Chapter 1: Old Patterns
" Come up and meet them." said Mrs. Hudson a note of hesitation in her voice. She was bringing her niece, Cecilia, all the way from Canada to live with her and help her with her tenants. Mrs. Hudson recently had had some health problems and she needed an extra pair of hands around the building especially with the tenants upstairs, who refused to believe she was their land-lady and not their housekeeper.
" Should I just leave my suitcases here?" Cecilia asked. She was just banging the last one through the door and into the entrance way. Even though she was not a high maintenance woman, far from it, Cecilia was moving to another country for an extended period of time and she had a number of things she could not live without. She was exhausted and sweating from lugging four large suitcases from the cab. Plus, it had been a long flight and she wasn't too interested in meeting anyone right now.
"Are you sure I shouldn't get settled first and then meet everyone tomorrow?" She suggested hopefully.
"Oh, you must meet John and Sherlock; they're usually very busy and in and out at all hours of the day. We're lucky they're both here right now."
" Fine." she resigned herself.
They walked up the staircase of 221b Baker Street. It was an old building but it was relatively well kept. It was as quaint as it could be, thought Cecilia; dark wood, dark wallpaper that was slightly peeling, creaky and worn wooden stairs. Mrs. Hudson reached the door of the apartment she went to knock but hesitated.
" Don't judge me by the state of this flat. I keep a very clean household myself, but…"
" But what?"
" Well, you'll see."
She knocked on the door and opened it. The sight that greeted them was indeed worthy of the warning. Two men were standing amongst a fluttering of papers and stacks of books. Piles of teacups and plates here and there interspersed with stale bits of biscuits and half full beakers of myriad liquids. Was that a skull on the mantle? Cecilia nearly turned around and the thought of a return flight home didn't sound so bad. The two men were arguing with each other, or rather, one man was arguing and the other was standing quietly with his arms folded across his chest, looking lost in thought. He was a very tall and extremely thin man with a dark mop of hair and piercing blue eyes set above absolutely devastating cheekbones. He wore a long black coat and a blue scarf around his neck. The man who was yelling was shorter, a little older, cute in an average way. He wore a dark jacket and checked shirt.
" 'Allo Gents!" Mrs. Hudson said in a tone of voice that aimed to interrupt the tension in the room.
" Good day, Mrs. Hudson" exclaimed the tall man" a slight bow in her direction, he seemed delighted to have a distraction from the current situation.
" Yeah, Hi…" said the shorter one feeling frustrated by being interrupted but also realizing he hadn't been getting anywhere anyway. He lowered the sheaf of bills that he held in his hands.
" Boys, I want you to meet my niece, Cecilia. She's come all the way from Canada to help me out here. Since you won't stop treating me as a housekeeper, I've gone and gotten you one." She pushed Cecilia in front of her.
"Cecilia, these are my favorite tenants. Dr. John Watson " she said nodding to the shorter man.
" Hi Cecilia, sorry about the place it's a bit of a wreck." He said as he shook her hand.
" Oh, it's not that… well, it is pretty bad…but that's why I'm here." She said, rallying, and smiled.
" And this is the famous Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective. He helped me out a few years ago, remember, I told you about Florida?" Mrs. Hudson glowed with pride. John rolled his eyes.
"Cecilia" he said as he took her hand and bent as though to kiss it. He didn't. He only stared intently at her hand. She was unsettled for two reasons. One: no one had ever greeted her in this fashion, it seemed like he had been dropped from another era into modern London. Two: his voice struck her to the core, it was like nothing she had ever heard before. Just hearing her name had given her butterflies in her stomach. He looked at her hand like it was an alien object, like he had never seen anything like it before.
He straightened up and looked at her. She was pretty; she had long dark brown hair and stunning eyes. Her eyes were her best feature, large doe eyes; rich chestnut in colour, and they were ringed with long dark eye-lashes. There seemed to be a great depth behind those eyes; like one could see to the very core of the earth. She had a kind face, even though she couldn't have been more than twenty-five she was beginning to get crinkles at the corners of her eyes; she laughed a lot, and with her whole face. She was curvier than most women he had known; mind you he didn't know that many women. Overall very aesthetically pleasing. This thought, though, was gone in an instant, noted just as the weather outside or any of the other minutia that Sherlock absorbed from his surroundings.
" It's a pleasure to finally meet you." She tried to pull herself together "Auntie has told me quite a lot about you." She said as she pulled her hand back form him.
"Really? What's she told you?" He asked, suddenly animated, bordering on manic.
"Uhmm.. th-that you solve crimes that the police can't." Cecilia faltered, thrown by his abrupt turn of behavior.
"True." He intoned, prompting her to continue.
"That you're brilliant."
"Oh, well done, Mrs. Hudson" he turned to her, smiling.
"And that you are completely insufferable and impossible to live with."
"Fallacy." His smile gone, but his eyes still alight.
"Mmmm, That's seems pretty accurate, actually." Added John, looking up at Sherlock, an easy smile pulling at his face. "So, Cecilia will be our housekeeper?, Mrs. Hudson…"
She felt a little self-conscious as Sherlock kept staring at her and she tried to focus back on the conversation that Dr. Watson and Auntie were having. But she could feel Sherlock's eyes all over her and she pulled at her jacket; trying to make it cover more of her body. She had always been a little self-conscious. Everyone had told her she was attractive, but she felt she was just average. Average height, average weight, if somewhat curvy, average looks. She felt she always just blended into the back-ground, so it was uncomfortable when people stared. She could feel old high school inadequacies flooding back into her brain and she hated herself for it. She tried to remind herself that she was a strong and independent woman, who was sought after. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, it was almost like he could hear her thoughts.
" …hope you can settle in here and don't get too homesick."
Realizing that she was being spoken to Cecilia was flustered. She was silent for a second, but managed to pull together a response. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Dr. Watson." she smiled " I've got family here," she looked at Mrs. Hudson " and I'm sure I'll make some friends."
"Call me, John." He smiled back warmly.
" You have calluses and un-manicured hands." Sherlock interrupted. She recoiled and stared incredulously at him, feeling a little insulted, preyed upon.
"Oh, don't mind him, he does this to everyone. It's like a party trick." Said John in an apologetic tone.
"It's not a trick" Sherlock sighed.
"You see, he's a sociopath." He added pointedly at Sherlock. But trying to insult Sherlock was like trying to hurt the feelings of a brick wall.
" Yes, remember I told you he can read people, and it's like he knows everything about you." Said Mrs. Hudson
Cecilia was brought back to her senses and braced herself for this. Auntie had told her about this proclivity, and she wanted to make the impression that his ability didn't scare her.
" Yes. I have calluses and I haven't had a manicure since my brother's wedding seven years ago."
" You work with your hands, and by you're stance and your handshake you're left handed, and you have traces of pencil lead on the side of your hand. You're an artist. But you have nice clothes, well kept hair and skin and you 're definitely not a starving artist… so you must only do that as a hobby. From your manner and speech you're well educated, blue collar, that's what you must do for a living, but you can afford and are willing to take time off and help your Aunt. I would guess either social services or psychology?
Cecilia could feel the blood rushing to her ears and face. She was embarrassed about that "not a starving artist" remark. But Auntie had warned her about him. He didn't have any social graces; sociopath indeed. It was all part of his process. But why did she feel she needed to win his approval? Something clicked in her head and she realized the only way to come out on top of this situation was to be as emotionally detached as he was.
" Yes," she answered swallowing her embarrassment and anger, and probably with more attitude than the situation warranted. " I have a bachelors in psychology and I'm a research assistant. I've taken some time off because my supervisor is on maternity leave and she's suspended her research until she's back. And yes, I'm also an artist but I've never been financially successful with it." She said as coolly as she could. She tried to distain him. Really, now that she thought about it he hadn't said anything that was too shocking. " Those all seem to be logical assumptions." She tried to dig at him, diminish his abilities.
He paused for a moment too long to not be awkward.
" You had a dachshound when you were growing up that was named," he paused again and raised his hand to his chin, " Mr. Pickles." And he smiled ever so slightly. If you weren't watching very closely one would have missed the slight curling of the corners of his mouth.
Cecilia was taken aback. For all the warnings she had received and as prepared and braced as she had tried to make herself she was stunned. She furrowed her brow and tried to speak… but as he always does Sherlock had read her and left her speechless. Cecilia turned to her Aunt, "You must have told him." She was feeling exposed, unwillingly vulnerable.
" I certainly did not," she paused, "well maybe in passing- years ago. I don't remember exactly what I've said to whom about family." She explained.
" I'm afraid that's just what he does. Don't feel bad. He was worse when he first met me." John consoled her. "You should have heard some of the horrible things he knew about me and my family." He added with a smile and a forced chuckle. He looked down at his feet and squeezed his left hand into a fist before relaxing it.
Well, point one to Sherlock, she thought. Cecilia felt as though she had locked into battle with Sherlock. It was a battle she wasn't sure she would win. In high school she had been the smartest person in her class, valedictorian, and so there hadn't been many boys interested in her. Her friends told her it was because the boys were intimidated by her, because they felt stupid around her. But it's hard, at that age to remain rational and not think it's some massive physical deformity that's keeping the boys away. In college it was a little easier. Everyone was smarter so she fit in better and there were actually quite a few men that were interested. There were even a few men that seemed smarter than her and she was simultaneously attracted to and intimidated by them. In those days when one of those men approached her she would act rather abrasively, wanting to best them somehow, prove to them she was just as smart as them, but possessed more of a complete package. Sherlock was the most intelligent person she had ever encountered and old patterns were quickly asserting themselves.
"I'm afraid you will all have to excuse me. I'm running late for an appointment" Dr. Watson said as he tapped his watch. He moved toward the door with a slight limp. Mrs. Hudson turned after him.
" Oh, before you go, John, I have a few more things to discuss with you." she called as she followed him down the stairs, he voice trailing back up. "…rent will be going up now."
Cecilia had a moment of panic as she realized she was being left alone with Sherlock. It was like being left alone with a snake; a tall, brooding and hansom snake. Sherlock hadn't stopped looking at her since she had come in the door. She knew he was figuring her out, finding little things about her clothing and her stance that meant something about her. She hoped he didn't notice that her heart was racing.
" ummm.." she started not knowing exactly what to say. She tried to muster up some confidence. She remembered some day time T.V. show aimed at bored housewives she had caught when she had been sick with the flu one afternoon. One of the overly made-up hosts had said "fake it until you make it"; trite, but, when considered by the psychologist inside her it was actually sound advice. What more was it than cognitive behavioral therapy? Think it, act it, eventually you will BE it. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She put a smile on her face as all good Canadians can. " Why don't you show me around the apartment, show me what needs attention. Auntie said that it needed quite a bit of work."
Sherlock stared for another moment at her, the suggestion of a smile on his face again. " What does she want you to do, exactly?"
" Well, she mentioned some cleaning," Cecilia shifted her eyes around the room, which seemed to be the only habitable room of the apartment. She could see into a bit of the kitchen and it looked like no one had cleaned it for years. That's an understatement, it looked like someone held an annual mess making competition in it, and a mad scientist had taken the contestants of the mess-making competition and experimented on them and hadn't cleaned up after the experiment had went horribly wrong. " And some shopping, laundry, all the things she does for you…all the things you ask her to do, but you don't pay her to do."
"Why can't she do them?" he said, ignoring her insinuation. She detected a note of apprehension in his voice. It seemed to Cecilia that he didn't trust her. That he didn't want any change in his life. Well, there was definitely going to be a change here. This. Apartment. Was. Disgusting.
"Well, she's your land-lady; it's not her job. But, really, she's been having some health problems, stress induced I'd wager, and she won't be able to do much for the next while. Doctor's orders." Her Aunt's condition was actually quite serious. The recent events of someone targeting Sherlock, taunting him and bombing the apartment across the street had done far more damage to her Aunt than to any property in the area. The doctor had suggested that she sell the building, get as far away as possible; but Auntie had a soft-spot for John and Sherlock and she felt they couldn't get by without her. It was actually perfect timing. Cecilia had needed a change, with her research supervisor and her experiments on hiatus, and that general stagnation in her life. What better use of her time than to care for her Aunt and to get a free trip to London in the bargain.
Sherlock turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen. "This is the kitchen" he gestured, and then realized Cecilia had not followed him in. He turned again and looked at her expectantly. "Well, come in, we don't have all day to stand around, I have more important things to be doing."
" Look, I know you work with the police to solve crimes, and that's very admirable, but you don't have to be rude." She said as she began picking her way across the room towards him.
" I wasn't being rude, I just don't like wasting my time on banality."
" Glad I could make such a good first impression." She retorted sarcastically.
"I wasn't saying, YOU, were boring, just.. cleaning? cooking? Laundry? How do you stand it?
"True, those aren't the most thrilling things in the world but they're necessities; all part of daily life."
"Uhg. Daily life is so mundane. Give me a crime to solve any day." He brought his hands together under his chin. He had turned to the counter and had started adjusting some sort of equipment that looked a little like a still.
" The state of this apartment is a crime you should solve…" she said under her breath. She was nearly at the kitchen and stepping over a rather large pile of very thick books when her foot slipped. The newspapers covering the only foothold she could find had shifted and she lost her balance. She fell forward with a cry of surprise. Before she hit the floor, however, someone had caught her. She found herself being held up in wiry, but remarkably strong arms.
When she gathered her wits she was inches from piercing blue eyes…. devastating cheek-bones…full lips…
"No… absolutely not.", she thought trying to dissuade to herself but it was useless. Why do I fall for this type, he'll never want me. But that was Cecilia all over; forever wallowing in unreciprocated feelings. Not that she hadn't had a few happy relationships, she dated often at home and genuinely enjoyed the men she went out with. But they were always the ones that she knew she had bested; the ones that didn't challenge her. She never got the men that she truly hungered for. They were always married to their work, or saw her as a colleague. She was never the woman that aroused mad passion from them. She decided then and there, still in the arms of this striking and intelligent man, that she would reinvent herself here. She would be that woman who conquered any man she wanted. Sherlock would be hers. If she had ever needed anything in her life she needed to break him; melt his icy exterior.
" Are you alright?" he asked with no real feeling in his voice as he eased her back onto her feet. Though it seemed to her that he might not be asking about loosing her balance. Had he seen the decision made in a split second? He let go of her arms and straightened his coat.
"Yes… um, thank-you for catching me. I lost my balance on this newspaper. Looks like I should start cleaning immediately, make this place livable." She stared directly into his eyes, challenging him to respond. She could hear her heartbeat pulsing in her ears. She wondered if he noticed, if he did she hoped he would think it was just the shock of almost falling, and not the thrill of his hands on her.
"I find it just fine like this. I live here, after all". He didn't break his gaze, they had been staring into each other's eyes for what seemed like forever. Suddenly he snapped his eyes away from hers, and turned away walking towards the far end of the kitchen.
A jab. All of her psych classes were beginning to come back to her. She had been a research assistant for so long, engrossed in collecting data, that her clinical diagnostic knowledge was a bit rusty. He's got an ego. He thinks so very highly of himself, and he may be a genius; but I have more tact than he does. She decided to treat him as one of her psychology professors had taught her to treat criminal sociopaths; you have to put everything in terms of what benefits them.
" Just think how much you could accomplish if you didn't have to pick your way through all this everyday?"
He stopped mid-stride to the kitchen window and turned to her, cocked his head, thought for a moment, and nodded. He continued around the kitchen island. Cecilia smiled in satisfaction.
" I sometimes carry out experiments here when I have free time. So be sure to consult me before you touch anything."
" I have been in research for some time now, I do know the importance of scientific control." She responded slightly affronted.
" Mmm, yes. That will be very useful." Speaking to himself and adjusting a few implements on the counter.
" What in here is experimental?" she asked motioning to the covered counters. There were rotting fruits and crust covered pots; every type of disgusting thing a kitchen could hold.
He surveyed the room. "All of it." He sounded as though it was an obvious statement.
She gave him a hard look.
" It's been a little slow the last while, and… I've gotten a bit bored." He sounded exasperated, and didn't make eye contact. The first chink in the armour she thought.
She smiled and tried to hide it by turning her head. "Is anything ready to be documented, written up, finished?"
He scanned the room carefully. "No."
" You realize how difficult it will be to clean up if I can't actually clean anything up."
"hmmmm, I do see the dilemma, but that isn't my concern." Sherlock then fell silent and began writing notes on a small pad of paper left beside a rotting orange with an overturned water glass on it. There were several fruit flies buzzing around the glass and even more lying dead on the orange. This kept him in rapt attention for several minutes. Cecilia waited for him to continue the tour of the apartment, but soon realized that their interaction was finished.
"I guess I'll just show myself around, then?…" She turned and continued into the, for want of a better word, living room. There was a wall full of bookshelves, a few books pushed haphazardly into them, but mostly empty as most of the books were on the floor. There was a fireplace nearly buried behind stacks of those books. The was a skull on the mantle that looked disturbingly real, a dagger; it's point wedged in the wood was holding a small stack of receipts in place. She could see very small patches of a threadbare Persian rug poking through gaps in the clutter. There was a desk in the corner covered in papers and maps. A worn leather chair was placed in the center of the room facing the door with a side table full of tea dishes and even more books. Along the remaining wall was a couch that looked very old, but comfortable and it had a few blankets strewn across the back of it. She moved down the hallway between the kitchen and the living room to where the bathroom and bedrooms were. The less said about the bathroom the better; Cecilia had never seen mildew recoil from light before. She opened the first bedroom door and was greeted by a welcome respite; a spotlessly clean room! It must be Dr. Watson's room she thought. She closed the door again and walked down to the next door, the other bedroom. She glanced into the living room. Sherlock was sitting in the chair now reading hautily she imagined, though his back was to her. She put her hand on the knob of his door.
"That's my room." He never looked up from his reading.
"Oh. Well, if it's anything like the rest of the apartment I'll need a hazmat suit to change the sheets.
Sherlock nodded, either not listening or not rising to the barb. "I use it for storage. You should be happy- one less set of sheets for you to change." He never looked up from his book.
" Where do you sleep, then?" Cecilia asked, coming into the living room and standing in front of Sherlock.
"Generally I don't. When I'm working I work until the case solved." He let the book fall back on his wrist.
"and when you're not working?" she knew from her Aunt's many e-mails over the last week that Sherlock hadn't been solving cases the last little while. There had been a record low of 'unsolvable' cases for him to be called in on. She had complained many times how irritating Sherlock could be when he was bored.
" He sleeps in that chair, or if he's feeling really adventurous on the couch." Dr. Watson added. He had just re-entered the room. "I forgot my keys. And Sherlock I just got a call from Lestrade. He needs to see you downtown."
Sherlock sighed impatiently, swept up off the chair and left the room.
"Cecilia". Dr. Watson added, and then paused.
"Yes?"
"I hope he doesn't scare you off. He can be horrible, but he is brilliant. Mrs. Hudson is a saint for putting up with him for so long." He opened his mouth again, but shrugged and said goodbye again. And with that she was alone in the apartment. She chose to leave, rather than succumb to the temptation of snooping through Sherlock's room. She needed to unpack anyway, and sleep.
