The Hounds of Silence
Silent Circles
Slamming the living room door, she stormed down the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her as she threw herself face first on her bed. Pulling a pillow forward, she shoved her face into it, letting out a guttural sound somewhere between a scream and a growl.
Sherlock bloody Holmes, she thought, mind racing in her fury. Who the hell does he think he is?
She knew she was probably over reacting, but she'd put up with him for so long, the slight annoyances had just built up and up, the addition of the need for a cigarette only adding to her temperament.
She'd gone out, for one night, with Ethel, catching up and just hanging out. For one night, she could forget the murders and the rest of the world. She was just another twenty-three year old on a night out with her friend.
She had had a drink - several in fact - but it was hardly like she was a child. She could handle her drink better than either of her brothers and wasn't even that drunk, just merry and, for once, completely relaxed.
The shot about Mycroft was a step too far for her though; she was confused enough as it was. And it wasn't as though she hadn't given the younger Holmes ample opportunity to tell her to back off.
Meanwhile, concerning the older Holmes, she seemed to be just going round in circles; she liked him, but after the discussion with Irene after they all got off the plane….she didn't know if it was right to play this game anymore.
He had been a little scary; the open threat of commanding people to extract information was bone chilling. Sherlock himself had said his brother was the most dangerous man Rose would ever meet and she was starting to see that more and more.
To top it off she was trying - a hell of a lot in fact - to not get too attached to the suited man. The events with Irene had helped a lot and she knew that she would only get hurt it she were to start to care too deeply for Mycroft. He was a Holmes and as far as she could see, he was a far more sociopathic than his infuriating little brother was.
While Sherlock didn't understand emotions, she knew he still did feel things like a normal person; more or less. He cared about her and John, even if he had an unusual way of showing it. He got excited and frustrated - about not so typical things but that was just a matter of personal taste - and even got worried, no matter how much he denied it. And yes, he was a drama queen at times, but she knew it was to make his life more interesting, being bored out of his racing mind with an average life.
Mycroft however was a bit of a mystery. She knew he enjoyed their game, but suspected that was all it was to the man; a game, something to pass the time. She didn't mind of course - Rose Spencer was not a stranger to the term friends with benefits - but she did like to know where she stood. Until she did, her head was spinning with the suited man.
When her mind was still - and sometimes even when she was working on something - she would suddenly be reminded of him somehow and a little memory would creep in, any one of their talks becoming a beautiful distraction to the young woman. Then she'd end up blushing slightly, shaking her head of the thoughts and would carry on with whatever she was supposed to be doing. While Sherlock seemed not to notice - though obviously he'd noticed more than she thought - Lestrade was starting to give her some funny looks, the latest looking far too knowing; serving to only make her blush more.
Unfortunately for the emotional and craving young woman, this dilemma with the older Holmes fit perfectly with everything else she had done in her life; he wasn't good for her - and she knew it - but it only made her want it more. The danger of what could happen, the possibility that it would end horrifically if she wasn't incredibly careful, the rush she got when their meetings ended relatively well; it made her head spin wildly, her heart race when she thought of him and all the trouble he inevitably brought with him.
Her want for bad things would really be the end of her one day; cutting, smoking, even her job and the men she lived with - an ex-army doctor with a gun and Sherlock himself. But she couldn't help it; it wasn't like she went looking for trouble…well she didn't used to…much…
So, with her emotions in a spin already, the added lack of nicotine that was steadily ripping away any patience she had, Sherlock deciding that she was going to be a distraction from his own cravings was very much not a good thing, especially when she didn't know what to make of his deductions.
Sighing in frustration, she realised she couldn't stay in her room all day and would have to face the music sooner or later. Washing her face first, the cool water calming her somewhat, she heard something that caught her attention, smirk slipping into place.
Ring…
Just the one, she thought, throwing down the towel to answer the door, mind working as she walked. Clean and quick - maximum pressure, agitated.
Opening the front door, she contained her joy. "Hello, sir. To see Sherlock Holmes?" She asked their latest client.
