Why, hello there dear readers! I was surprised that I got a response so quickly. *looks around* So this is what it's like to write in a fandom that's newerishyish. Huh. Well, thank you all for the lovely reviews! I actually wasn't quite sure if I was going to continue writing this, but I think I'll keep going. Sorry about the wait, I'm still having a fun time ironing out this story's many kinks. Note the dry sarcasm in the previous sentence. It was brought to my attention in one of my reviews that I put down Scotland Also, yes, hangings were the common way of killing criminals back in the day. However, I know that women weren't hung for a while. Though I'm not sure about my dates. But, yeah… so I randomly sped around to lethal injections, figuring that maybe one guy could've considered injecting poison into people. I know that it all overally doesn't make sense, but go along with it, please?
Anyway, I hope this story will continue to please some people *little bow*. This chapter should get into Emilia more. Remember, her last name is Hawkins, so if someone addresses someone as such, it's her they're referring too. Chapter Two/ Dos/ Deux Disclaimer: I still don't own Sherlock Holmes. Neither the movie nor the works of Sir Arthur Canon Doyle. Poo for me. But the good news is, Watson and Holmes have agreed to behave, so I've let them out of my basement. They much prefer it this way. -I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-
The peace had lasted approximately eight and a half days.
He was beginning to wonder if he had ever met someone so infuriating in his existence. She'd seemed relatively open in the prison, probably because she'd had nothing to lose. But now the afraid young woman who was struggling with her options was gone. The second they'd become partners- or whatever their deal made them- she became nearly impossible to read. And nothing bothered him more than not comprehending something.
She'd stop talking the second they ever approached the topic of her history, she took to occasionally locking herself in her room- especially after they'd just argued over who knows what, and worst of all to him, she had a horrid habit of not agreeing with him a good amount of the time.
Their deal had put two alpha-type personalities into generally close quarters, and it seemed to not be working too well at the moment. Neither was used to being in an environment where there was someone of the same high intellect, and while it was indeed stimulating and interesting, it caused quite a few spats fairly quickly.
Holmes was entirely unused to someone complaining so openly and matter-of-factly. Watson had lasted months before he even yelled at Holmes. Shouting was becoming more and more frequent at 221B. Mrs. Hudson was nearing a state of panic.
Not that the Nanny hadn't already picked favorites. Bloody con-artist was too good at being polite for her not to have. And thus far, Emilia's quirks didn't appear as potentially destructive as Holmes's.
There was a short knock on the door, and Holmes looked up from his newspaper to glare at it. "I haven't gone through your things today, I swear. Though I still can't fathom why it would upset you so much if I had." He grumbled at the door.
It swung open with a creek, and rather than seeing a certain red-haired woman, he saw Watson standing there, holding his hat in one hand and his coat in the other. A look of relief flashed across Holmes's face. "Watson! Watson, thank God!"
"Holmes, what are you doing?" Watson raised an eyebrow as Holmes flung himself out of the chair and rushed past him, shutting the door hurriedly, as if frantic. He gave a little sigh of relief once he'd shut it, and he walked back over to his seat.
"Watson, I'm going to go mad." Holmes announced gravely, plopping back down in his chair with a solemn expression.
Watson sat on the sofa, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "From how you're acting, I'd say you don't have much farther to go."
"This is a matter of utmost seriousness!" Holmes snapped, shaking his head, "That woman is so… infuriating!"
"Who, Miss Hawkins?" Watson said in disbelief. She'd seemed innocent enough. Polite. She had an air of stubbornness about her, he had to admit, but surely…
"What other woman could I be referring to, Watson?"
"Surely you're being overdramatic?"
"Since when have I been overdramatic?" Holmes demanded, looking a bit taken aback.
"Oh, my mistake. You're certainly not overdramatic. What could I have been thinking?" Watson snorted, sarcasm dripping through his question.
Holmes rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently, "I'm going to ignore that, as it's not the problem at hand."
"But she was very polite, very sweet. I find it hard to believe that-"
"No! No, no, no, no!" Holmes shook his head emphatically, "Don't give in Watson, that's what she wants you to think!"
"Honestly. You make me sound like a Fury." Said a voice from the door. Watson turned. Emilia was leaning against the doorway, her expression somewhere between annoyed and amused. The prison dress was gone, replaced by a moderately simple white dress. A turquoise brooch that made her eyes stand out was fixated on a black string that was tied around her neck.
Watson cleared his throat, rather embarrassed, but Holmes simply half-scowled. "Did it occur to you that my door was shut for a reason?" he demanded.
"That did dawn on me, funnily enough. I just chose to ignore it." Emilia retorted. She gave a half smile in Watson's direction, "Good morning, Dr. Watson."
"Good morning…" Watson replied, looking confused.
Emilia turned back to Holmes. "You went through my things, didn't you? My copy of A Tale of Two Cities was an half an inch or so out of place. The dust ring from its earlier position gave you away, Holmes." Funny how she'd so quickly dropped the Mister portion of his name.
"Really?"
"Yes." Emilia's eyes narrowed. "How long do you plan on testing me like this, and invading my personal rooms in the process?"
"Until it bores me." Holmes shrugged indifferently.
She let out a frustrated sigh and sat in the second armchair, crossing her arms. Watson looked between the two. "Do I want to know what happened?"
There was a moment of silence in which the two tenants glanced at each other briefly and scowled before turning away. "Nothing much happened, actually, seeing as I've been stuck in here. I can't legally leave without him coming too, unless it's a state of emergency." Emilia huffed. "And someone won't even take one quick walk to the park and back."
Holmes glared at her. "How many times must I tell you, woman, that I don't feel like venturing out into the world at the present? There's-"
"Absolutely nothing of interest for you out there, at all." Emilia and Watson chorused in monotones, both shooting each other amused glances.
Holmes's eyes narrowed. "If I've said it so many times, you'd think you'd have comprehended it by now."
"Well, the same goes for me telling you not to go through my things!" Emilia countered. "Not even a day after they're sent over here, I find you poking around in them!"
"It was vital that I find out whether you're carrying any weapons that I should know about." Holmes protested defensively.
"You are aware that he enjoys playing the violin at two in the morning?" Emilia turned to Watson, who frowned.
"Painfully so."
"She took my ink pot without asking!" Holmes interrupted before the woman could appeal to Watson's capable memory.
Emilia threw her hands up in exasperation, "I ran out of ink in the middle of a drawing, so I borrowed it!"
"You could have asked!"
"You would have said no!"
"That's not my problem."
"If it's not your problem, then why do you care that I took it in the first place?"
"Because it's the principal of the matter!" Holmes nearly shouted. The two glared at each other.
"Let me get this straight… You two have been fighting over an… ink pot?" Watson stated, raising an eyebrow.
"Over the principal of it!" Holmes repeated angrily, whirling around toward Watson.
"No, we've been arguing because Holmes doesn't care for people to have opinions." Emilia shook her head.
"Only when the person's opinion is wrong." Holmes corrected her, agitation even more prominent in his tone.
"Oh, so it's automatically wrong if it's against yours?" Emilia snorted.
"More than ninety percent of the time, yes!" he shot back.
"That's impossible. Not even you could be right that amount of the time. It's scientifically and mathematically impossible." she scoffed.
"Don't use science against me, you've already expressed your views that your literature is far more important." Holmes glowered at her.
"I never said it was more important! I just said I usually prefer it. Literature is a form of expression, whereas science lacks imagination!" Emilia protested.
"Without science, we would still be roaming around the plains in deerskins, chanting for it to rain!"
Watson tried to break in, his alarm growing as the two people in front of him glared daggers at each other, "Why don't we try to go about this rationally-?"
"Without literature and the like we wouldn't have been able to chant!" Emilia retorted, interrupting Watson.
"I think that they're both important-" Watson tried again.
Holmes turned his glare on his friend, breaking his attempt at peace. "Watson, you're a medical man! Don't belittle your field of expertise! Science is why you've been able to save lives, man! Grow a backbone!" Watson's eyes narrowed, and he was about to tell off Holmes when Emilia jumped in.
"Literature changes and touches lives!"
"Well, science is the study of life!"
"Well, literature-"
"HOLMES, I CAME TO INVITE YOU TO DINNER!" Watson bellowed over their bickering, his annoyance breaking through. The two stopped in mid argument and stared at his outburst. Watson cleared his throat, mildly sheepish. "Well, I did. But unsurprisingly I never got the chance."
"I would love to!" Holmes jumped in quickly, suddenly desperate to get out of the house.
"Mary will be there."
"Quite alright."
"Oh, Miss Hawkins, you're invited too, of course."
Holmes blanched, "Nevermind. I can't. So sorry."
Emilia rolled her eyes and Watson narrowed his. "You've already said yes, so you're going. And Miss Hawkins is coming as well, if she pleases." He looked over at her. "God knows she wants to get out of this house, and frankly, I can't blame her." Holmes sputtered with indignation and Emilia smirked slightly.
"I'd love to have dinner." She nodded, and Holmes groaned.
"Watson, do you really want to expose your future wife to a criminal?" he demanded.
"As far as Mary knows, or anyone else for that matter, Miss Hawkins is Mrs. Hudson's niece by marriage. So there isn't going to be any talk of anything illegal." Watson shrugged. "Plus, she's been exposed to you Holmes. If Mary is in danger of corruption, you're the cause."
Holmes began to protest, but Watson shook his head, "No."
"But I-" he tried again weakly.
"No." Watson stood and shook his head again, grabbing his coat as he did so.
"But she's-" Holmes pointed at Emilia, who tensed up, ready to argue again.
Watson cut him off before another quarrel broke out. "No!"
"Watson, you can't leave me!" Holmes managed, "Do you care nothing for the state of my sanity?" he shouted.
Watson didn't answer as he made his way to the door. "Dinner is at seven at my house. Holmes, Miss Hawkins." With a tip of his hat, Watson shut the door and made his way out of the house, grinning.
Perhaps someone opposing his views would do Holmes some good.
A thought struck him and Watson froze, not even blinking when a carriage wheel flung muddy water on his once-well polished shoes. He had just reached the rather obvious epiphany that he had just invited two intelligent people, one of whom was eccentric to say the least, who hated each other, to dinner. At his home. Where his belongings could be accidentally smashed or used as weapons. Not to mention his poor fiancé was going to have to sit through all of it. HE was going to have to sit through it all. "Oh my Lord…" he muttered. "What on Earth have I done?"
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Emilia let out a frustrated sigh. She was silent for a moment, and Holmes thought she was planning on staying that way. But of course that was wishful thinking, "That newspaper is five days old, you know." She said in what was near to a monotone. Obviously she was making an attempt to be civil.
"Really?" Holmes said dryly in mock surprise. "I hadn't noticed."
She rolled her teal eyes heavenward as if she was looking for divine intervention. When she looked back at him, she sighed again. Probably disappointed he wasn't smited with Hellfire, Holmes mused.
"Look." Emilia turned to him, her face once again unreadable. He mirrored her expression, but added a slight smirk. "I know these past days have been a bit-"
"Like Hell?" Holmes interjected.
Emilia took a deep breath and continued. "Of an adjustment. Obviously you're unused to having anyone other than the Doctor as your roommate. And quite honestly, you're driving me mad."
"I assure you, the feeling's becoming mutual."
Emilia kept going, obviously ignoring him, "I'm grateful for what you've done for me, Holmes, but I'm not gifted with the nearly endless supply of patience Dr. Watson is undoubtedly blessed with. But I need this to work for obvious reasons."
"So what exactly are you proposing?" Holmes looked over at her. She had her legs crossed and her elbow was propped up on her knee, her head resting on that arm's hand. A smudge of ink streaked across her cheekbone from where she'd accidentally smudged it- probably while drawing. He'd seen her sketchbooks when he'd investigated her room earlier. Despite her easy composure her eyes were still calculating as she watched him. He wondered if others felt this uncomfortable when he studied them.
"I'm not quite sure." Emilia muttered. "This would all be so much easier if you weren't so… stubborn."
"Me?" Holmes raised an eyebrow, frowning. "I'm stubborn?"
"If you must know, then yes. Take right now, for instance. You were hostile the moment I walked in the room because you'd already decided that we were going to fight. Heaven forbid you change that decision when I try to be somewhat polite and try to work this out."
"Is that what you're trying to do?"
"I'm obviously not succeeding."
"Obviously."
Emilia glared at him, and he glared back, their gazes locking. The noticeable tension in the room increased, "What I'm trying to say," Emilia finally continued, not breaking eye contact with Holmes, "Is that I will be civil at dinner if you are."
Holmes paused to think it over before nodding, "I suppose that will work."
"Good. Something we seem to agree on." The corners of her mouth twitched upward and she stood, sweeping out of his room.
Holmes watched her leave, shaking his head as he did so. He suddenly froze, staring hard at the room around him. Something was out of place. Something was wrong. "… BLAST IT, HAWKINS!" he suddenly shouted, "WOMAN, WHERE DID YOU PUT MY BLOODY INKPOT?
-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-Watson was seriously contemplating packing up his bags, grabbing Mary, and sprinting off to the station to board a train that would take them far out of London, far from England, and as far from his dinner guests as humanly possible.
That or possibly suicide. It would probably be less painful.
Mary had already arrived at their soon to be home, and she seemed perfectly calm. Actually, for some reason Watson couldn't fathom, she found the whole situation amusing.
"Dear, do sit down. You're going to wear the rug down to thread where you've been pacing." His fiancé informed him, glancing up from one of her well-loved detective novels.
Watson made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, continuing to walk across the same area repeatedly. "I suppose the seriousness of this situation hasn't dawned upon you yet?" he asked, running his fingers over his moustache in an anxious manner. "Holmes will be here any minute, unless he and Miss Hawkins have killed each other in the amount of time that has elapsed since I left them." Watson paused. "But I suppose that's too optimistic a hope."
Mary laughed lightly. "I think you're exaggerating. Two people can't hate each other so soon after they meet each other. Especially if they have as much in common as you say they do."
Watson waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. They're both exceptionally brilliant. But I do believe that that makes Holmes both excited and threatened. And so in his usually warped way of conveying emotions, he's acted in a manner so that the poor woman practically hates him."
"Practically?" she asked, turning a page as she read.
"Well, she's very hard to read. I can't exactly be sure if she's actually feeling how she's acting or not." Watson muttered, "Which is driving Holmes mad." Mary cast him a wry glance, so he corrected himself. "Madder."
"Well, I'm sure Holmes will adjust soon enough." Mary shrugged delicately, and ignored her fiancé's snort of disbelief. There was a light knock on the door, and Watson jumped.
"Dear God in heaven, they're here. Are you sure you object to relocating to Bermuda?" Watson asked hurriedly, and Mary rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"Answer the door, John."
Watson slowly walked to the door and took a deep breath before bravely opening it. A short little old woman, rather stout, beamed up at him with what were probably dentures. "Hello?" Watson asked questioningly, hoping it wasn't Holmes in disguise. But the detective would have to have shrunk two feet, and that seemed unlikely.
"You ordered some flowers?" the old woman asked, smiling up at him.
"Did I?" he asked in a bewildered voice. He looked over his shoulder at Mary, who shrugged and came up behind him.
A smile spread across her face. "Oh, these are quite lovely." She gently took the bouquet from the woman and studied them. Pale gray flowers with an assortment of other colors thrown in, making it look like a pastel rainbow. Contrasting the rest of the bouquet, a single black rose sat on top of the others. "They'll be perfect for the table tonight." She smiled up at them. "Thank you, dear."
"I didn't order flowers." Watson frowned, looking over at the lady. But if Mary liked them so much… He reached into his coat pocket to pay for the flowers, but the old woman shook her head.
"No money is needed, Sir. They've been paid in full." She told him, before muttering her thanks for their business and hobbling off.
Mary found a vase in one of the boxes that were tucked neatly away and filled it with water before setting it down on the table cloth and arranging the flowers in it. "Perhaps it was Holmes who sent them."
"Why on earth would Holmes buy me flowers? For that matter, why on earth would Holmes buy flowers period? He's allergic to all things that can be used as a sentimental gesture." Watson snorted. "I should have known it wasn't Holmes. Since when has he knocked?"
Both turned from the flowers as a sharp rapping on the door, before it suddenly flew open. Holmes stood in the doorway, smirking slightly. "I knocked." He beamed, and Watson suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. But at least he'd changed- thank the heavens- and into something nice, no less. Emilia was wearing the same clothes that she'd been wearing earlier that day, and she offered them a friendly smile, though he noticed the two were both regarding the new room around them. Probably memorizing it or something odd like that.
"I noticed." Watson half-smiled. "Mary, this is Miss Hawkins. Miss Hawkins, my fiancée Mary."
"Hello." Emilia smiled at the other women, and Mary grinned back.
"It's so nice to finally meet you, Miss Hawkins." Mary said politely. "How are you related to Mrs. Hudson, again?"
"I'm her niece by marriage." Emilia replied smoothly, and if Watson hadn't known better he would have thought it was beyond a doubt true. "And please," she added, "call me Emilia. You too, Dr. Watson." Holmes didn't try to hide his obvious eye roll.
"Then you must call me Mary." Mary smiled, "And I must say, I adore your dress."
Emilia grinned, though inwardly she was trying not to wince. Girl talk. How long ago was the last time she'd done that? Searching her memory, she could only come up with the last time she'd spoken to Ann- no. She refused to dwell on that, especially not now. "Thank you. I love yours as well. Blue's one of my favorite colors."
"And yet you often choose to wear white, absent of all color. Why?" Holmes interjected from behind her.
Emilia didn't turn around and continued to speak to Mary. "He went through my things." She explained, and Mary tsked with a small smile.
"Might we all go to the sitting room until dinner?" Watson suggested, since Holmes looked peeved at being ignored. As they all turned, Watson noticed Holes looking intently at Mary's stomach.
"My dear Mary," Holmes began. "Have you been feeling any bouts of nausea, mood swings, or strange cravings for odd foods?"
"Holmes." Watson growled warningly, before hissing so Mary couldn't hear, "She is not with child!"
Holmes held up his hands in mock surrender, trying not to laugh, "I was simply making sure."
Watson rolled his eyes and continued to quickly usher them onto the couch, strategically trying to sit the Emilia and Holmes away from each other. It ended up that the two women sat down on the couch with Holmes in the armchair nearby, while Watson hovered, too nervous to sit.
There was a slight moment of awkwardness before Mary began chatting to Emilia about the usual conversational topics: how she liked London thus far, the weather, upcoming social events-
"Oh, I'm usually not one for extremely public events." Emilia shook her head, a wave of red escaping her bun to curl slightly against her chin. "Sometimes it's too much to take in." Watson shot a glance at Holmes, who, for reasons known only to himself, was focusing intently on his shoe.
"Too much to notice." Holmes muttered, his tone agreeing. All three of them stared at him for a moment.
"Did you just agree with me?" Emilia blinked at him.
"Well, I've found that only three fourths of what you say is actually rubbish. The other fourth occasionally makes sense." Holmes looked back up at her, and her eyes narrowed.
"Ha ha!" Watson broke in with a false laugh, clapping down on Holmes's shoulder, hard. "Holmes, you joker. That was an excellent one, old chap."
Holmes turned his head, scowling up at him, "But I was being entirely seri-"
"I do believe dinner is done!" Watson burst out, hitting Holmes's shoulder again with more force. "Shall we?"
Holmes rubbed his now-bruised shoulder and stood, glaring at Emilia as they all walked into the other room. Not helping Watson's nerves, he walked next to her, and she turned to look up at him. "If this is your idea of civil, I'd hate to see you embrace savagery." She hissed, obviously furious.
"Already have, practically." Holmes let a smirk slip out. "Besides, you started it."
"Me?"
" 'Please call me Emilia, Mary. You too, Dr. Watson.'" Holmes mimicked, his voice rising to a whiny falsetto.
"And what's the matter with that?" Emilia whispered back, rolling her eyes.
"You pointedly left me out of that. And then you ignored me."
"Because you asked a personal question!"
"Oh, yes. Heaven forbid you actually reveal something about yourself." Holmes muttered dryly.
"You're insufferable." Emilia whispered at him, glad that they were taking seats now, and that gave her an excuse to end their conversation.
Watson was nearing his state of panic again. Perhaps he was to house a permanent stay there for the rest of his life. Strategically, he was stumped. How in the name of Queen Victoria was he supposed to arrange them at the table?
One thing that was certain, Mary was not sitting next to Holmes. His fiancé had already reached dangerous levels of exposure to the detective. Being a medical man, Watson knew that the disease Holmes had- namely insanity- was not in fact contagious. But he had learned never to doubt Holmes's ability to defy normality, and he was not willing to risk Mary.
So, with the air of a martyr, he plopped himself down next to Holmes, who'd already lounged on one of the chairs, absentmindedly regarding Emilia, who'd taken the seat next to Mary- directly across Holmes. Not that this was incredibly ideal, but unless Watson wanted to have them sitting on opposite ends of the room, this was as good as it was going to get.
"Watson, please confirm that we won't be ushered into another room in the next five minutes. I'm beginning to feel like a migrating salmon." Holmes stared pointedly at him, and Watson scoffed quietly.
"Nonsense. Fish like water. God alone knows the last time you bathed." Watson muttered back, smirking as Holmes frowned at him.
A maid gingerly sat down a bowl in front of each of them, before ladling some steaming soup into each. Holmes scooped some up with his spoon, sniffed it, and then with a nod he delicately took a rather dainty sip. He nodded again and focused his attention on the soup. "I do enjoy a good cream of mushroom."
"As do I." Watson nodded, picking up his spoon as well.
Holmes looked back up at Emilia. "So… I do believe you never provided the answer to that color question."
Emilia dropped her spoon, all pretenses of peace fading from her mind. Yes, she was in a tight position, but she blatantly refused to put up with this man silently. "Why are you so insistent?" she demanded, glowering at him.
"Why are you so secretive?" Holmes shot back.
Emilia ignored the question. "You're stubborn because you're used to things going your way. You were a well off child with both parents, and you were usually given what you needed. But you couldn't stand the rules a child of society must go through, could you? Because you don't like being told what to do!"
"You're probably an orphan, judging by how detached you are from family. You never mention them." Holmes retorted, looking ruffled that she'd found something on him. "How many years did it take to get away from the orphanage?"
"Two." She snapped, glaring at him. "You didn't make many friends did you? People rarely like a person who outshines them, especially if they aren't apologetic about it."
"Funny thing for you to say, isn't it?" Holmes glared at her. "Considering that you're quite obviously one of a loner persona. That, and you didn't receive any visitors when you were on dea-" Holmes suddenly broke off, glancing at Mary, who'd quickly lost the gist of the argument and was looking extremely confused. "Deportation in America!" he quickly amended, saying the first thing that popped into his head.
"Banishment in America?" she hissed, low enough for his ears only. Holmes merely shrugged in response.
Watson, seeing a break in the deduction war, suddenly spoke. "Would you two kindly quit? Honestly, you're behaving like a bunch of school children."
"Hawkins started it." Holmes muttered, and Emilia stuck out her tongue at him, forgetting herself.
"I did not!" she grumbled back.
"If you had just answered in the entryway, this never would have happened! So, obviously you were the one who started all of this!"
"What? That's absurd! Knowing you, we'd still be arguing about something else anyway! So you started it!"
"I DON'T CARE WHO STARTED IT!" Watson yelled over them, "I'M FINISHING IT!" There was a moment of shocked silence before someone spoke.
"My Lord, John. You sounded frighteningly akin to your mother right then." Mary put in, sipping her soup calmly, having decided to stop trying to follow the conversation
"Terribly pushy person, isn't she?" Holmes commented to Mary, his tone much calmer, even though he and Emilia were still glaring at each other.
"We are not discussing my mother!" Watson nearly shouted, banging his fist down on the table and upsetting his soup.
A sudden scream pierced the air, and everyone fell silent. The air was suddenly thick with tension, and the whole table turned their heads toward the doors to the kitchen, where the scream had come from.
"Abigail?" Mary called out quietly, addressing the cook but not leaving her seat. Her knuckles clenched the armrest, turning white. "Abigail, whatever is the matter?"
The cook burst into the room, shaking. Her face was as white as the floor that coated her apron, and her eyes wider than the saucepans in her kitchen. Her voice shook when she spoke, and her words were fragmented, as if she was struggling to speak. "'S… a man… in the alleyway…" her eyes widened even more, and the words tumbled out of her mouth, "He.. I tink he's dead, ma'am! Blood 'n cuts 'n the like all o'er him, there is. Twas Milly who screamed, ma'am, she found 'im when she was puttin out the peelins."
A stunned moment of silence fell over the group once more, and Emilia glanced back at Holmes, who's expression was critical, a mask of calm and thought. Watson looked grim and thoroughly shocked, but it was Mary who was having the hardest time handling the news. Her pale hands flew up to her mouth and she let out a little gasp of surprise. "John?" she barely whispered, and her fiancé stood and began to make his way toward the kitchen.
"Mary, stay here. Miss Hawkins… I suppose you'll follow whether I think this is an appropriate sight for a woman or not. Holmes…?"
Holmes stood as well and walked after his friend, Emilia immediately rising too and brushing past him, to his annoyance. Watson marched through the kitchen and to the back exit, shooting a sympathetic glance at a young woman sobbing in the corner. Milly, the scullery maid, and the unfortunate finder of the body, was shaking in hysterics. The rest of the staff was unsuccessfully trying to calm her.
With grim hesitance, Watson slowly eased the back door open, cringing as he saw what had affected the young woman in such away.
((A/N: So, yeah. The following belongs to part of the reason for the T rating. Because of sort of nasty dead people. I promise it's not too bad. But if you're the very faint of heart or stomach, I suggest you skip the next paragraph or so and insert the new space left with: 'There was a very nastily murdered dead man on the porch.' Or, 'PUPPIES PUPPIES PUPPIES PUPPIES!' Whichever's better for you. That is all.))
Emilia stiffened, her hand going to her mouth, hardly believing this mutilated creature was once a human being. Blood pooled from various cuts streaked haphazardly across its body, leaving deep gashes where severed muscles dangled uselessly out to meet newly decaying flesh. The crimson liquid had pooled along the floor of the alleyway, shimmering in the lamplight and reflecting the three's shocked faces back at them.
The cuts were jagged, leaving the edges of the wounds ragged and frayed. Two parallel cuts went up the side of the poor man's neck, and the blood from his mouth met the red streaks somewhere near his ear. The man's waistcoat was drenched in blood, suggesting that there was damage underneath that laid unseen. In the waistcoat's pocket laid a single black rose, its petals sheening with blood.
But it was his eyes that unnerved her. They were glassy and bright blue, gazing sightlessly over her shoulder even as his ratty blond-red hair covered them, matted and streaked with still more blood.
((A/N: Okay, nasty's over. It wasn't that bad, was it? . . . PUPPIES PUPPIES PUPPIES! ^.^))
"Dear God…" Watson muttered, closing his eyes.
Holmes looked away and inhaled sharply, blinking a few times before reluctantly returning his gaze back to the body. "Dear God, indeed."
Watson finally opened his eyes. "The face is oddly unscathed…" he commented.
"Which suggests that the murder was impersonal." Emilia put in, her voice holding a faint tremor. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms to keep her hands from shaking. "The cuts don't suggest it was a cult kill either. It's not precise. It's… vicious, not methodical."
"And how did you come to know so much about crime scenes?" Holmes asked, looking up at her. She was paler than normal, her skin nearly white against her flame of red hair.
"A friend of mine tried to reform me half a decade back." Emilia shrugged. "I worked with the police for a bit."
"But…?"
"Too boring."
"Ah. …Do you know this man, Watson?" Holmes asked, glancing over at the doctor, who had cautiously stooped closer to the body for a better inspection.
"No… I don't believe I do…" Watson shook his head. His head shot up at a new gasp sounded from the doorway. A look of obvious recognition crossed Mary's face as she took in the body, having come to investigate despite Watson's warning.
Watson quickly grabbed her before she hit the sidewalk as she fainted.
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So, Chapter Two! Review, Dear Readers! It makes my day. Please, no flames, because I still don't have enough confidence to deal with that. Constructive, polite criticism is always appreciated, and so are all other comments. Oh, and the boys were particularly good today, so I've agreed to let them help me with my author's notes. Say hello boys! Holmes: What on Earth is this contraption? Moving pictures and an interactive notebook that stores information on a broad range of subjects? Woman, why did you not inform me of this feat of pure genius technology? Watson: Do quiet, Holmes! I'm trying to watch House! The little boy is plagued with a mysterious disease causing his liver to- Holmes: Might I be permitted to take apart this contraption, and- wait! What time is it? Me: Seven. Holmes: CRIMINAL MINDS IS ON! MOVE OVER, WATSON! MOVE OVER! THE PICTURE BOX MUST TELL ME OF ANOTHER GRUESOME MYSTERY! MOOOOVE! I'M GOING TO MISS THE CATCHY INTRODUCTORY MUSIC! Watson: NO! THE LITTLE BOY'S LIVER IS IN A STATE OF DISREPAIR AND HOUSE MIGHT BEGIN TO COURT DOCTOR CUDDY! *the two begin wrestling for the remote* Me: *sigh* You two aren't very good at this… … I'll go get the first aid kit… Review, please? ~Chloe Knightsahde P.S.: I abhor cream of mushroom soup. Actually, I rather detest all mushroom type foods. But it was the first soup to randomly pop into my head, so viola! Tada! Cream of mushroom soup! Yes, this is entirely irrelevant! …Review!