A Community for the 2010 BBC tv series Sherlock

A sharp pain, tiny pin-pricks of a dozen gracefully curved miniature blades digging into her forearm, jerked Mari roughly out of sleep.

Her grumbled “Blight!” was caught somewhere between half-asleep mumbling and a curse as she dragged her eyes open, blinking blearily into the darkness. Or, rather, what should have been darkness.

Pulsing lights, usually a soft white or yellow during regular use, were now an eerie green. They were still dim enough that the glow was casting long shadows across her bedroom, but even as she pulled up one hand to rub the sleep out of her eyes, she could see them visibly brightening. Not good.

“Mrrr.” A slinky, black-furred shadow pounced at her hand and missed as her second arm—the stabbed one—was moved to give her leverage to sit up. Automatically, she scooped Sahm up in arms, cradling the creature so her soft wings were secured against Mari’s body and tiny paws curled in the air as Mari quickly gathered her thoughts.

Shoes. She needed shoes. And pants.

Sahm was mostly compliant as she dressed one-handed, clumsy but quick enough, though she was starting to squirm by the time Mari slid her feet into a pair of slip-ons by the bedroom door. When Mari didn’t let her go, she gave a little whine of protest and tried to wriggle to brace her paws and push herself away.

“Stop that,” Mari reprimanded, but she couldn’t put any firmness in the words. Sahm was picking up on her growing uneasiness, she was sure. Pausing, she took a deep breath and ran through a quick checklist in her head.

Clothes.

Sahm.

Suppressor (she scooped the bracelet from a hook on the wall, sliding it onto her wrist until she could feel a soft pulse of warmth against her skin. Good. Still charged).

Leash and harness for Sahm. She’d put it on her when they were down in the shelter.

Bag with her keys and her echo.

The lumens were almost white now, the green emergency light reaching day-time brightness, and at some point in her shuffled collections they’d begun to drone a warning tone. She’d been through plenty of storm watches, but never quite like this. Not this fast.

Reluctantly resigned to her predicament, Sahm had temporarily stopped squirming, but she gave another pitiful whine to make it clear how much she did not approve of whatever was happening. Mari gave her head a gentle scritch before shouldering her bag, opening the front door, and stepping out into the hallway.

“Do you have their foils?”

“We don’t need their foils.”
“Mommy—”

“We wouldn’t need the foils if we had the suppressors, but since someone didn’t—”

“Gods, Helia, can we not—”

“Maaaaaaaaaahm-“

Mari couldn’t hear the rest of his sentence over the emergency drone and the sudden, hiccupping cry of a toddler as Arin’s youngest child woke up with a wail. His eyes met Mari’s over his wife’s head and she gave him a small, sympathetic smile, but with her hands full of Sahm she couldn’t have helped if she wanted to. He gave a little headshake and she saw him reaching for their front door as she turned away to the stairs. She might see them in the shelter if they made it downstairs before she got a room, but she’d likely be harboring with someone else.

In the basement, a short line of rumpled, blurry-eyed residents waited to be directed into open shelter rooms. The SBA agent directing traffic was young and as disheveled, though he seemed to be working efficiently enough when she stepped into place at the end of the queue. As she did, the person in front of her—an elderly woman with short, wavy gray hair—glanced back at Mari and gave her familiar smile. “Quite the fuss, hmm?” Her wrinkled hand held the lease of a mid-sized dog who appeared to be just as old as his owner, soft white fur heavily mixed in with his original golden-brown. He sat quietly, liquid eyes fixed on the agent like he was waiting for his own directions, patient and stoic.

Mari returned the smile. Viren lived on the first floor, and she was always eager to share a minute of Mari’s time when they crossed paths. Mari knew the older woman had struggles with living alone, and she often had a sad, far-away look if you came across her alone, but it was always replaced with a refreshingly genuine, warm interest once she focused on company.

Mari was feeling calmer now, between her suppressor and the company of neighbors. Sahm was looking around and wriggling to get into a more advantageous position to observe all the new distractions, but she was content enough (for now) to stay in Mari’s grasp. That wouldn’t last long, once Sahm was sure enough of the new location to feel like exploring, but by then they’d be safely ensconced in a shelter. “I hope it’s not too bad. I’m not used to seeing the lumens react this much.” She nodded to the woman’s dog. “Rue seems to be handling it well, at least.”

“So is this little sweetheart,” Viren said, giving Sahm a quick scritch between the ears that got a gentle “mrrr” in response.

Mari shook her head. “For now,” she said, giving the kitten a look of mock frustration, but the words were warm.

The line moved steadily as residents entered the shelters—families on their own, or individual and small groups of neighbors partnered together in the small, paladite-lined rooms. Each time they shuffled forward, Viren leaned gently on Rue who patiently helped her balance, adjusting his weight to steady her if she faltered. As they approached the frong of the line, Mari could see the young SAB agent’s name tag was upside down—likely hastily shoved into place as he hurried to be one of the earliest arrivals in the shelter space. Poor kid. Even with his suppressor on his wrist, this was clearly still new to him. Still, he was doing well. Even as other residents filed into line behind them, it was only a few minutes before Viren and Mari were at the front of the line.

“Number?” He asked Viren as she approached.

“Two. Me and my son.” Viren’s eyes crinkled slightly as she nodded down at Rue.

The young man hesitated, as if unsure whether or not she was joking, and then looked to Mari. “Uh-“

“Just me,” she said.

“R-right. Um…are they okay with other pets?” he asked, gesturing at the animals.

“They’ll be fine,” Mari said reassuringly.
“Okay. Room 12 please.”

The two women nodded and, animals in tow, made their way down a narrow hall to the first open door with an embossed number twelve beside the entryway.

~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: Stormfall (Take 2!)
 

A storm was coming—a bad one—and no one in Halcyon Apartments had noticed, yet.

Or, rather, none of the humans had noticed. Here in the Mending Hour, nearly every human in the building was asleep (soundly or otherwise), and those that weren’t were too distracted to notice the faint green glow beginning to emanate from the Luminaire Units^TM [1]which, this late at night, should have been completely dormant.

Where the humans were oblivious, however, the pets were not. For the flitwyr[2] in apartment 4E, the steadily growing pressure of oncoming magic already had her pacing restlessly on her human’s bed when the luminaires not only began to glow, but to emit a low, steady emergency drone that made her black-tufted ears twitch.

The sudden motion of Sahm’s[3] human turning fitfully in her sleep caught the flitwyr’s attention. The pounce was more instinct that not, but when her tiny, clawed grip caused her human to startle awake, she gave a satisfied “Mrrr!” as if that had been her intent the whole time.

Mari Tav’ren was NOT happy to be woken in such a manner. She was even less pleased when, grudgingly blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she noticed the green emergency lights, which  were brightening a bit too fast for comfort. That drone was getting more noticeable, too.

“Blight.”

She needed pants.

Shoving the covers back, Mari swung her bare legs over the edge of her bed and, almost instinctually, scooped up Sahm when the flit attempted to pounce again on the newly revealed moving target.

Tucking the creature under one arm (because she did NOT want to track Sahm down if she decided to dart off into the shadows), she fumbled on a pair of slacks from a pile of mostly-clean laundry that had been stacked haphazardly on a nearby chair. Her Echo^TM was resting on her nightstand, scry screen blank[4]. That was shoved into a pocket. Moving past the screen that divided her sleep area from the main room, Mari slid her feet into a pair of shoes by the front door, grabbed her satchel from the back of a “kitchen” chair (or living room chair. Or impromptu table. It was rather multipurpose, really), and elbowed open the front door, all while still holding a moderately uncooperative Sahm.

Shimmying the strap of her satchel in place on her shoulder, Mari tapped an attached bag charm with glass beads that made a satisfying clacking noise, distracting Sahm from her growing attempts to escape confinement. Tiny claws dug into her shoulder as the flit took the bait, making Mari flinch. Worth it.