Fandom: Detective Conan
Characters: Ai (General series)
Word Count: 1093 words
Author's Notes: I do not own Detective Conan. It all belongs to Gosho Aoyama. I simply borrow the characters, tie them up, and dance them around like life-sized puppets. I do wish they’d stop complaining.
Summary: She didn’t know how long she’d been running. A Sherry fic.
She knew she was getting a lot of strange looks. It was to be expected, really—a young girl of elementary school age running through the rain, all alone, while wearing the clothes of an adult? She was genuinely surprised that no one had actually stopped her yet. It was one of those rare ways in which fate had blessed her. She really hadn’t had a great deal of luck in her young life.
…or had she?
Her mind had made her invaluable to the Syndicate—that had kept her alive for this long. The poison that should have ended her life had instead been her savior, allowing her to slip her bonds and escape certain death. And she had a destination in mind, a place to go. A botched assassination attempt by the one who now sought to end her life had left her with a single hope for sanctuary…and someday, perhaps absolution.
Perhaps there had been more blessings in her life than she had thought.
Until recently, she’d had her sister…
How long had she been running now? The rain-drenched streets seemed endless. She was exhausted. She desperately wanted to stop and take a short break to catch her breath, to try and make the burning in her throat go away, but she didn’t dare. Not here, out in the open.
The sky was ominous, the clouds of the darkest gray. Thunder rolled across the heavens at intervals. Somehow, it reminded her of the sound of Gin’s Porsche. And both were pursuing her, baying like the hounds of hell themselves.
But finally—oh, finally, she had reached Beika.
She knew where the house was. She had been there before, conducting an examination of the residence at the Syndicate’s behest. They’d had suspicions that the intended victim had not perished, but somehow escaped with his life. She had noticed an oddity there—something that fit with an observation she had made in the laboratory. It was evidence enough for her. She kept quiet about it, and now it was information that could save her.
Still, it took her a minute to find the house in question. And finally, her steps slowed.
It was only then that she realized just how heavy her clothes were—they were too big, and weight all the more for being drenched. Her limbs seemed to be cast in lead, weighted down. Her lungs and throat were aflame. And her head felt strange; her vision was clouded and blurry, like she was trying to move through gelatin.
…he wouldn’t be here. She knew perfectly well, on a completely intellectual level, that the massive house was empty. But it was her only option. She had nowhere else to go.
It took a great deal of energy to lift one hand and wrap her fingers around a bar on the gate. That was really all the power she had left. Her strength left her, her knees gave out, and she slumped, face-first, to the wet sidewalk.
Consciousness slipped away, and she gave up the futile struggle for it. Her head lulled to the side; she floated into darkness. Her last thought was one of bitter resignation, that she had been wrong about her blessings; her last sensation was of the rain falling on her…
And the feeling that someone was leaning over her.
She was warm.
And whatever she was laying on was far too soft to be concrete. Where was she? Had she been caught?
She opened her eyes and looked around. The room was unfamiliar. She was resting on a futon, covered by a blanket; there was a lamp on nearby, providing light. There were no restraints on her, which probably meant that whoever had brought her here was not one of Them. It didn’t look like a dungeon or prison. If anything, this looked like the inside of someone’s home. So who…and where…?
“Are you awake?” The voice was male, older, and carried no threat or ill will.
Still, despite the appearance and feeling of safety, years of habit could not immediately be forgotten. Though she recognized quickly that she was probably not in danger, her instincts took over. She sat bolt upright, intending to get to her feet and be ready to run again…but she immediately fell back against the futon, awash in dizziness. Through the haze, she saw a portly bald man with a white moustache leaned over her; he appeared concerned.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Who are you?” she asked; her voice was hoarse.
“Agasa Hiroshi,” he said. So far, none of her instincts were telling her of danger. “I found you outside. You were unconscious.” He seemed to be thinking about something, some unknown idea that he had yet to voice; still, her internal alarm bells stayed silent. “Did you get lost?”
“Looking for someone,” she murmured. It seemed legitimately safe to say that much, at least.
“In that house?”
“There’s no one living there at the moment,” Agasa said.
“Where is he?” she asked. “Kudo?”
Agasa was quiet long enough to convince her that he was trying to decide on an answer—which meant that he knew something. Still, he finally replied with a neutral “He’s away.”
It seemed to be a confirmation of her suspicions, however vague, and she smiled weakly. “He’s alive, then…I was right…” At the man’s surprised expression, she added, “Did he shrink as well?”
There was no mistaking the alarm in Agasa’s face at those words. While he seemed to search for a reply, she sat up again—slowly this time so as to avoid a repeat of a few minutes earlier—and said, “I need to find Kudo Shinichi. If you know where he is, please tell me.”
The old man stared at her for a moment before he spoke. “Who…are you?”
“…my name is Miyano Shiho,” she said after a pause of her own. “Somehow I suspect you’ll believe this, but I am eighteen years old. And I need Kudo’s help.”
“What happened to you?”
“Perhaps I should explain. You have no reason to trust me as things are now, so I doubt you will tell me of Kudo,” she sighed. Still, it could be worse. She didn’t seem to be in any danger, and this man knew of her elusive quarry. He didn’t seem to think her crazy—rather, he believed her. For the moment, she was safe.
…maybe she was blessed after all.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I created a poison called apotoxin 4869…”
PS. Written for peachbox for a fic-swap on shiho_sherry_ai, with a prompt of “running in the rain.” Sorry it took so long ^^;; Thanks for reading, all! Much love!