Pacing back and forth before the black door, she shook her head, a few wisps of dark auburn hair loosing from her tight braids.
This is utterly ridiculous, she thought to herself.
Having stood outside the flat for five minutes, she knew sooner or later someone could notice her behavior and draw one of the residents to the door. She didn't want that. She wanted to present herself as collected and prepared for this meeting. Internally she was neither, but she could not let him see her unease.
Several deep breaths later, she finally raised her fist to the door then thought better of it and rang the bell – a quick ring, neither tentative nor forceful. She closed her eyes, listening for footsteps inside the flat. Unsure now of whether she desired him to answer the door or another of the flat's inhabitants, she took another deep breath, focusing herself and preparing for the best-worst scenario.
The door was flung open by a tall, striking, pale man. His piercing eyes afire with curiosity, yet almost instantly replaced with sheer confusion.
He opened his mouth to speak yet she cut in before a syllable could escape his lips.
"Hello, Sherlock," she stated with a gentle purr in her tone.
He swallowed, his eyes narrowing as the assessment and judging returned to his observant eyes. "What are you doing here?" he breathed.
She breezed past him into the narrow, dim corridor that led into the main flat.
"I was under the impression that this is where people come to seek your assistance," she remarked, glancing around the sparse entryway before turning back to meet his gaze. His expression bared his confusion as well as his attempt to work out her presence. Had her nerves not almost overwhelmed her, she might have laughed at his puzzlement.
He stood, the door still open as he clutched it, as though pondering which would cause more of a scene: throwing her out, or letting her stay. After a brief pause, he stood straighter, pulling his head back and upwards to increase his not inconsiderable height as he looked down at her.
"Yes, well some of them email first, but you are far from the first to turn up unannounced." He shut the door and gestured her toward the stairs.
She gave him a half-smile as she moved past to ascend the stairs. "You're trying to make me feel inadequate from the start," she remarked.
Pausing halfway up the staircase, she twisted back to cast him a disparaging glance. "That's hardly polite treatment for an old friend who's come to ask your help."
"As I recall, you seemed to have an impressive talent for getting yourself out of trouble without my help."
"Usually," she smiled. "But you generally excelled at getting me into it in the first place… and this instance is no exception."
"Is that why you so liked to leave me to fend for myself when we got into trouble? Because you blamed me for getting you into it in the first place?" He asked, not acknowledging the latter part of her statement.
"Harsh," she clicked. "I seem to recall many a time when I tried to get us both out unscathed, but you were always more focused on being seen as the cleverest person in any situation which, unfortunately, led to your getting into far more trouble than myself."
Stepping into the main room of the flat, she glanced around at the stacks of papers and books littering most surfaces. The desk was cluttered, the bookshelves only quasi-organized, yet the whole place felt like a home, not simply an office and research area.
"And if what I've been hearing is any indication," she continued. "That aspect hasn't changed in my absence."
He had moved into the kitchen and flicked on an electric kettle. She gave a quick study to the display of beakers, scopes, papers, and assorted science materials scattered on the small dining table in the center of the room.
"Making tea?" When he didn't reply, she took off her coat and laid it over the back of a leather chair in the sitting area. She crossed her arms, casting him a lingering gaze before shifting to the chair to sit. Once seated, she continued watching him as he moved about the small kitchen preparing tea.
"I suppose I should be flattered," she remarked. "You don't do this for most of your clients." He cast her a 'how would you know' glance and she returned it with a coy smile. Silence reigned as she watched him finish preparing the tea tray.
After he'd set down the tray and poured two cups, he sat down across from her, handing her a teacup on the way. They each took tentative sips before setting their cups down. She saw in his eyes the determination not to speak first, so she obliged with a polite smile. "So what have you worked out so far?"
His eyes narrowed before launching into the encyclopedic recitation.
"I know you're here for my help in some trouble you've gotten into, and you've already been to Mycroft about it. He didn't turn you down, but suggested you come to me instead of him. You didn't want to do it, possibly because of our complicated past, more likely because whatever your issue is you don't want me involved in it. Yet it's serious enough to bring you to Mycroft which means it either deals with a very serious personal issue you don't trust to anyone but your oldest acquaintances," she snickered at his choice of terminology but he continued without pause. "Or an issue which has direct bearing on the British government and which only someone with Mycroft's connections or my skills could assist with… most likely both."
He tilted his head slightly as his eyes flickered over her figure. "You've come here against your better judgment but you're not displeased at seeing me. Remarkable I'd say considering the last time we parted, so whatever brings you here is compelling enough for you to suppress your feelings."
He looked over her again and she saw a brief flash of puzzlement. "Unless… no," he shook his head before continuing.
"Without trying to sound dramatic it's fairly apparent that whatever you're here for is a life or death ordeal, and either involves myself and Mycroft directly or, as previously stated, can only be solved by one of us."
"Yes," she replied before he could go on. His eyes narrowed again and she nodded. "It's a puzzle especially for you, Sherlock. And it is life or death."
"And you didn't come to me first because…" he pressed.
"Had I not gone to Mycroft, would you have even let me in the door?" When he didn't reply, she glanced down into her teacup. "Thank you for confirming one aspect I had doubts about," she remarked.
When she looked up, Sherlock had again tilted his head, puzzled. She reached across the chairs to place the cup on the side table. Then, she slid out of the chair towards him. As she leaned down closer to him, he reached his arms out and placed them on her hips. No other part of him moved, but he did not push her away. Her grey eyes shimmered as her gaze locked with his before she tilted her head to the side.
"You did miss me," she whispered in his ear before placing a brief kiss on his jawbone just below his ear. She felt the prickles begin as her lips detached, even though his gaze remained steely when she pulled back.
"Absurd," he breathed as she settled back into the chair.
"Liar," she confirmed as his eyes briefly flickered over her form. She felt the petulance roll off him, yet she never could help calling him on his lies when she saw them, especially when they pertained to her.
"Why should I help you?" He postulated.
She smiled, a slight smile but one she intended him to see. "For exactly the reason you gave: you're the only one who can solve this. And," she held up her hand as he opened his mouth to object. "Before you go on a tear about me playing up our existing relationship or acting the damsel in distress to get your help, let me add the addendum that it's because you're the only one clever enough to solve my problem. It was designed for you specifically to solve."
Before Sherlock could respond, the doors downstairs opened and closed. Sherlock stood, indicating the chair he previously sat in, "Please have a seat, Miss Turner."
She sat down, eyeing him curiously as footsteps were heard on the stairs approaching the flat. "As you wish, Mister Holmes."