I choose to forget them on press conference day.
Lestrade waited patiently, oblivious to the fact I was practically going to be unable to hear for the whole day. The Detective Inspector furrowed his brows when I stared at him blankly, and he tapped a hand to his right ear, realizing.
I nodded my head with a slight frown. He turned in his chair to face me, his hands moving slowly as he signed, “I need the papers copied.”
I immediately caught on and signed back, “Yeah, I’m on it!” I smiled as Lestrade waved his hands triumphantly at his success and pressed his calloused hand on the papers that needed copying. I pushed up from my chair, signing happily, “You’re improving. I’m proud.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, processing what I had just signed. His eyes creased at the corners as he finally understood. “Thank you!” Lestrade signed, and swiveled in his chair to return to his work.
I picked up the stack of papers with caution, knowing well my penchant to drop things. I turned on the heel of my high-top Converse and stepped out of Lestrade’s office. As I walked to the copy machine, the world around me was a ringing murmur. I could only pick up loud heels clicking and the occasional ringtone of a phone call. I was lucky for that, Lestrade told me once.
The Yard often was the epitome of noise, far worse than a broadcasting station with a big story for the books. Many of the Yard’s employees were tensed up, busy with cases and other mishaps that were often eluded from my knowledge. Lestrade was the sole way I got information about any case, considering he was the only one who could communicate somewhat with me.
Though, I miss when I could hear properly. I’m not completely deaf, but I lost a decent chunk of my hearing after University. It was a random thing—unexpected. I shook off the sadness that began to gnaw at me, rather focusing on getting the case papers copied and put into order. I had a job to do—wallowing in self-pity won’t do any good. A few secretaries near me chatted joyfully about their date nights.
“Oh, and I told Nick to wait in the bedroom, yeah?” I heard the older secretary explain as she sipped a cup of coffee. Her hips swayed in a manner which conveyed her story without words. I managed to pick up on a few words, chuckling to myself. I quietly pieced together the exact scene she was painting for her two colleagues and it was more than amusing.
The machine beeped and flashed its usual green light, beckoning me to insert the first paper. I reluctantly let my gaze fall away from the women to the copy machine, once again forcing myself to focus on my work. The smell of coffee wafted throughout the precinct. I smiled faintly, the heavenly scent of the German coffee my brother, Henri, had sent me filling my nostrils. He had sent too much, actually, so I figured why not share with the Yard? After all, this place seemed to be my only hope.
Beep.
The copy machine made an odd sound. My content expression contorted into confusion, and my grip tightened on the papers in my hand. Curiously, I pressed the reset button only to be met with the unfortunate blaring of the machine. I yelped, dropping the papers with a start. I covered my ears to block out the shrill sound. The ringing intensified greatly—a reminder of how unlucky I was today.
The Yard came to a halt and took a few moments to observe the spectacle. I didn’t hear any whispers or catch any side glances, but the feeling of everyone’s eyes burned holes into every part of my body. Embarrassed as I was, I quickly crouched down to pick up the dropped stack of papers. They fell out of my grasp like marbles, intensifying the rosy hue my cheeks began to have. My heart thumped in my chest like a drum, my hands sweating profusely. My breath was a bit labored as I stood up and tried to turn off the copy machine. I repeatedly pressed my finger on the button; my attempts were in vain.
A man with bouncy black curls and angular features came up to the machine. His coat billowed behind him like he was the main character, and his movements were as swift as a dancer. He pushed the file drawer to the left and simply unplugged the copier from the wall. I stared dumbly at the scene playing out before me, fighting the urge to rip my hair out in a mixture of emotions. The man gave me an imperceptible smirk, one of pity or jest, I couldn’t tell. I locked eyes with him, his icy blue eyes captivating me as if I was under hypnosis. He spoke in a baritone, smooth voice, breaking eye contact to stare off at a wall.
“These machines have the easiest solutions, you know.”
I blinked as if he had two heads. I felt a bit irritated at the jumble of speech in my ears, reducing any response to a helpless: “Oh uh, yeah..yes.” I watched his expression closely, his thick brows knitting together in not frustration, but intrigue.
He snapped his gaze back towards me and regarded me with such intensity I felt like a lab rat inside a cage, observed with no sense of privacy. I cleared my throat and awkwardly shifted my weight foot to foot. By now, the Yard resumed its mundane chatter and noise, further disorienting me from being able to discern anything the man said to me. I squinted my eyes as I tried to read his lips. I sighed, frowning.
“I can’t hear you, sir.”
“Is that so?”
The mysterious man stood up straighter, his belstaff coat making him seem taller than he actually was. He raised his spindly fingers in front of his chest. To my utter surprise, he began to sign with astounding fluency. I glanced between his moving hands and his face in disbelief, as if he was communicating in some sort of ancient language I wasn’t well-versed in.
“You can understand me now, yes?” He signed, his expression neutral.
I allowed myself to be overwhelmed with awe and slight joy. So far, Lestrade had been the only one to know BSL to an extent. I fisted my hand up and tilted it downwards in a ‘yes,’ to which the strange man smiled faintly. My curiosity was growing with every moment—this man was beyond interesting.
He glanced around the Yard, his faint smile diminishing as he saw Donovan strutting over to us. I raised a brow, having always regarded Donovan with neutrality and respect. The both of them were radiating hatred off of their bodies, adding to the confusion that came over me again. It seemed that I didn’t know well enough about the dynamics in New Scotland Yard, despite having been here for months. Under the gaze of the Sergeant, the raven-haired man stood up straighter and messed around with something in his ears.
“Sherlock Holmes,” Donovan said bitterly, crossing her arms.
To me, it sounded like ‘Shewloo Holes’. I frowned at the fact that I was unable to catch the man’s name. I really wanted to know his name. I plastered on a kind smile and waved at Donovan, her returning the gesture with a curt nod in my general direction. He replied in equal disdain, his lips forming into a disgusted sneer.
“Sergeant Donovan. Always a pleasure to see you.”
“Listen freak,” Donovan pointed a finger at him, “if you mess up the press conference today, I swear on your head I’ll make Lestrade charge you with something.”
My eyes widened as I darted my eyes back and forth between them, trying to lip-read the conversation. The accused simply snorted, replying with arrogance.
“Is it really my fault that the Yard is so incompetent?”
“Seriously. Even the Yard has limits to your disturbances. Last time was it. Today, if you cause any problems, I'll arrest you myself.”
“Well, it’s just delightful you lot still need me then, right? After all,” He glanced over at the coffee machine for a moment, his nose sniffling at the strong smell, “The Yard lacks the ability to solve its own cases. I mean, you’re drinking German coffee, known to be awfully strong.”
Donovan retorted, “It was a gift , thank you very much.”
“A gift, as you say, to do better.”
I sighed in frustration now, to which the both of them eyed me closely. Donovan worked her jaw, her brown curls bouncing as she whipped her head back towards the man. He stared at me however, unblinking. It was quite eerie, if I’m going to be honest. As if the Gods had seen my discomfort, my phone began to ring. I scurried off immediately to leave Donovan with him, wanting no further in their baffling verbal brawl.
I managed to find a suitable area to pick up the phone. When there was enough silence, hearing was easier. Especially when I had the voice right up to my ear. I slid right on the screen and held it up to my ear, making sure to turn up the volume all the way. There was heavy breathing on the other line, and I grimaced.
“Hello?” I said, hoping there would be a response. Still, there was nothing except the breathing of a human. I shifted my weight foot to foot and glanced around the secluded office I found myself in. I decided to call out again into the phone, “Hello?”
There was a sharp gasp and a soft cry. My heart clenched at the sound, and my hand reached up to clutch my necklace. The person on the other line kept crying, producing gut-wrenching noises that made my stomach churn with worry.
“Oh, help me,” The person cried out. They had a feminine voice, it seemed. Not old, but not young either.
I swallowed thickly and gazed out the window of the office, watching as the strange man and Donovan were continuing their argument. I turned my head towards the oak desk. Paper. I would need paper if I was to get information. I crossed over to the drawer and opened it, speaking into the phone again.
“Help you? With what? How did you get this number, ma’am?”
I had just clicked a pen when the woman on the phone started to chant something in broken English. I carded a hand through my blonde curls, unsure of how to proceed. I cleared my throat in hopes to break off her incessant phrases, but it was no help.
“Ma’am, I can’t understand you. Please be clear, I’m trying to—”
Call ended.
I pulled the device away from my ear, a mixture of concern and fear coursing around inside me. My heart was thumping wildly, any louder and it would’ve been audible. My feet moved on autopilot as I opened the office door. I tucked away my phone and headed over to Lestrade's office. He turned his head over his shoulder when I entered, his usual smile on his face. It faltered as he saw the state of me.
“Alice, what’s wrong?”
I took in a breath. I signed out what just occurred in rapid motions, the urgency which started me unmatched to any I felt before. My gut was telling me something was wrong. That someone was in danger. As Lestrade processed the words, he rubbed his face with a deep sigh.
Something was definitely wrong, and I was going to figure out what.