When she did dream, it was of America.
She always dreamed like movies.
INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT
PAN to a WOMAN (41, pink dress, long brown hair)
CLOSE UP: dry lips. OFF-CAMERA we hear WEEPING.
She feels angry. In her dreams she's always angry.
She wakes up to the scream of her alarm. She manages to scrape the sleep out of the corner of her eyes and press the off button.
She flips open her phone, only to be greeted by a chain message from her Canadian friend wishing her a "Happy Thanksgiving". In a moment of confusion, she lets out a quiet 'what?' The confusion settles when she realizes she is in Britain now, and no such thing occurs here.
Hurling herself out of bed, she comes to another realization: if today is Canadian "Thanksgiving" then that means tonight is the 221 Baker Street dinner. She would spending the evening getting to know her cheery Landlord and ever-so polite housemates.
SHERLOCK (28, 6 '0", dark brown curly hair). She hadn't spoken to him for over two weeks. Not like she was complaining. Her stomach always felt better when she wasn't around him. She didn't feel the urge.
She removes her pajamas and begins to dress into her work clothing in the darkness. The only news she called home about was her full time job. Her mother faked enthusiasm, while her father sounded concerned. But tonight's dinner was the only true concern preoccupying her mind.
Xxx
"Your hair." JOHN (30, 5'6",, well-kept blonde hair) grins, reaching forward and running his hands through her fringe. Margo is unsure whether or not they are at that stage of friendship yet, but she lets it slide, playing nimbly with the choppy ends. She had done it herself a few nights ago; it had become a hassle to tie up at work.
"I thought with the whole moving to England thing, that cutting all my hair off wasn't that big of a deal."
"I think it…uh…"frames your face"? Is that right? That's a thing, right?"
"Yeah, it is. Thanks. "
"No problem. "
The two stand in silence waiting for the other to say something.
"Shou—" "I think that Sh—"
They both stop short, making eye contact with each other's necks and miscellaneous body parts.
"You go first." He mutters, a polite smile on his lips.
"No, it's fine, I—"
"I insist."
"…Well, I was just curious if I should bring anything for tonight?"
"Perhaps some wine? I can't imagine anything else will really be needed. Mrs. Hudson usually puts on a good show."
She swallows hard.
"Ok. Yeah. I can do that."
"Cool."
"Yes."
"Well…"
"Hmm?"
"See you later."
"Yeah. You too."
"Cheers."
He walks out and her lungs finally begin to work properly. God, what was wrong with her? She imagines John's thought process as he leaves the apartment, probably muttering about the crazy girl who lives below them. The worst part for Margo was the fact that that was the longest human interaction she had had in a week. Her job involved conversing with the plates she was washing. Not exactly high demand.
xxx
Wine in hand; she nervously knocks at the door three times. She hears the soft padding of feet, and after a moment, the door opens to reveal Mrs. Hudson.
"Hello dear! Come in!"
Margo somehow manages to step in without having her knees give out. Practically thrusting the bottle of alcohol into Mrs. Hudson's hands, she places a light kiss onto her cheek.
"Sorry I'm late. I appreciate you inviting me."
"None of that. I only made the dinner early because I knew that Sherlock and John would be late. You're actually right-" A knock sounds throughout the room. "On time!"
She grins cheekily at Margo, sending her a quick wink as she heads over to answer the door.
Margo sits herself quietly in the living room, listening to the chatter of her housemates. She tries imaging herself getting up and talking to them, hoping that if she thinks hard enough it might just occur.
"Lovely apartment you have."
"Thank you Deary!"
"You kept this? That's so sweet."
"I told you I was your biggest fan."
"Have you read the latest blog post?"
"No! I haven't, can't get th—"
"I see you invited the alcoholic to this event."
An exceptionally pregnant pause hangs in the air. She turns to make eye contact with him. Her stomach could've ripped her in two the pain was so unbearable.
"Good one." A fake laugh forces it's way out of her mouth. She surprises herself with her own lack of integrity. She scans the faces of the other two presences in the room. Mrs. Hudson's eyebrows are knitted together as she stares in thought at the floor. John, on the other hand, has managed to fold his mouth into a thin line and scratch the back of his head indefinitely.
"Who wants tea!?" Mrs. Hudson finally shrieks, causing Margo's stomach to flip.
xxx
The tightness in her chest begins to lessen when they all sit down to eat. The tension had eased and Margo found herself actually having fun. However, this did not stop her from boring holes into her plate with her eyes.
He knew. They met maybe twice, and he could see it on her face. He was just as intelligent and egotistical as he was described.
"So how are you enjoying it here, dear?"
Margo snaps out of her reverie, unsure of how they reached this subject.
"It's pretty great. Quite a culture shock, for sure."
"I can imagine. How's your work going?"
"It's good, just n—"
"Not what you came here for?" His voice is velvet, his words are poison.
"Yes. I guess so." She notices how at ease he is. His dark blue collared shirt unbuttoned at the top, his hair sculpted to an imperfect perfection. She imagined with the combination of attractiveness and intelligence, Sherlock deeply lacked in social skills. At least they had something in common.
"Hmm, What did you come here for?" Watson manages, after finishing a swig of wine.
She remembers the correct way to answer this. Something she had formulated in her head prior to moving. She breathes in, allowing that venomous feeling to sink back down.
She looks up from her plate; she imagines a light glaze has settled across her eyes.
"I broke up with my boyfriend of 5 years, and… I wanted a break. A fresh start."
Mrs. Hudson places a wrinkled hand over her chest. She frowns, and shoots Sherlock a dirty look. As if to say 'how could you blame her?'.
"I'm so sorry, Deary! "
"No, no. He was a dick. The whole cheating and lying bit. He gas lit me, he stole from me, he convinced me that all relationships were like that…You just never expect it to happen to you, right?"
"Sounds like a real wanker." John grumbles bitterly, reaching across the table to lay his hand on hers.
"Couldn't have said it better myself. I guess I don't quite do that word justice unless I have the accent." She grins, and lets a fake tear slide down her face just a tad before wiping it off.
There it is. That weird power she taps into. When she wants to be, she is so goddamn charming and the world revolves around her.
She feels the sudden appreciation flooding from John and . They looked at her differently. She is golden.
"Tell me, Margo, why do you feel the need to lie?"
In a moment flat, shame has found its way to sink in. Of course, of course he had caught her.