Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind
A/N:I don't honestly know how well this turned out. I went with my instinct and the characters took over from there. It isn't my usual fandom to write for and I'm trying it on for size. I though am an avid fan of Sherlock Holmes and plan to dabble in this area a little more if my imagination allows it. I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading.
Chapter 2: Revelations
If he is as brilliant as my time believed I couldn't hide for much longer and still had to find my belonging from my own time period in my assorted mess before he did. This just made my day-my sarcasm was not helping the situation at all. Having gathered the majority of things I needed I pause regarding his interested look before offering to do something if he needed it. He declined, however I don't think it will be that way forever, I knew something in the future would make me regret at all aiding him but then again my conscience usually did rule over any common sense I had-or was it my heart?
My trip into town took much longer than I expect. For the worst part of the trip I succeeded in finding my marked pathway blocked by recently fallen snow, small avalanches and other travels that seemed particularly interested in a woman on her own out in the snowy wilds. I had learned to deal with them in varying ways, not short of actually stabbing one in the arm for getting to wise. Most kept clear, I had created a reputation of being crazy and living out there made me dangerous. I valued that small bit knowing that in other cultures it would land me in a jail or worse.
"Morning Izzie." I cringe at the heavily accented voice once I do manage to get to the paths that led into the small village. "What you bring for trade today?" I look to the small shack off to the right of the small grouping of huts and trade stands waving to the elder widow that had guided me through my weeks of confusion.
The best way to describe her was round, not because she was heavy but because the layers she wore gave her the appearance of a bear in the winter. She had long gray hair and eyes that had a warmth that was hard to dislike, an open heart and way to make anyone feel safe despite whatever place they were from.
She still didn't know my ideal aspects of getting to where I am today, however she still helped and knew that I was of no threat to anyone. I walk to her and find myself pulled into a crushing hug-I wasn't a highly touchy feely person-she could have cared less and talked softly in a pleased accent before pulling back. I began to show her my various parcels and was greeted by those that had come to collect their mended clothing. I traded for foods, more materials to keep warm and some odds and ends for my current residential detective though I didn't know precisely why I cared.
"Now why did you not tell me you found a man?" I feel discomfort before forcing a smile seeing her dark eyes narrow and a warning frown crease her lips.
"I'm sorry Lilliana." I gently touch the heavy gray material of her mitten and make her look up at me. "He isn't my man, I am just helping him much like you did me." She seemed to brighten and look over me with a forgiving sort of look about her. "I also need some pain meds for treatment of said man. He's got a few bruises and is very grouchy." She laughs softly patting my cheek, I smile though the warmth of her gloves only remind me of how cold it is.
It doesn't take long for her to aid me in gathering the pain caring meds that I need for Sherlock. I also find myself with a few more supplies than I had expected courtesy of Lilliana and her need to protect those she had taken under her wing. I begin my long walk back to the cave, I don't fail to notice that it is getting gloomy meaning that I'm behind schedule and I can already gather that Sherlock Holms will be very petulant when I manage to get back.
I finally manage to get down to the river a ways away from my cave and walk. Someplace in my subconscious I guess I am looking for that other man that had the same nasty fall, however in his case I don't think he was half as brilliant at surviving it. I keep to the edge identifying nothing out of the ordinary and pause kneeling down where I had rescued Holmes the previous night. I seen several tracks and it was clear there had been people about but they were far away from my refuge near the falls. I could only guess that it may have been Watson and the search parties, it was odd that they didn't look closer to the falls. I stood there for a while and realized that they wouldn't due to the rushing water, they would choose to look downstream and wouldn't pay mind to any activity around here. If they even knew I was in this area they would have probably come looking for me to see if I had found anything.
I scoff at the answers I would give, I knew from my time that Holmes wouldn't wished to be found yet, he would rather wait until he was positive that Moriarty had in fact perished for his friends sake and wellbeing. Kicking the snow near the waters edge I scuffed up the retrieval area to be sure of that and continued on my way to the cave.
Walking inside I jerk to a halt seeing the initial area has been obviously moved about though it looked like there had been care to make it look undisturbed. I put a finger to the bridge of my nose already knowing the answer to the invasion. Clearly even lack of answer would cause Sherlock to do as good of an investigation as his body would allow. Shaking my head I walk into the cave and put the supplies against the far wall. Turning I look around the cave before seeing that Holmes is propped up against the wall and looking sulky at best.
I wonder if I should say anything and am stopped with the strangely irritable look aimed my direction. I wait for it but nothing comes, he is clearly going to give me the silent treatment-in all honesty I think I prefer that. I begin to unpack the supplies tucking them into their assorted placed before laying out the trousers, jacket and things I had gotten for the crabby looking detective.
"I'm sorry I was gone so long Sherlock, the whether created a few issues between here and the village." I see the irritable look fade from his features and raise a brow curious to why this is. "I have some things for you, it should help your ribs." I add sifting through the small bag I had on my shoulder and gathering the pain packets for the tea like I had been instructed. "Should be ready shortly." I add as an after thought.
Sherlock's POV
He had spent so much time looking for things to condemn her in some fashion that he had lost track of time. He had gotten sloppy by his standards but Isabella had not seemed to notice, which either meant she wasn't overly concerned with what he may find or he hadn't been looking hard enough. He had succeeded in finding only evidence that she had been in the area for at most two to three months. She had befriended someone from one of the smaller villages and had learned survival trades. He had to wonder though why she would have to learn the most simplistic of trades that women were known to have knowledge in.
He had found notes on how to sew, mend and even other oddities on how to trade and barter that seemed common knowledge to those in the area. He come to the conclusion that she wasn't from the area, she had no accent to define where she had come from and he was fairly certain that she could be from any part of the world. Though he was leaning more toward the america's, though even most of them had some hints of a different dialect than she had.
Isabella was a common name, nothing odd about that or her last name. In fact she seemed completely in place and yet she was more like a puzzle piece that had been forced in a space that it didn't fit. He had searched only part of the cave, his current injuries giving him very little leeway. He chose to watch her to try and find signs to lead him to more clues.
Standing she easily maneuver around the mess at her feet and handed him the presumably medicated tea. "Sherlock," she caught his eye, her blue gaze almost stormy despite the soft color. "I would appreciate it if you asked your questions instead of throwing the cave into disarray." She indicated the few things he had left out of place, he found himself taken back that she would notice them so easily.
Original POV
I see him stare at me clearly bemused and then note his dark eyes narrow before accepting the tea. "Every question I have asked to you Isabella has been a lead to only answers you particular wish to share. In fact no real answers have been given to any question I have asked you other then how I got here and who you are. I very much am curious to what you are hiding?"
She found her smile fade slightly knowing that he wouldn't like the answers. She didn't like the answers and didn't feel like convincing him that she wasn't insane. She chose to instead veer this confrontation another direction. She told him of the footprints and obvious searches for him that were further downstream. After revealing this saw that he was contemplative and went off into a stony silence clearly meaning he wasn't in a talkative mood anymore.
Understanding the silence better than I felt he did I began to sort out my sanctuary. Carefully seeking those telltale items I wasn't sure I wanted him to find. It wasn't the most idealistic of concepts to discuss, mostly I had no answers from this point on because as far as I knew 'A Game of Shadows' had been the last movie about this version of Sherlock Holmes. Upon folding blankets and other warm clothing to put in the corner where things were kept dry I paused-in the end of the move something happened-at least that is what my mind had convinced me of. I thought as I worked finally managing to regurgitate the information out of my own dilemmas that had haunted me for a while. At one point Holmes would reveal to John he survived, a package would arrive for him while he was typing of their last great adventure. I rubbed my temples picturing the end of the movie in my mind and sighed before continuing my routine pausing when I heard a muttered curse.
Turning I see Sherlock has managed to get to a crawling sort of position and is once again on the move. "You're only making your healing time take longer Sherlock and I don't believe you wish to be stuck in my small home for longer than you deem necessary." He paused holding his ribs before looing sideway seeing I was again doing tasks he found mundane.
"I need to go out there and investigate before the snow ruins evidence." I know what he means, he wants to make sure that he was the only one pulled from the river alive. "I don't have time to heal and listen to another nanny." I sneer at that reference before biting my tongue, he wasn't emotional but in fact was blunt to a point it would probably be easy to gather that was how he dealt with emotions of any kind.
Sometimes harsh and too bluntly to any point. I stand grabbing the heavy coat that I had traded for and my own before dropping it over his crawling form. I smile at the muffled curses before watching him manage to pull it around himself. I lean down offering him help, he clearly doesn't find it likable in any fashion but he has little choice if he wishes to solve his own internal battles.
"I don't think I much like you Sherlock," I feel him lean on my shoulder despite being uncomfortable with my presence and note that this may be a longer afternoon than I thought, especially with the failing light.
He said nothing resigned to ignore me. It suited me just fine, I found that he was remarkably unfeeling even though I knew it was his way of keeping distance among people. He had gotten close to Watson and it almost ended fatally, unfortunately I knew that it did end lethally for Irene Alder and wasn't a fool to think he would give up until he was sure Moriarty was dead.
Two hours of dragging him around countless drag marks and areas near the river I was far from pleasant. I personally am verging close to homicidal when I see him grip his ribs wincing. He's overdoing it but I doubt reason will convince him of anything else. He stops forcing me to do so and looks down where I had dragged him the previous night. He seems to muse over this particular area-I wonder if he remembers what happened- just as it seemed he may have he is again starting to move.
I want to say 'he's dead' but that would imply more than I wish to share with Sherlock. I let him lead the way-although at this time I feel oddly like a walking aid more than a person. To my relief he seems satisfied and then begins back the way we had come. I am grateful to see the cave opening in front of us before he uses the wall to aid his return to the floor, clearly he seems to think that I've become unable to continue to aid him.
I duck into the cave glancing behind me wondering if somehow Moriarty would have survived. I shake the idea from my mind before going inside finding that the fire being unattended would need some stirring before I cook anything. I let him be, he is clearly elsewhere most likely deep in thought, perhaps the misadventure of the past. I don't think on it as I do my own thing.
I find myself for the next few weeks sticking to this routine of caring for Sherlock's wounds, doing my usual trades and talking to Lilliana in town. The continued search for his former adversary has stopped much to my relief, he now though goes off on his own without ever telling me what he's doing and I find it only mildly worrying when I begin to piece together that soon he will be returning to Baker Street and hopefully letting Watson know he's survived.
I admittedly hadn't paid a hwole lot of attention to Sherlock since it seemed we only ended conversation with cynical retorts or unkind words. I admit I had gotten used to him being around which I knew wasn't wise. I was in this time long before meeting him and had no use to further my misery by putting up with him any longer than I had to. Today though smething was wrong, he had been completely silent the past three days and had said nothing at all except for the occasional pleasantries. Those had become increasingly annoying because it was easier to share insults.
Why did I get the feeling I was about to be ambushed? Hearing him enter the cave I saw that he was walking fine on his own now, however he still had some pain from his healing ribs and often took his time bending down and doing things too quickly.
I sip at the warm tea in my cup watching him retrieve some of his own. Those dark eyes are dark and appear to have endless knowledge-an unnerving trait that I found no longer fascinated me about Sherlock. I look to the fire tracing interesting shapes among the flames aware of his presence and the sensation of being watched, much too intently for my liking.
Sherlock's POV
The weeks had given him a lot of insight to Isabella, most of which did not fit the ideals of any female in his time or any other culture he had the knowledge of. They were perceived as frail, dressy figures for arms or most often as the ones to keep the household, raise children and make their husband happy. They didn't stand up to them, they didn't fight with them and most of all they didn't swear like a sailor. He had found many things unfitting to a lady in Isabella, it had vexed him for a while until he chose to search the cave on last time.
He had spent the past three days going over the information he had found. Reading the books in the tote and had concluded that she in fact didn't fit. She didn't even belong in this century. He had no idea how she got there, he was certain she didn't and he was now wondering just how much she may know about him. The books were intriguing for the most part, though a little odd for their time period and the publishing dates alone had him staring for the longest time in disbelief.
He had studied her art journals, examining her drawing tools and going through the many things she had found interesting to draw. One in particular caught his interest, a half finished one that had a tittle called 'game of shadows' printed across the top. It bore a remarkable likeness of himself and Watson but the details were not quite clear.
"A game of shadows?" Sherlock watched her reaction absorbed in how she took the question and smirked almost smugly.
Original POV
The staring at me was getting to me. I didn't know why but for some reason I had the impression that Sherlock Holmes wasn't going to make these past few weeks any less frustrating than he had already. He was evidently amused, clearly he had been absorbed in something for the past three days, so why did I feel like the next victim in a trap?
"A game of Shadows?"
I had coached myself to not react to any sort of future information he may find, too bad I didn't try harder. I stifled a startled sound before jerking when I successfully dropped my tea all over myself and quickly stood shaking the hot liquid off my clothes. I was so focused on myself I failed to see Sherlock stand slowly leaning against the cave a triumphant all knowing look present on his face.
Ignoring the fact that he's still staring at me I lift up my shirt tossing it aside before grabbing another and then wrapping a blanket around myself. Clearly he wasn't affected by my action which implied he had found those items I had tried in vain to keep from the famed detective. Sinking to the floor I tucked my knees under my chin refusing to say a word. Just because we had been stuck together for several weeks did not mean I wanted to just spill my guts to him. I didn't even much like him due to getting to know he was worse in person.
I heard him move around the cave and was aware of him slowly sitting beside me. I chose to keep my eyes transfixed on the fire and avoided his gaze. "I expected less of a reaction since you clearly know more about me than I would have gathered. Your books and drawings are intriguing enough though not as fascinating as that picture with that particular title." He clearly knew that I didn't belong here-why wasn't he freaking out?
"It in your case is useless to claim something without proof. I doubted that it would be enough." I lied wondering if I should have burned that stuff when I first arrived instead of vainly trying to maintain some sort of myself.
"There is plenty of proof there Isabella. How much do you know of why I ended up at the bottom of the falls?" She cringed trying to hide it and knew it didn't get past his keen senses.
"All of it."
"You knew who I was searching for?"
"Unfortunately, I also know that the search parties were most likely Watson's doing." He seemed to distract himself for a minute with that before again showing interest toward me.
"Is he dead?"
"I don't know, the story in my time revealed you were alive but the question of Moriarty wasn't answered." He mulled that over before seeming to convince himself that he was the victor despite what I said. "Are you going to let John know you're alive?"
"In good time." He looked into the fire while I chose to turn and study him, his jaw was clenched and he looked angry but seemed to hide it particularly well.
He was the meaning of stoic in every sense of the word. I placed my chin on my knees again looking into the flames. I didn't know how long the silence lasted before I was greeted with a package in front of my face and Sherlock standing holding my trade supplies for the town in his hand.
"What are you doing?"
"Delivering a package and I need you to lead the way." I look between him and a small familiar looking parcel guessing he was heading back to reveal to Watson he was alive.
I found it reassuring and upsetting. The reassuring part would be he would let his best friend know he survived and that he could go back to being the famed detective everyone sought out for the oddest of case. The sad part I had gotten used to him being around, I realized I would be living in the cave alone again and found myself wondering if Lilliana would mind a companion in the village.
I listened to him complain as we walked to the small village. He seemed more unpleasant than usual and much to my lack of patience there was a few times where I considered shoving him into a snow drift and leaving him. He may have healed but he still had some seinsitivety around his ribs and I would have the autadicty to feel guilty for hurting him again.
The sound of snow moving made me pause. I feel Sherlock collide into my back and curse before pushing him back watching huge chunks of snow flow on down the mountain before leaving a freshly powdered path before us. Small avalanches like this were common, I had learned ot navigate them after finding them less than easy to dig out of. It didn't help that my supposed genius companion wasn't observant when he was more interested in asking questions of what I knew instead of questions about future technological advances. Not what I expected when he found out that I wasn't form his time.
Though expectations were not always met-I was finding this out much more acutely than I would have perfered. I began to wonder how Watson could deal with him and his quirks, not to mention how mrs. Hudson had any patience what so ever for him. Sherlock as I come to observe was more needing of someone to keep him reigned in than any human I had met. I now had a full understanding of why he didn't want Watson to get married and leave him to himself-he was verging quite frankly on self destructive with the good doctor, without him he might succeed.
I began again now watching for the signs of more possible intruptions in the task of getting to the village for his sake. I also wondered exactly how saying goodbye to someone you learned to loathe would be hard. Ignoring the thoughts running freely in my mind, I continued my way to the village finally beginning to consider his complaints and questions background noise. Just before we got to the village I stop seeing other hikers passing by and ignore the curious looks from those that thought me a recluse-rather some weird batty lady that hid in the hills with no inclination of how to meet a man let alone be walking with one.
"You're not popular are you?" I hear him but choose to avoid an answer.
Instead I stop short of the steep incline that would lead to the village paths and looked around below. The usual trade route was occupied with plenty of activity and sleighs, mostly I could see little sign of familiar faces. The lack of Lillian's trade stand worried me. Lilliana had been the first person I saw when I managed to get some sense of what I had to do. I wasn't helpless because of the time I had come from, but I had to do things to keep surviving and she had been the rock to anchor me. Scanning the traders and faces below I chew my lip wondering-where in the hell is she? It isn't like her to miss the big trade day. I am aware of movement beside me before the complaining of Sherlock ceases and he looks around taking in the images below.
"Is there a postal service?" he inquired completely oblivious to my anxiety and unease.
Looking sideways seeing him standing there I am remind of one of the reason I don't much like him and then the reasons where I had grown to depend on his company. Shaking my head ignoring his question I start down the steep slope heading for Lilliana's home. I pass by traders stands, faces that recognize me from making trades and am aware of Sherlock coming up fast calling out for me to stop. I continue on my way, it isn't like he can't ask for the postal service from someone else, right now I'm worried about Lilliana.
I come up short feeling Sherlock smack into me when I see the local doctor outside Lilliana's old rundown shack. I had learned much inside those rough looking wooden walls and had helped her repair the spots in the roof and porch that had grown weak over time. She never asked how I knew the trade and had been very glad to help me learn a few survival tips for the time period I had been dumped into. There is no reason or rhym to my thoughts other then why is the doctor at her house and looking so grim?
I stop short when Lilliana's great niece exits the house and meets my gaze. Much like her warm aunt she had become a friend; her dark eyes that were always full of laughter seemed to be drained of joy now. Her dark hair stuck to her face as she tried to recover and focus on my confusion. Slowly she thanked the doctor for his help and asked him to contact the individuals she would need to see to Lilliana.
My heart sank like a stone dropped into a river, I knew the behavior and realized much to my sadness that Lilliana was no longer part of us. She had moved on to what she deemed the heaveny paradise. Her niece Dahlia stepped away from the small grouping of men around her and came over to me. She much like her aunt had no need for space and hugged me tightly. Relfexively I put a hand around her feeling her sobbing and could feel warmth sliding down my own face.
"Izzie," she rasped softly seeking comfort-a thing hard for me to give due to the lack of feeling I seemed to develop when someone passed away. I felt utterly miserable and could feel nothing but sorrow and a sense of fear.
Clearly Dahlia is seeking the comfort that I'm not sure I'm capable of. I liked Lillianna and had a soft spot for her. I wasn't good with people passing away and had managed to find myself totally and utterly lost.
"I'm sorry Day." A nickname I had used often getting to know the girl during my task of survival learning. "Dahlia…are you alright?" she sniffled a bit before smiling warmly, she obviously wasn't a fool to think I was comfortable despite her grief.
"Yes, she is better now. She as you know has been ill." I didn't know and stood there shocked, Lillianna had never told me. "You did not know?"
"She didn't tell me."
"Can someone please direct me to a postal service operator of some kind?" I had almost forgotten about Sherlock, I turn pointedly glaring at him and smack his arm despite his lack of tact I expected nothing less.
"Excuse him." I ignore him and purposefully give him an icy warning glare before directing Dahlia into the hut where I see Lillianna is covered and peacefully awaiting her final rest. "I will miss her a lot Dahlia, she was the best friend I could have hoped for when things seemed bleak." I see Sherlock looking around the room, his eyes moving in a familiar fashion of taking in every detail including ones that were overlooked.
I didn't need to be a genius to understand his insane methods. Dahlia talked with me for a little bit giving me some odds and ends that Lillianna had made for me and some small letters she had been keeping aside for me in case she didn't get to share all she wished to. The more Dahlia spoke with me I began to realize this was all too neatly put together for someone that was ill and still had a lot of fight left. I met dark eyes that seemed to calculate my reactions before he lowered his dark gaze away from mine and seemed more interested in his own thoughts. I again find arms surrounding me and this time attempt to show some emotion. I still find this awkward but then again I had come to learn the family had a need to hold each other-I wondered if it was because of the cold?
I agreed to stay for a short time and informed Sherlock not so politely that I would take him to the postal service after I aided the only friend I had managed since my arrival. It would seem he got the subtle hint to remain quiet and that I would easily show my less than kind side regardless of how well he had healed. To my disbelief he seemed content not to argue and observed as Dahlia prepared things to be taken with her aunt. I watched the service people come and go but for some reason my eyes kept straying to Sherlock Holmes. My own future plans put on hold because now I had lost a link and good friend, I began to focus on my unfortunately lonely little cave and how at best I could settle back into a routine without Sherlock around to carry on at all hours and anytime of the night he chose.
"She laced her tea with a creative herbal poison. Strong botanicals are crushed in the bowl near where she prepared her medical tea." He said after Lillianna had been taken from the shack and Dahlia continued to make arrangments for her now late aunt. "You gather that before I could say anything." I nod though I find his presence more frustrating than helpful at the moment. "She hid it well?"
"Yes she did. Would you kindly mind your own business Holmes?" I snap distressed with the sudden alarming amount of change surrounding me.
I didn't take well to quick changes or sudden upsets in my routine. It made me nervous, unsettled and easily restless for the most part. His obsessed nature and natural hang-ups not really shocking to me, now though in person I find him more unsettling and have come to wonder why I even went to help him. Yes I have a conscience but it didn't mean I had to go out of my way to help him anymore, in fact I chose that moment to stand up and give him directions to his precious post office.
He met my gaze standing at the doorway for the longest time before ducking out of the shack. I felt nothing as he left except for maybe a little troubled. I am lost in a time I don't know well and he was lost in his own sense dealing with a possibility that his nemesis was dead but no certainty. His most important contacts in the world thought he had perished over that balcony-though I had my suspicions that Sherlock's brother Mycroft believed that less than likely. I didn't want to be involved in that world, at this point I chose to remain distressed with everything else and the fact that Dahlia had begun to collect her aunts htings.
Lillianna's trade and home would be put up for sale. Dahlia had her own home and traders shack which meant that her family could use the money from the shack to make theirs business far better. Her aunt had thought of everyone and everything. She had even thought of me though I felt no need to upset myself more by reading the oddly large pile of letters that had been given to me. I folded up the items that Dahlia had given me and tucked them away in a pack that Lillianna had made for me, I just wished she had at least given me some kind of warning about her ideas.
A couple of hours had passed before I realize that lingering would do me little good. I instead chose to make my way back outside. A blizzard had begun and with it I knew that I would have to move quickly to get back to the falls. For some bizarre reason I avoided the postal traders post, I felt little need to say any sort of farewell to Sherlock Holmes and had much to my still tense body found it easy to pretend that none of the time around him had actually happened.
I think I emotionally shut down that morning and had yet to process all the disturbing events of that afternoon. The least of which being that my only link to this time was gone and the other link was a compulsive, over-obsessed detective with a listing miles long why I should avoid him. The snow had grown worse by the time I made it to the cave, in fact I had to shake off my things several times before going inside. What startled me was the fire was going full and strong, usually by the amount of time I had spent away I would come back home to red embers and have to get it going again.
Arching a brow I reach inside the cave for the thick wood branch I used to keep open the door when the weather was warmer and held it comfortingly in my hands. Setting my things aside I slow my pace to be as silent as possible and exit with the stick raised stopping when I see Sherlock with his nose buried in one of the novels from my time, he appeared to have gone through the cave more thoroughly this time and found other things I had tried to keep private. Including a journal on my thoughts and my own adventures when I met Lillianna, sighing I lower the branch crossing my arms and glare at him.
"I assumed you would have gotten here before the storm. If I had known I would have waited in the village." If I could have done so without hurting him I might have knocked the smug tone right out of him.
"I expected you to stay there and find a way home." I said lifting my fingers in emphasis which I knew is most likely lost on the detective. "I was going to knock your head of, luckily I looked before I swung." I made my way into the cave dropping my gear and gently tucked the letters in the bag I carried with me at all times.
"Were you close to her?" I find my eyes drifting to the normally passive Sherlock known best for ignoring emotions in most cases, although I did have my ideas he wasn't as numb as he would like to pretend.
I wondered why I would chose to tell him anything, he was fishing and I knew that-why did he even come back? "She was my guide when I realized that I was put in another time period. She helped me learn some trades that in my time weren't a necessity. I don't know if I was close or not." I said realizing that being friends with someone had proven to be complicated.
I wasn't really a people person even in my own time, I think the only reason I had let myself befriend Lillianna and Dahlia was the necessity of needing to learn a surviving trade. I didn't belong in the 1800's, yet here I am and still dealing with the ever over curious Sherlock Holmes that has a tendency to over obsess. I sat there poking at the fire lost in memories both past and present before blinking realizing he had again been speaking. I totally missed the conversation lost in my own thoughts.
Tilting my head I look up seeing evidence of displeasure reflected in his face and sigh. I hadn't meant to ignore him, clearly he wasn't used to not being the center of attention. Sitting there I realize he had my undivided attention for the past few weeks and now I had bluntly shut him out of my thoughts. I know my face is hot but choose to pretend that I wasn't at all embarrassed by my lack of attention. He had his life to go back to and I had to try and sort my own.
Sherlock gathering he had my attention now tried again. "Would you consider making a delivery for me?" My brow furrows in confusion-I thought he had gone to the postal service.
"Do I look like a mail person?" I feel cranky and out of place at the moment, so naturally I lash out at stupid questions.
I watch his fingers go to the bridge of his nose clearly not liking my answer. "I am finding myself worried about female kind if they all act like you do." I don't know whether to be offended or amused that I had agitated the easily passive man. "I made arrangements to return to London. I need someone that can understand my methods and help me get my information to Watson. I don't know if he's truly dead and don't wish to endanger him or his wife." I sit there watching him, he looks tired despite the obvious things that had happened.
In the movies I hadn't remembered seeing him so drawn, it was startling that he groomed much at all being trapped out here with me in the middle of nowhere. He didn't look much different from when I first helped him out of the water. Now though he wore his former attire from that night, with some liberties on the formalities of the outfit. He left out the tie and jacket in favor of being more comfortable. His hair had gotten a bit longer, but was still a wild tangle of dark locks that had grown to have a mind of their own.
"Why would I throw myself into the chaos of your world Sherlock? I know how dangerous it is." I stare down at the flames trying to pretend that I have no interest in leaving my hole in the wall near the falls, in reality I have no idea what I want anymore.
This is where he got my attention by looking directly at me and letting out a deep breath. "Perhaps I can find out how you came here and get you home." I look up staring hard at him, his face isn't unreadable though he seems conflicted on his tactics.
I wonder if manipulation is wearing his patience thin or if I somehow managed to just irritate him enough the emotions he pretends don't exist are trying to show through. He sits there silently, his fingers fumble about looking for something and I guess what it is. Since he's been in my sanctuary he has not had his pipe, his source to help his thought process has been denied and I can guess that it may be wearing on what little nerves he has that aren't raw.
"Why should I believe you?"
"I've gone through the assortment of things from your world that you have. The evidence states contrary to your dislike of me, that you are not stupid and know what I am capable of."
"That is exactly what worries me." I find myself once again drawn to look at him and see he isn't going to give up-perhaps his determination is also part of his compulsion? "If I help you get your best friend back…you plan to find out how I got in the 18th century?" he was obviously amused, the smirk told me volumes.
"Precisely, its quite elementary when I have my good friend aiding me like all the good times before that." His smug smile makes me think over the events that I do remember for the movie and I smile myself.
"How do you propose to apologize for throwing his wife off the train?" His smile fades dark eyes pointedly glaring me down. "You may have timed it just right but I don't think he agreed with your method." He placed some more wood into the fire ignoring my comment.