Disclaimer: As ever I don't own Sherlock and don't profit from writing my stories.
Warning: violence, but all in all rated M just to be safe
Reviews are very welcome!
Sherlock was getting late for his first date although it was totally not his fault. In fact he shouldn't have been so worried – Dominique was getting late as well – but for a slightly different reason.
Colorfully swearing under his breath Sherlock was hanging from the roof of an apartment building only two blocks from the Angelo's where in a quarter of an hour he was supposed to meet Dominique for dinner. Numbness was slowly conquering his fingers, knuckles deadly white from effort. He could hear careless steps along the edge of the roof above, soon they were bound to find him. He marveled at how simple decisions could change the whole course of actions. If he had left the flat a quarter of an hour later he would have to hail a cab not to be late. But as he was impatient and looking forward to meeting Dominique again (seemed a couple of hours without her was enough to make him miss her) he left 221b in good time and decided to stroll via a typical London maze of shortcuts and back alleys that were so well-known to him.
It was rather cloudy and threatening to rain any minute but Sherlock's moods were never defined by something as pedestrian as weather. And today his mood was so unusually good he was intent on enjoying it to the fullest. Dozing off after hours of passion and waking up holding Dominique in his arms felt like the best rest he had ever had. Sherlock even surprised himself by detecting a slight but obvious wish to make some tea for her. Another wish was much stronger and rose to the surface out of his subconscious – it was never to let her go. Both wishes had to be suppressed however when Dominique's look wandered to the alarm clock on the night table and she was immediately up and fully dressed in no time. Sherlock grew cold inside still lying uncomfortably naked and afraid to ask how they would proceed from there. He was vaguely aware there should be some socially accepted protocols for this but nothing came to mind. Dominique must have felt his uneasiness even before she realized how painfully silent he was. She blushed, returned to bed and lay on her side near him, gently embracing him with one arm and sliding her fingers along his spine until he relaxed into her touch.
"I haven't been late to work even once for five years," Dominique nuzzled his cheek, "old habits die hard, you know." Sherlock felt a tight knot deep in his chest unwind and his lungs fluttered filling with air again. His brilliant mind was frantically searching for an excuse to at least meet her after work. Wise Dominique placed small kisses along his cheekbone and waited. A moment later Sherlock managed to prove how brilliant he was, "Dinner!" He tentatively looked her in the eye, "would you like to go out and have dinner with me?"
She kissed him earnestly, then unwillingly dragged herself up but her eyes were smiling, "Sure, dinner would be great. Text me the time and place." Sherlock's body was moving against his will, as if magnetized, following her. He managed to stop before he fell off the bed and propped himself up on an elbow. She smiled at him from the door, "It's our first official date then?" and walked away briskly after he nodded in response.
Sherlock plopped on his back and closed his eyes. Here was a challenge he felt he may fail even with his giant genius mind full on. He tried to recall his university years and those few relationships he thought can be generally considered as such. No, that was no use. Sherlock Holmes folded his hands on his chest and realized he was about to go on his first real date ever. And here he was losing precious time. Once Sherlock came to this conclusion he was gone from the bed in a split second.
In the following several hours he pestered with questions successively John whom he lured from hospital for lunch, Lestrade who brought him a new case and Mrs. Hudson who carelessly peeped in till each of them felt the necessity to run for their lives. Along the way he solved the case after a quick glance on the victim's photo and bringing to Lestrade's attention typical marks on the neck that could appear only if the victim was strangled from behind – not hanged himself.
All the while Sherlock was in a really good mood, everything went well, even the fact that he got nothing really useful from questioning his friends couldn't upset him (he really believed that when offered to choose between flowers and chocolate Dominique would ask for a book instead). Nothing suddenly seemed more important but the fact that Dominique in fact reciprocated his feelings and that he would see her tonight again. He's not simply infatuated – there's so much more. He was actually proud of Dominique. He would be happy to show off if he could think of an original enough method to demonstrate his feelings to the world. He would definitely give that a separate thought. She is perfect, she is smart, she is beautiful, she makes me high on emotions like on a 7 percent cocaine solution – and she is mine! Sherlock Holmes was in love.
Dominique managed not to break her neck running down the stairs from Sherlock's flat and hail a cab sufficiently quickly. She didn't really want to go to work – but reflexes won over. She was dependable and she was never late for work. At that exact moment she hated herself for the inability to let it all hang out and stay with Sherlock as her heart demanded. In the cab she hesitated if she should go straight to work however or first go to her place for a quick shower and a change of clothes. Here common sense at last won over her sense of duty, after all she couldn't show at the headquarters of British Intelligence smelling pretty much like the very embodiment of sex. She blushed recalling the last night. Her phone tinkled. The text message was unexpectedly from her new boss. It said: Considering the time you spent at work yesterday don't hesitate to be a little late today - MH. Dominique shuddered trying to define if senior Holmes brother would really be that much of a pervert to watch the CCTV footage from her new office – and she was absolutely sure there could be no room in that building without CCTV cameras all over the place.
Somehow she gathered her wits about her and managed to make herself presentable, get to work at last and even do something useful. Although it was really hard to concentrate when stray recollections of Sherlock's eyes, lips, hands, words, smiles and shortly Sherlock's everything were constantly surfacing from the back of her mind where Dominique tried to lock these thoughts till the evening. Sherlock texted her where they were supposed to meet at 6, she replied and came to her senses only after the seventh message. The phone was decisively shoved to the bottom of her purse, a rash action which she came to regret very soon.
Dominique left the office early enough, not only because she was overly eager to see Sherlock but also because she needed to get into the nearest bank office to check what was happening on her account. There was a small queue inside, just another young lady in stilettos and a very imposing man with long walrus-like moustache. The assistant wasn't in a rush to make the queue move faster and ten minutes later Dominique was still standing behind the young lady and the imposing gentleman, tapping her shoe impatiently. Three men in masks burst inside the bank office brandishing guns with silencers and Dominique felt her heart freeze in her chest, Oh, Gods, please, not today, not now, oh, crap!
Sherlock was vigorously striding along an empty back alley aligned with garbage cans when two men turned around the corner in front of him. He expected them to get out of his way as people usually tended to do when they saw a resolute Sherlock rushing on them with his coat flying behind. But these two blocked his way instead making him concentrate his attention on them.
"Well hello there, mister," the shorter of the two drawled. Sherlock ran his eyes up and down the man on reflex, Two months out of prison, previously a pickpocket, gay, drug user, drug dealer. His eyes moved to his companion who was significantly taller and more muscular, Stupid, obedient, professional assassin. Another look at the second man's hands, Scratch that, professional strangler. Interesting. Sherlock began to wonder if by any chance he had just managed not only to solve the case for Lestrade but find the killer as well when the shorter man took the initiative again, "Don't you recognize me? I was sent to bloody prison after your bloody testifying against me in court, all so smarty-pants was you."
Sherlock winced at the rough violation of simple grammar rules but was at last back from his thoughts with both feet firmly on the ground. He heard heavy tread behind him and realized they cut off his path of retreat as well. Damn, vengeful criminals, of all days it had to be today! I may be late for my date.
The detective quickly analyzed available options and decided escape was the most feasible one. Another glance around– and out of fire escape (too high), garbage bins (too gruesome) and an inconspicuous back door just past the right shoulder of the shorter delinquent Sherlock chose to try for the door. He lunged at the taller man, ducked under the monolith fist raised too slowly, then suddenly changed the direction of his movement and made for the door catching on one of the feet of the shorter guy, throwing him on the ground for the two others to stumble on him.
Thankfully the door wasn't locked and Sherlock made it to the last floor and up the rickety ladder out on the roof gaining approximately twenty spare seconds from his followers. He swore realizing this particular building didn't allow him to simply jump over to another roof – the distance was too large even for him. He desperately searched for a solution, hearing the shouts of his pursuers and thumps of their feet on the stairs. The only way out was down and Sherlock was determined to make it in one piece. Five seconds before the criminals scrambled on to the roof Sherlock went over the edge.
Dominique was lying on a cold marble floor in the middle of the line of other hostages and wondering why things like that happened to her. Was it because she worked for MI-5 or somehow she came to work for MI-5 because things like that always happened to her? For a couple of minutes she entertained herself by cursing Sherlock who was implicitly guilty that she shoved her cell phone deep to the very bottom of her purse, as usually she kept it in an outer zipped pocket. Taking into account that bank robbers who kept them as hostages spent half the time arguing among themselves she may have been able to slide it out and text Sherlock to let him know she was going to be late. There was no real danger in this whole situation she thought lazily trying to make herself more comfortable on the floor, after the tortures she had been through lately – tortures both of her flesh and of her heart – this was like a holiday. The bank assistant managed to push the alarm button and the police surrounded the office practically in no time – so Dominique was absolutely sure now some detective inspector will try to gain some time negotiating with the robbers – while some special squad will crawl around the building and break in through the back door. She sighed, Or they would think it's too dangerous and they won't risk the lives of the hostages, and it will take hours to get out of here! And it's already a quarter to six. He would think I stood him up and that is absolutely unacceptable after it took him three weeks to realize he had some feelings for me after all.
Dominique began inching backwards slowly and carefully extending her arm towards curled together feet of the young lady in stilettos.
Sherlock was hanging from the roof quickly calculating his further actions. By now he was absolutely sure he would need to divide the happy trio on the roof and deal with them separately. He could have managed two at once but not the massive strangler together with them. He looked down, absorbing the details of the fire escape ladder curving on his right (it didn't reach the roof as sometimes is the case), the garbage cans beneath and the line of apartments' windows to the left. Then he carefully moved one of his hands to the left, calculating the distance from the toe of one of his shoes to the nearest window and hoping his muscles won't let him down.
The sound of a broken glass not only betrayed Sherlock's hiding but also led the criminals to believe Sherlock threw himself at one of windows. The short boss shouted, "Get him!" and Sherlock heard frantic scrabbling down the ladder. He swung his body up, managed to get some leverage for one of his toes, then pulled up back to the roof to see the last of the criminals also lowering into the opening following his inferiors. Sherlock, who was feeling especially ruthless by this time, didn't scruple about kicking the guy in the temple and then almost without an interval hitting him squarely in the jaw. Sherlock pulled the limp body back to the roof, closed the opening and rolled the body on the cover. Three long strides took Sherlock back to the edge, he breathed deeply, trying to keep off the memories of another edge of another roof several long years ago. He let himself hang again holding only with his fingers but this time did that so that his body was on the same line with the rusty fire escape ladder. His tired and sore fingers were threatening to stop cooperating any second now.
He managed to fall directly on the ladder of the fire escape and was almost relieved, thinking he would be able to get back down on the ground and away from this alley in no time when the door leading to the fire escape from the inside of the building burst open and a sinewy man with a knife threw himself at Sherlock. They separated, Sherlock thought distractedly pressing one of his elbows against the guy's throat and holding another on the wrist of his hand with the knife, it's the third of them, a smart bastard.
Short struggle made Sherlock lose his balance and he found himself dangerously one leg off the ladder. But then his anger flared up and together with it the level of adrenaline soared. Sherlock grunted, jerked shifting his weight, punched the guy three times in quick sequence hitting several nerve clusters of his upper body and then turned abruptly, his movement causing the criminal to slip and fall in one of the garbage cans clearly visible downstairs. The fall from this height should have rendered him harmless at least for some time, Sherlock mused rushing inside the building, running along a corridor and calculating where the bear-like strangler should be by this time. He barely managed to freeze before turning the corner when his straining ears caught the booming sound of heavy steps.
Sherlock blessed the changeable English weather next as thanks to a windy day his scarf was on. Trying to merge with the wall Sherlock pressed his slim body into a nook behind a shabby elevator shaft waiting for the last criminal to pass him by. As soon as he caught sight of the back of the strapper's head Sherlock lunged forward, with lightning speed tightened his scarf around the thick neck of the criminal and put all his weight into the pull. He basically hung behind the man's back trying to pull harder by pushing both his legs into the criminal's body. The bear-like man roared showing his air supply wasn't cut that low as Sherlock was hoping and backed himself trying to stun Sherlock by slamming him roughly against the wall, then against the opposite one. Sherlock swung from side to side like a rag doll, he felt blood from the split temple run down his face. But he still held on for dear life and slowly it began to show, the criminal was wheezing, moving slower, another minute later he finally heavily collapsed on the floor.
Balancing himself with one hand against the wall Sherlock managed to stand up, his knees were trembling. He looked at his watch and was seized by explicit horror – it was five past six and he was still nowhere near Angelo's. With unsure fingers Sherlock fished his cell phone out of his pocket and swore profusely – at some moment its screen had been shattered. He couldn't even let Dominique know he would be late. Sherlock briskly picked up his scarf from the lifeless body of the last of his pursuers and rushed down the stairs.
Dominique didn't have to wait for a very long time to pick a moment when one of the robbers was standing with his back towards her thus effectively blocking the view for the two others and the latter in turn were loudly arguing thus preventing the former to hear the sound of her quick movement. Driven by boiling fury in her heart Dominique grabbed a perfectly sharp stiletto off one leg of a stunned lady near her and jumped forwards. She wrapped one of her arms around the neck of the man and used the other to press the stiletto deeply enough at the base of his throat.
"You, clots!" she growled in frustration, "Why couldn't you choose another day to do this? Now don't you dare to move or there will be lots of blood, and all of it right from your buddy here."
The man tried to struggle but Dominique easily held him down, he was not only a little shorter than her but also more fragile. For the first time in her life Dominique was thankful for her wide shoulders and stockiness. Robber's companions proved their inexperience by gaping at Dominique instead of shooting, there were enough body parts of her that were visible from behind the skinny man she was holding.
Out of the corner of her eye Dominique saw movement outside. At last, she thought wearily, I wonder how long it would have taken them to break in here if they weren't afraid these clots could kill me right now. The ventilation shaft in the ceiling burst open and among screams and shouts Dominique managed to relax a little. The skinny man she was still hugging suddenly decided to fight at this point and awkwardly brandishing his gun managed to hit her on the cheekbone with a silencer. In return Dominique angrily slammed the almost forgotten stiletto into the first thing her hand stumbled upon – his elbow. The hysterical clot dropped the gun and almost threw himself upon a policeman to get away from Dominique.
The commotion was slowly dying out, the unlucky robbers were tightly packed in a police car. Dominique felt an unkind stare of a DI who seemed to be in charge and realized she was in another danger – having to make a long and tedious statement, most probably somewhere deep in the dungeons of Scotland Yard. She began to back away slowly, panicking, a quick glance at her watch made her even more distressed, it was already ten past six. Only seconds were left till she would be noticed, grabbed and taken away but then a slick black car parked right at the curb near Dominique. She took in the fact none of the policemen even tried to wave it away and made all the correct conclusions.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," she breathed, opening the door of the car. An impeccable gentleman smiled tightly at her over the newspaper, "Ah, Miss Celtion, I was accidentally nearby and decided you may be in a serious need of a lift."
"Indeed so, sir," she slid in quickly and slammed the door shut. Mycroft crinkled his nose but said nothing. The ride was breathtakingly short. At a quarter past six Dominique thanked her new boss confusedly but sincerely and jumped out of the car just in time to grab heavily breathing Sherlock who already turned to walk away by a sleeve.
Sherlock was running along the street at the utmost speed he could reach in his slightly beaten condition. He looked nowhere except in front of himself, he felt it wasn't his lucky day and at any moment he could spot an old lady that needed assistance to cross the street or any other absolutely ridiculous hindrance which was unacceptable as he already was late. He slowed down near Angelo's, threw a desperate look inside, checked the street around – Dominique was nowhere to be seen. Sherlock felt fear claw at his heart, he spent a minute catching his breath and thinking at his usual furious speed. He finally decided the most logical would be to try and catch Dominique at her flat and already turned to walk away when brakes screeched behind him and he felt a familiar grip on his arm.
Sherlock turned, sighing with relief, and froze watching Dominique smiling shyly at him with a perfectly black eye and a raw scratch along the cheekbone, her clothes tattered and dusty. When the smile in her eyes turned to a look of deep worry Sherlock remembered how he himself should look with blood streaming down his face from the split temple and clothes in no better condition than hers. He also caught a smug grin on Mycroft's face before the window slid up and the car disappeared in the labyrinth of streets.
Sherlock felt a genuine smile tug at one corner of his own mouth and shook his head in amusement, "Well, I guess as we both were late that doesn't count. We can still go on and have our dinner – Angelo won't mind." Dominique relaxed visibly, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers, "No, not in such a state. I think we should better go to my place. Our first official date with real dinner can wait." Sherlock felt almost dizzy because he hated public displays of affection but he couldn't restrain himself any longer. He tugged her closer and kissed her gently and thoroughly. When he finally let go Dominique gave him such a blinding smile he was bewildered and had to kiss her again, and again. Finally he caught himself methodically going over all the small dark corners within a hundred meters radius where no one would bother them and made an immense effort to grab at swiftly disappearing self-control. He squeezed her hand tighter and they started walking along the street at an increasing tempo, smiling at each other warmly.