With One Look

Lectures.

Words cannot begin to describe how much I hate writing lectures for the tourists who come through the museum. Seriously, can't people just read the little plaques next to the exhibit? That is what they are there for, after all. Do people just think they're there just for decoration or something?

Ugh, why can't people just use their brains and think?

Extremely annoyed and frustrated with myself, I rub my hands across my face and sigh heavily. I've staring at my blank Word document for almost an hour now, just hopping that some spark of information will come to me. Sadly, there has been no such luck. I redo my high ponytail for about the eighth time, crack my knuckles and set my fingers on the keyboard.

'Concentrate, Fee, you can do this!' I tell myself, 'after all this is what you went to school for, so this should be easy. Okay, Tea Ceremonies…what about them.'

What's frustrating me the most is the topic: Ancient Chinese Tea Ceremonies. In my freshman year of college I had written a paper on Chinese culture during the Qing dynasty, but that was it. This is lecture is suppose to be on the ancient tea ceremony and its significance to the culture. I don't know anything that about that! I most definitely do not have enough information on it to give an entire presentation.

When is Soo Lin's replacement supposed to get in?

It is beyond depressing what happened to her, but at the same time it was the oddest chain of events. She quit her job last week then was found dead at her old workstation. I guess it all had something to do with that graffiti on one of our prized statues and two similar deaths in London. Its odd to say the least, but also very shaking; I've never seen a dead body before, let alone one that use to be a former collogue.

Knock. Knock.

"Elfie?" I lift my head up from my work to see my boss, Janice, poking her head into my office, "I hope I'm not interrupting." She has her big ol' museum director of the year, pearl white smile on; damn, she must be here to check on my work.

"Oh, Janice. Hi." I say, trying my best to not look like I'm panicking, "What brings you here?"

"Well, Soo Lin Yao actually." She says

"Oh?"

"Yes, there's a gentlemen here who is looking into the whole matter and, well, he needed to speak to a historian. I told them I would refer them to our best."

"So you chose me?" I ask, a bit taken back, "I'm…I'm flattered."

"May we come in?" she asks

"Of course, by all means, let him in."

I quickly stand and adjust my glasses so that I appear more like an educated historian instead of a disheveled woman trying to reach a dead line. I've never met a British officer before; wonder what he's like? Probably old and clean cut, like one of those people you see on those cop shows, nothing too special.

"Come on in, Ms. Stegerson will be more than happy to help you out," Janice says, popping her head back out to the hall.

"Thank you." Rumbles a baritone voice in reply.

Janice opens my office door all the way and steps aside to let in the most breathtaking man I've ever seen in my life. He's young, mid-thirties maybe, but holds a much older presence. His facial features are extremely distinct; those are possibly the sharpest cheekbones I've ever seen on a man. He's tall, but not weird tall; he doesn't really loom over us shorter folk. His hair is made up of a dark assortment of curls, but it's not at all messy. He is extremely well dressed and that black coat gives him a sort of mysterious quality.

I just stare at him in awe as Janice introduces us: "Elfie Stegerson, this is Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Holmes, meet Elfie Stegerson, our youngest and brightest historian. She specializes in identifying our most obscure artifacts."

"Pleasure," this Mr. Holmes character says, extending his leather gloved hand out to me. I'm completely taken back by this man that it takes me a moment to recognize his gesture; My God, look at those eyes! What kind of color is that? Blue? Green? Blue-green?

"Elfie?" Janice asks, "you okay?"

"Huh? Oh yes, sorry. Hello." I quickly take his hand and shake it awkwardly. Even his grip is interesting: firm but not crushing.

"Well, I'll let you two work then." Janice says, exiting, "Come and find me if you have any further questions, Mr. Holmes." He doesn't acknowledge her; he just stares blankly at me.

"American," Mr. Holmes says, raising an eyebrow, "Southern California by the sounds of it: Los Angeles County?"

"Orange, actually." I correct, "but I'm impressed. How did you know?"

"The way you say the words 'huh' and 'oh'. It's very common in that region." He replies in a monotone; his voice is so smooth and deep. It's kind of comforting and at the same time very sexy.

"You know a lot about Southern California than?" I ask, trying to be flirtatious.

"I know a lot about everything." He says rather matter of factly.

Okay, so he's attractive, but cocky. Eh, not everyone's perfect.

"Is-is that so." I say, a bit taken back, "Well then, what do you need me for?"

"Beg pardon?" he asks, furrowing his brow.

"Well, I mean, uh, if you know so much about everything, why do you need a historian?" I stammer, "Not that I'm doubting your knowledge or intellect or anything. You seem like a very smart individual. I'm just saying…uh…never mind."

Well, now I feel like a complete idiot.

To my surprise, Mr. Holmes chuckles and gives me a sort of half-mouth smirk; "No need to apologize, Ms. Stegerson," he says, "I get that response a lot."

I chuckle slightly in reply. Suddenly, his face changes from relaxed to serious. His eyes lock with mine and I instantly feel like he's gazing right into my soul. Is he…reading me? It feels like those eyes are piercing through me, exposing my entire life story. Is that even possible?

"You don't need those," he says, his voice suddenly low and much less proud.

"Sorry, what don't I need?" I ask, completely lost in his gaze.

"Glasses," he goes on, "you don't need them to see properly. Your vision is perfectly fine, but you tend to suffer from rather painful eyestrain. You've been working at your computer for an hour and a half, or rather just been staring at the screen, trying your best to finish off the lecture that should have been finished yesterday."

"How could you have known that?" I sigh, completely impressed with his seemingly psychic ability.

"I noticed," he says, "There's a blank document pulled up on your screen, miscellaneous books and papers strewn about your desk: clear signs of someone who is busily working to reach a deadline." His face then relaxes again and the smirk returns; "You should remove those glasses," he goes on, less like he's reciting a monologue, "they don't complement your exquisite facial features that well, but more importantly they are blocking the shine of your emerald eyes."

My cheeks immediately turn a bright shade of pink and a small schoolgirl giggle escapes my mouth.

'Exquisite facial features'? '…Shine of your emerald eyes'? Is he…flirting with me?

Mr. Holmes' expression instantly changes to a worried one and he gazes down at his feet. "Forgive me," he says, a bit ashamed, "I, um, my words got ahead of me."

"No, no, it's fine." I reply, "I, um, find it very…flattering. Thank you."

Surprised, Mr. Holmes' eyes return to lock with mine; "Oh, um, your welcome," he says, "Yes, very welcome."

Time seems to stop.

My heart is racing and I feel unnaturally giddy.

Nobody's ever made me feel like this before: Good lord, who is this guy?

"Sherlock! You left me to pay off the cabbie, clot." a voice interrupts, bringing us both back to Earth. Suddenly, we notice that our hands are still intertwined: no longer in a firm handshake, but rather just a casual hold. We quickly separate them: He puts both his hands behind his back and I return mine to my side.

"This is my, um, doctor-no, er-my John-No, um…This is Dr. John Watson," Mr. Holmes stutters, stepping aside to reveal a short, rather flustered at the moment gentleman, who has just walked into my office.

His John? Oh, God, don't tell me his gay.

"I'm a collogue." Dr. Watson says, extending a hand out to me, "Please to meet you, Miss."

Collogue. Phew, okay.

"Please to meet you as well." I say, quickly shaking his hand, "And by all means, call me Elfie. Both of you." I through a quick glance at Mr. Holmes but he has turned his back to me and is wondering about my office. "Please, have a seat." I offer both Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes chairs, but only the doctor takes one. Mr. Holmes continues to examine all of the small knick-knacks adorning my shelves.

Okay, flip-flops between moods in the blink of an eye. It's odd, however, not a complete turn off.

"Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?" I ask, returning to my desk, "Janice said that it had something to do with Soo Lin Yao?"

"Yes," Dr. Watson says, "we're-well, Sherlock's investigating the matter."

"So, you're a detective?" I ask, turning my gaze to Mr. Holmes.

"A consulting detective, yes." he replies, still not looking at me,

"What does that mean?" I inquire. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Dr. Watson rolls his eyes in a sort of 'oh-god-not-this-again' matter and rub the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"I invented the job, but I can assure you that I'm perfectly qualified to investigate this case." Mr. Holmes replies, picking up my framed RMS Titanic boarding pass and examining it, "A first class ticket; this is rare. How did you come by it?"

"Uh, perks of working at a museum." I reply, tensing up, "Can you put that back please? It's very delicate." Mr. Holmes looks at me then smirks as he places the item back on its appropriate shelf. Ah, now he's back to being charming.

"Tell me, Ms. Stegerson," he says, taking a seat next to Dr. Watson, "How much do you know about Chinese monarchy?"

"In what sense?" I ask.

"Every sense," he shoots back, "Families, cultural, trade: Tell me everything you know."

"Well, I can tell you what I can, but I warn you, I'm no expert. Soo Lin was head of that department." I explain.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll do fine," Mr. Holmes says in a comforting way, "You wouldn't have reached this position if you didn't know your facts. Obviously, you know more than myself, or else I wouldn't be sitting here. So please, enlighten me, if you wouldn't mind." Dr. Watson looks at him in a shocked and confused sort of way. This sort of behavior must be out of the ordinary for Mr. Holmes, then.

Sitting up straight, I clear my throat and begin to list off all of the information I've ever learned about ancient Chinese monarchies. Dr. Watson is listening intently, but I feel like Mr. Holmes is more focused on my face then the words I'm saying. He has placed his hands under his chin in a prayer position and has narrowed his eyes in deep thought. I feel like he's taking in every aspect of my face: every pore, the tint of my lips, the amount of make-up I put on, the space between my eyes, everything. It's like he's trying to memorize me. His gaze is a bit distracting and I keep loosing my train of thought every time I glance over at him. It's those eyes; so different, so beautiful.

"And that's when the empire became a dictatorship," I say, finishing what felt like an hour long speech, "is that all you need, Mr. Holmes?" He doesn't respond. He just pulls his phone out of his coat pocket and starts to focus on finding something on it.

Dr. Watson glances at his flat mate in awe of his rudeness and then at me, apologetically. "Um, yes, I think we're done." He speaks on behalf of Mr. Holmes, "Thank you very-"

"Tell me where this is from." Mr. Holmes suddenly interrupts, practically shoving his phone in my face. I readjust my glasses and place my hand on the phone, grazing Mr. Holmes fingers.

"Um, it's a hairpin." I say, thinking out loud, "Jade, old but not completely ancient, Ming dynasty maybe. It looks specially made so it most likely belonged to an empress or princess."

"Or maybe someone of great wealth?" Dr. Watson asks.

"I doubt it," I say, "this cut and design is far too intricate to be a random trinket of a rich persons."

"How much would it be worth today?" Mr. Holmes asks in a determined whisper.

"Gee, um, quiet a lot." I reply, "Based on its rarity, the style and the jade, I would say…9 million."

"9 million pounds?" Dr. Watson exclaims, going slightly pale.

"To say the least," I say with a nod, "you don't find royal Chinese hairpins laying about. Like I said, this isn't just some trinket."

Mr. Holmes smiles at me, then quickly stands up. He stuffs his phone back in his pocket then extends his hand to me. I quickly rise and shake it. Much to my surprise, but not my displeasure, Mr. Holmes smoothly moves his fingers to gently press against my wrist. He looks into my eyes for a moment then smirks. I give him a small smile in return; why does it feel warm all of a sudden?

"Well done, Ms. Stegerson," he says, "You've just helped stop a Chinese smuggling gang from brutally murdering Dr. Watson and myself." And with that, this mysterious man turns on heel and exits my office in a flush.

"Yes, um, well, thanks so much," Dr. Watson stammers, shaking my still out stretched hand before running after his flat mate and closing the door behind him.

Feeling a bit out of breath, I fall back into my chair and run a hand through my hair. What the hell just happened? Who was that guy? Why is my head spinning? I try to collect my thoughts and return to work but I can't get the image of him out of my head: his sea foam eyes, those sharp cheekbones, that voluptuous voice.

That man: Mr. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.

'Elfie Marie Stegerson, I think you may have just fallen in love.' I admit to myself, but I just shake my head. We had only spoken for a moment, how could I be in love? It's a crush, a stupid, elementary crush. It's nothing. But then there is the way he looked at me…nobody has ever looked at me that way before. His hand did hold onto mine for quite some time, as well. Did he feel something too? No, stop. It's stupid. Get back to work. Besides, it's not like I'm ever going to see him again. Why would I? It was just a moment, a fleeting, but oh so memorable moment.

/

A few days later, I enter the museum in a hurry. I'm running late and I have a presentation on the Tudor family history in 30 minutes. Stupid tube schedule; this way I hate public transportation. I really should look into getting an English drivers license.

"Oh, Fee!" Janice calls out, catching me a bit off guard, "Glad you were able to make it in. You have a visitor."
I freeze, mid-step, and turn on my heel to face her. "Sorry, what?" I ask, "A visitor?"

"Yes, he's waiting in your office." She says.

"He?"

"Yes, the investigator from Monday; Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He said it was very important he saw you."

I blush and almost drop my things; Mr. Holmes came back to see me? Oh, this can't be true. "Thank you," I reply, walking as fast as I can to my office. My heart is racing and I have butterflies. 'Ugh, stop it, Elfie! You're acting like a schoolgirl. You're a grown woman, you shouldn't be acting like this about a man.'

Sure enough, as I reach my office door, there is the consulting detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, leaning against the wall beside my door and fiddling with a small package in his hands. I gulp down my nerves and slowly walk up to greet him. He lifts his head at the sound of my approaching footsteps and smiles.

Oh God, he's so charming.

"Mr. Holmes," I say, extending my hand, "what a nice surprise to see you again."

"And you, Ms. Stegerson," he replies, shaking my hand, "Do you have a moment?"

"I have a presentation in half an hour, but I have time for you." I reply, but instantly regret it. 'I have time for you'? Way to be subtle, Fee, way to be subtle.

I open my office door and let Mr. Holmes inside. He glides right in and returns to fiddling with his package again.

"I won't keep you," he says, "but I just wanted to stop by and tell you how the case ended up."

"Oh, yes," I say, setting myself down on my desk, "Get everything sorted out with that Chinese smuggling gang, did you?" Mr. Holmes blushes and lets out a deep, baritone chuckle. Wait, I made him blush?

"Yes, well, that was just a small misunderstanding, you could say." He says, finally looking at me.

"Oh, yes, I understand," I reply sarcastically.

"Do you?" he asks, seeming genuinely interested if I was.

"No, not at all." I quickly correct, "I was being sarcastic."

"Ah," he says, "Sarcasm. Something I have yet to fully understand." I look at him a bit confused, but he doesn't acknowledge it.

"So, I, um, found your website." I say, trying to break the awkward silence.

"Did you?" he asks, pacing in front of me, "You looked me up?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds creepy." I say, now feeling embarrassed, "I just thought what with you being a detective, maybe you'd have some sort of profile. It was really interesting: 'The Science of Deduction'. Can you really describe someone just with one look?"

"I figured out you didn't need glasses with one look didn't I?" he replies with a smirk. He stops pacing for moment as we exchange a glance, but then suddenly picks it up again; "Anyway, I wanted to let you know that the information you gave me was most helpful," he says, "Turns out that jade hairpin was the key to this whole mess." He then stops directly in front of me and softly, gazes into my eyes. I feel my breath go short and my cheeks turn pink. Those eyes are absolutely amazing.

"I'm glad I could help," I manage to breathe out with a sigh.

Mr. Holmes' expression becomes child like as he looks down at his shoes; "I, um, wanted to, uh, give you this." He says, handing me the package, "It's a sort of, thank you gift. That's what people do, don't they? Give gifts to show how grateful they are."

"Um, yes, sometimes." I say, taken back by his unexpected sweetness, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes." I take the package and gently unwrap the brown packaging. I immediately take in a sharp breath of shock at what this package was. "Is…is this really?"

"The 1892 diary of Joseph Bruce Ismay, yes." Mr. Holmes proudly confirms for me, " You seem to have a keen interest the Titanic tragedy so I thought it would be a suitable gift. I acquired it from a source in the British government. It was a tough argument, but I eventually convinced him that it would be safe in your hands."

"Oh my God," I exasperate, taking the diary and gingerly turning the pages, "This…this is amazing! Thank you so much!" I look up into Mr. Holmes' eyes and use all my will power to not jump into his arms and embrace him. "Thank you." I say again, "Honestly, I'm truly at a loss for words. Thank you."

"You are quiet welcome," he replies, extending his hand to me, "You are a bright woman, Ms. Stegerson. You truly…amaze me. I hope to we will have the opportunity to work together again."

Blushing even redder now, I take his hand into mine and shake it; "As do I, Mr. Holmes. As do I."

We lock eyes and just gaze at each other for what feels like an eternity. There seems to be an unspoken something between us. I'm not sure what it is, and to be quiet honest, I don't he does ether. It's no matter though; what matters is that I have made a sort of partnership with Mr. Holmes. That's got to count for something right?

"You said you had a presentation," he says, softly.

"Oh, damn! I do!" I exclaim, quickly removing my hand from his. "I have to get ready." I delicately place my new treasure beside my framed boarding pass then snatch up a black folder from the top of my filing cabinet; "Wonderful to see you again, Mr. Holmes, truly." I say, heading out the door.

"May I join you?" comes Mr. Holmes reply that nearly knocks me over with surprise. I turn around to face him. With a smile, he walks up to me and stuffs his hands in his pockets; "I would very much like to hear you speak," he says, "if you don't mind."

"Of course," I say, my heart pounding in excitement, "It would be my pleasure to have you there." He nods and we walk, in step with one another, chatting away as if we had known each other for years.

He's a mystery, this Sherlock Holmes, but something about him feels right; a hundred percent, absolutely right.

Hello reader(s)!

This is just a small series I wanted to put together to sort of explain where these two are by the time of 'The Woman at His Side'. Yes, the cover picture is of Sherlock and Irene but I wanted the picture because Elfie is suppose to look a tad bit like her-a detail I hope to bring up in this series.

If you have any suggestions of what you might want to hear, please let me know. I do have specific stories I want to tell, but suggestions are welcome.

I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks.