Accidental Sherlock
Carrie called out for the cab just as the light flicked off.
"YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" She yelled at the man who opened a book and pointed up at the off duty sign. What an ASS! She desperately looked down at her watch. She had exactly ten minutes to get roughly ten blocks away. She wasn't going to make it. Of course the one job interview she'd managed to grab since she arrived in England and she wouldn't even be on time. What a way to make an impression! She ran her fingers through her shockingly red hair before bending down to take off the heels aching her feet. She would have to run.
She stepped off the curb and darted across the road, ignoring the possibilities of what her stocking feet were stepping in, and hoping she wouldn't contract some kind of fungus. She pushed her way through a crowd surrounding a street performer into a small coffee shop district. Just as she rounded a corner she smacked face first into a rather tall man. She was knocked aside onto her backside and her bag flung open. Papers and pencils, day planner, and other woman necessities flew out and scattered around the sidewalk. Now she would never make it to the interview. She might have to rethink about the move to England.
"Excuse you," A sharp voice said from above her. She looked up to find a rather dark looking man. He was extraordinarily tall, and thin. She blushed furiously as she scattered to gather her things. He stooped down to begrudgingly help her, his sharp eyes sweeping the assortment of items on the sidewalk. Carrie had just reached out to snatch her day planner when the man's hand wrapped around it. She stared at his translucent skin, and the branching of the beautiful blue blood veins. He held the book out to her and their eyes met. She was taken aback by the vastness of them. Indeed they were sharp and observant, but they were soft on the outsides, framed with dark long lashes, and the color of unlike anything on earth. They appeared to move and change with each blink, as if they were stars in the sky, super novas changing positions and glowing brightly in the sky.
"I asked you if you were injured." He said.
"No! I'm sorry. I'm fine! Are you alright? I didn't mean to bump into you!" She said finally snapping back into reality. She then could once again stand and shove the crumpled papers into her dust covered bag.
"Well, you sort of slammed into me actually, and yes I appear to be in excellent health. Perhaps next time you leave for an interview you should leave a few minutes early, than running in the streets like a mad woman." He said clearing his throat. Her face recoiled in a face of offense. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, crooked smile. She was baffled by his blunt words, and how on earth he could of guessed her intentions of where she was running to.
"I assure you that the most unexpected things have happened to me today sir, things no one could predict." She said bitterly. She had indeed come across an accident blocking the major intersection leading to the quickest route to the office, a hobo had attacked her leg begging for spare change, and of course the rude cab driver.
"Sherlock! There you are!" A short, friendly faced man said jogging up to the scene. The tall sharp man turned to look at his companion and glanced over at the quiet woman. She bent down to pick up a few stray pencils she had missed that rolled under a small plant, while the men turned to talk.
"You, would you like some help?" The friendly looking of the two offered with a smile. She looked up and snapped her mouth shut as the sharp man answered for her.
"She's nearly finished John." He replied.
"Sherlock! Her knee is bleeding." John replied shooting a glare at him. John walked over and offered a hand to help her from the ground.
"It's just a scrape. I slammed, into your friend here." The woman said looking at the dark man.
"Not a problem, I do hope he wasn't rude, he can be at times." John replied.
"Not at all." She smiled making eye contact with the man, shooting daggers. She could see a flash of guilt pass over his eyes, but soon disappeared.
"Shocking." Sherlock said smiling his cheekbones shadowing in the morning overcast. He was a rather handsome man, which many women had declared so in the past, but his attitude always seemed to be his downfall. Shockingly he thought to himself, this woman wasn't repulsed as quite like the others.
"Now I know you are lying." John muttered handing over a pen he found.
"I insist, it was my fault. He had good reason to scold me." She smiled small. John backed away with a smile.
He was a foot shorter than his friend Sherlock. Everything about the man radiated friendliness and softness. He was round faced, with short blond hair that hung into his hazel eyes. The pair were smartly dressed for a London morning, Sherlock was fitted in a white dress shirt with the top two buttons loose, and a black blazer, complete with a large trench coat and navy scarf. John who stood to his right was dressed in khaki dress pants, white dress shirt, and a tan waistcoat. Over his arm he had a tweed jacket and a black folded umbrella.
"We must be off John. I have places to be." Sherlock said bitterly, observing Carrie.
"I'm sorry." John whispered as they passed by.
Well this morning was certainly interesting, she thought to herself.
Carrie had forgot about the encounter completely, until her friend approached her about a party being hosted at a Mr. Sherlock Holmes's flat. There of course could be a number of people living in London with the name of Sherlock, but from the very descriptive description Molly Hooper had provided her new friend, Carrie was almost sure it was not a mere coincidence.
"Molly, I don't think your friend will enjoy me being there. I ran into him the other day and he was not very pleased about my intrusion." She confessed.
"Oh, he's always like that Carrie! He's really a sweet sweet man. Brilliant too! You should see him solve one of his cases! If only all men were like Sherlock Holmes." She said over the phone. Carrie chuckled and shook her head. Thank god they weren't.
"Welcome! Welcome!" A frail older woman greeted the girls at the door.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Molly said embracing the woman in her arms. Carrie stood aside smiling and shook the woman's hand when introduced. There was a beautiful string of Mozart coming from the upstairs and suddenly her spirits lifted. Mrs. Hudson led the girls up a narrow staircase to a small set of rooms above the main house.
"I'm sure, John and Sherlock will be delighted to see you." Mrs. Hudson said as we ascended the steep stairs. John perhaps would be delighted, as for Sherlock she couldn't help but feel a gnawing pit of nerves settling in her stomach. Would his harsh words be repeated today?
"Sherlock, John! Molly and her friend Carrie are here!" Mrs. Hudson said walking into a small sitting room. There standing near the front window was a square shouldered Sherlock Holmes, shockingly holding a beautiful violin in his hands, long pale fingers gliding up and down the neck of the piece. John broke out in a smile and greeted Molly and her guest with warm handshakes and awkward hugs.
"Good evening." Sherlock said from his position at the window. He didn't turn from the panes, instead held his gaze down to the street below. Surely he had seen the women arrive and was deliberating the simplest way of informing her of how much of a klutz she was. Carrie was lead to a small sofa near the fireplace and Sherlock once again took up playing a complicated piece upon his violin.
"Sherlock, you do play oh so beautifully." Molly offered over the crescendos and decrescendos of his piece. Sherlock ignored the compliment and continued on as if nothing had been said.
"So Carrie, what do you do for a living?" John asked. The playing stopped and Sherlock whirled around on his heel and made eye contact with the now frightened red head.
"She's a journalist John." Sherlock said his deep eyes searching her face. Carrie smiled small and nodded.
"Indeed."
"How in the deuce would you know that?" John asked.
"Surely you've begun to figure out my deductions by now John. I observe, I think, I collect data, and form deductions." Sherlock said taking a drink of tea from a cup on the fireplace mantle ledge.
"Sherlock, not all of us are brilliant like you, more information would be welcomed." Mrs. Hudson said giving him a pointed look. The corner of Sherlock's lips lifted again in a heart breaking devious crooked smile.
"Please do." Carrie requested.
"Your nails are cut short instead of long suggesting that you frequently do a job that long nails would get in the way of. The sleeves of your business jacket you had on the other day was worn to the elbows suggesting you sat at a desk for long periods of time. Combining these two observations I concluded you must be of some sort of employment of typing or working at a desk in which you used your hands. Further upon helping you gather your things I noticed you had multiple newspapers collected from London, none from the same day but all sharing a common characteristic which was that the editor's name which is often found printed on the front page was circled in red ink, suggesting that you are searching for employment. A secretary is a common practice for a woman your age, but since you had the papers in your bag I began to believe you a journalist. In addition you carried with you in your bag a good number of pens, pencils, small note pads, and a little camera. This is when I really concluded that you are indeed a journalist, since a journalist never knows when their next story shall spring upon them." Sherlock said.
"All that from short nails and bits of paper?" John said.
"It was really simple." Sherlock said shaking his head as if surprised by the lack of observation in John.
"You are fascinating." Molly sighed from beside Carrie.
"I must say that was rather creepy." Carrie chuckled. Sherlock turned, hiding a smile on his face from the rest of the room. Successful once again. "Tell me Mr. Holmes. What else can you see about me?" He turned back and studied the woman. She was beautiful, undoubtedly but that was something that was never needed in the process of deduction or science. She had long fiery red hair that hung in large ringlet curls to the middle of her back, and freckles that arched across her small, dainty nose. Sherlock snapped out of his daze and began to observe. He could clearly see the pen marks on her right hand, the smudge of ink along the outside of her palm. Right handed, and working on a project. Her accent was foreign, American actually and from the tone of her voice and the pronunciation of her vowels from the Midwest region, Ohio or Michigan. She sunburned easily even in cloudy overcast of London. In her coat pocket which hung off the back of the couch he could see a tourist booklet commonly found on many newsstands dotting London's streets. She hadn't been in the city long, she still needed a map to get around. He squinted at her eyes, they seemed to contain a secret... something that not even the great Sherlock Holmes could unravel.
"You are American, from the Midwest region of either Ohio or Michigan," He began eying her. She smiled politely and nodded, "You are currently working on a project with pen, blue ink... right handed." He continued, pausing for the confirmation which he received, "You sun burn easily even in the overcast of London, which is a city that you have not been in long due to the pocket sized atlas in your coat, meaning you still need a map to get around." He said smiling smugly.
"Perfect." She said nodding once.
"You astound me." Molly said grinning. Carrie glanced over at the eager girl and debated on having a talk with her about her forwardness with Sherlock later.
"You seem to know a great deal about me Mr. Holmes with only one look." Carrie said taking a drink of water.
"It's an observant look." He smiled before facing the window once again. She had to admit, the little smug grin upon his pale face suited him, and made her curious to learn more about this mysterious man.
"ALRIGHT! I HAVE ONE!" John slurred hoisting up his cup of brandy, "When Sherlock and I were solving that case last month, you know that one with the dodgy fellow and pompous ass of a son. What was his name?"
"Harrison." Sherlock said softly from his seat watching the festivities.
"YEAH! That's the one!" John said laughing, we had to wait for him to stop chuckling to tell the story, "Well, we were running from the gate keeper right? And pompous Harridan fool what ever his face was got his foot stuck in a drainage pipe!" John laughed, Molly started laughing as John stood up on his chair wobbling, clearly far in his cups than one would want to be when standing on a tipsy chair, and began to act out Harrison's struggle of freeing his foot. Sherlock rolled his eyes and fingered his violin but made no noise. His eyes glanced to the window and Carried watched him. His jaw clenched and eyes closed. Thinking... always thinking, it seemed. Carrie glanced around at the filled coffee table and decided to refill my glass of water. She cleared the table of empty cups and dishes and walked to adjoining kitchen, placing the cups and dishware in the sink.
She ran the tap for quite some time to get the coldest water and took a gulp of it at the sink. Behind her from the other room she could hear roars of laughter as John let out a growl.
"I promise he normally is not a drinker." A smooth voice said behind her. She jumped the cup clattering into the sink and Sherlock reached out and caught the dish soap before it fell to the floor.
"I'm sorry." She confessed laughing softly.
"Not at all. John says I tend to sneak up on people." Sherlock said placing the soap back on the counter and reaching for a mug.
"John's interesting." She chuckled as they looked back into the living room and seen him making large windmill motions with his arms, bouncing on the seat of the chair.
"He's drunk." Sherlock chuckled pouring a cup of coffee and motioning to her, before grabbing her a mug.
"All the same he's lucky to have you and friends like this." Carrie smiled.
"John is my only friend." Sherlock said leaning back against the counter and taking a drink.
"Friend?"
"Yes friend."
Oh... It was the twenty-first century two men could share an apartment together without being gay Carrie thought to herself, chuckling over the silly mistake.
"I assumed..."
"It's fine, many people assume the same." Sherlock said drinking from the mug.
"Well, that's good, I was worried about breaking Molly's heart tonight." Carrie laughed. Sherlock sent a quizzical look and Carrie was surprised. For someone who observes a great many things, he obviously had not observed Molly's attempts of love at him.
"Mr. Holmes, may I ask you a question?"
"Certainly."
"Why observe?"
"Why not? Do you know what the common eyes misses? I can tell you stories about people just by looking at them, where they are from, where they've been, what they do." He whispered to her.
"But Mr. Holmes..."
"Please, call me Sherlock."
"Sherlock, wouldn't it be nicer to meet these people? Talk to them, learn their stories from themselves?"
"It would take a great deal more time, and the major information would be clouded with emotions and frivolous details. Why waste my time or theirs on simple things when there are larger matters?" He asked.
"It's the little things that tell you the most about a person Mr. Holmes."
"No."
"Oh, like pen smudges and pocket sized travel guides tell you more about me then, perhaps me telling you I enjoy reading classic novels on Thursdays, and came to England on a whim and a broke bank account. The pen marks on my hands cannot tell you the type of writer I am, though the broke bank account and the fact I read novels on Thursdays instead of weekends shows that I am a failing writer." She whispered looking into his now soft eyes.
"Indeed."
There was a large crash in the living room that rattled the plates and glasses in the cupboards and made the small chandelier over the table sway and quake. Sherlock and Carrie dashed back into the living room to find a rather stunned John Watson laying on his backside, feet in the air, with his chair tipped off to the side of the room. Mrs. Hudson and Molly, who were also tipsy, were besides themselves with laughter. Molly had tears streaming down her face from laughing so hard. Carrie glanced over at Sherlock who gave her another infamous crooked smile.