As Donovan snarled at the retreating back of his friend, John could not but wonder at why the consulting detective aggravated her quite so much. Yes he was an arrogant, condescending sociopath but she seemed to take it more personally than anybody else. She had been the first to point the finger in Sherlock's direction and now he was back she seemed more determined than ever to rio him apart.
He had asked Sherlock many times but he only knowingly smiled in response; Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were both clueless. He had contemplated asking Anderson but as he was another Sherlock seemed to aggravate beyond reason so he thought better of it. He accepted that he would remain clueless unless Sherlock or Donovan cared to reveal to him what had transpired; he could think of a lot of things that were more likely than either.
Sherlock smirked as Donovan spat feathers as he stalked away from the crime scene. Sally Donovan was dependable that was for sure, you could always rely on her to let her emotions get in the way and cause an unnecessary scene. No wonder she hot with Anderson so well, it was a trait they both shared. He could tell by the look on John's face that he was puzzling away at her actions and almost laughed as his shoulders slumped and a look of unsatisfied acceptance spread across s face. He often wondered how John missed all the signs; he had a talent for upsetting women himself yet he couldn't see the signs of a woman scorned. Admittedly Sally's grudge had matured into hatred but all the basic signs were still there. Any lesser man should be wary to cross Sergeant Donovan but to Sherlock she was merely another mundane annoyance that he had to put up with to get the job done.
All Donovan wanted to do that was to go round to Anderson's, have a good bitch about the infernal Sherlock Holmes and then forget about him completely as they indulged each other. However, she was sitting alone in flat that she hadn't had time to clean as his wife was in town. She picked up her phone and was halfway through writing a text when the thought of him moaning about his wife's suspicions. She didn't think it was worth it so she threw her phone on the sofa and made a cup of tea instead. She watched mindless T.V. To take her mind off the tall handsome detective but the inane show only annoyed her further. Maybe this was how she appeared to Sherlock, aggravatingly naive and simple. She growled at the thought and switched off the set.
She dragged herself upstairs and clambered into the empty bed knowing already that sleep would evade her. Her mind was buzzing with put downs, insults and condescending remarks all delivered with a knowing look from a pair of startling eyes. She turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling hoping studying the cracks in the plaster would drive him from her mind. It was futile however and his smarmy laugh penetrated her mind as she tossed and turned frustrated and alone.
Unwillingly her mind travelled back to the day she had been made Sergeant and started working under Inspector Lestrade. She had been young, career driven and enthusiastic; the horrors of the job had not eaten away at her yet and she had a promising future ahead of her. It had been her first case she had worked on when Lestrade walked into the crime scene with a tall dark haired civilian. Working in the police she knew all about Sherlock Holmes and with her career in mind she was desperate to make a good impression to the consulting detective. She had little time to introduce herself and she was greeted by a small forced smile before Sherlock moved on to the case in hand. She admired his quick work back then and a suspect had been apprehended within the week.
It was as he left the questioning of the suspect that Donovan had made her big move and asked him out for a drink. He had been halfway through rejecting her when his eyes swept over her taking in her eager face and her comely figure. He had changed his mind and agreed to accompany her to the pub. Throughout the night he had been a picture of charm, at the time she could not see the arrogant antisocial man that everybody else talked about, she could only see the devilishly attractive man. She knew at the time that she was falling hard as she stared into his eyes but she did nothing to stop herself. Before she knew what was happening they were back at her flat and his hands were on her waist.
He had pushed her down onto the sofa and forcefully kissed her, she had thought it to be passionate at the time but now she knew it to be disregard. They had made their way to her bedroom all the while Sherlock in control commanding the situation - the only place he would ever allow himself to be she sneered to herself. She had given him everything, half a mind on her blossoming career the other half on the gorgeous man before her. He hadn't even waited until the morning to discard her. She was still glowing when he got up and began to get dressed. She had tried to persuade him to stay but he had rebuffed her by explaining the frivolities of emotions being a chemical weakness. She still continued despite being unceremonious rejected as he was out of the front door and continued protesting for weeks after.
Her attempts to attract his attention all ended vainly and she turned her attention to other men, all who ultimately could not commit to her. She told herself it was because she needed to concentrate on her career but she knew that was dead in the water. She was now only an accessory to the almighty Sherlock Holmes. In her darkest moments, like tonight, she admitted to herself that it was because none of them were him, the man she truly wanted. She hid that behind her hatred, to defend herself from another rejection she put as much distance as she could between them. She did this with her acidic words and her cold demeanour. The bastard could not even stay dead but the guilt she had felt at his death had outweighed any triumph she had felt about bringing him down.
She knew it was futile and there was no hope but she could not stop loving Sherlock, even after his brief death.
The next morning Lestrade was aware of Donovan's unusually aggressive attitude and harsh words; she had even sent Anderson running away with his tail between his legs. He was dreading the fireworks that would go off when Sherlock walked through the door. He had no idea what Sherlock had done to her but he managed to rile up the Sergeant like nobody else.
He saw her freeze when as she caught site of the black curly haired man and rounded on him with a face like thunder.
He was close enough to her Sherlock's knowing greeting, "You look tired Sergeant, did somebody keep you up last night?"