Chapter 3 - Confusion
"Hey, Sherlock!" you call to the dark-haired man ahead of you. He doesn't stop or turn to acknowledge you but he doesn't speed up either. You soon reach his side and continue walking together.
"So, you work for Scotland Yard?" you ask while tightening your scarf.
"I work with Scotland Yard." he corrects. "But Lestrade is the only person I can trust. And the only one who will put up with me." He breathes the last sentence but you hear it and offer a smirk.
"How long?" You clear your throat. "How long have you worked with Lestrade?"
"Four years" he answers curtly.
You stare down at your feet as you continue your stroll. Your path is paved with white and you shift your gaze to the sky. Thick clouds cover the shining sun, foreboding more snow.
You fidget with the fabric around your neck as the sudden quiet becomes uncomfortable. "A little cold out here, huh?" you finally inquire.
Sherlock hums in response as his head turns away.
You exhale a gulp of air. The breath leaves your mouth in a puff of smoke as its heat is quickly relinquished by the frigid air. "I'm just trying to make small talk." you murmur.
"Well it's not needed." he snaps. "Why point out the obvious when people can see it for themselves?" The detective stabs his fists into his pockets.
Why is he suddenly so tense? You didn't say anything to set him off. Did you?
More silence ensues and you refrain from making any other comments. You then find something actually worth talking about. "Where are we going?"
Sherlock sighs. "A main road to get a cab. It isn't that long of a walk and the cold is tolerable today."
You tread along the thin layer of snow without speaking another word to each other for thirty minutes until you finally reach a busy street. Sherlock hails a taxi but before he can get in you ask him something you soon regret even mentioning.
"Where are you going?" He raises a questioning eyebrow and you quickly add, "—I mean, I just want to know if you'd be heading the direction of my street. Y'know, so we'd save money and time..." You barely finish your apologetic babble before looking away to hide your now flushed cheeks.
He pauses a few moments with his hand resting on the door of the waiting car. "I'd actually like to ride alone. I need some time to think." He notices your defeated expression. "...Sorry" he mutters under his breath.
After watching the cab drive away you could swear you saw Sherlock tuck something into his coat. You dismiss the thought and mentally kick yourself.
You untie your scarf and slip off your coat as you step inside the warm café. It had begun snowing and you didn't want to stand outside and freeze so you decided to call a cab and buy a coffee while you wait.
You seat yourself at a small table next to the front window and quietly sip the steaming liquid from your white cup.
You're lost in staring out at the descending flakes when you notice someone sitting on the opposite end of your table. You turn and see a smiling man across from you. It's obviously a fake smile but the rest of his attire clearly isn't. He's wearing a gray, clearly tailored suit to fit his round figure. His brown hair is neatly combed with not a strand out of place. But something else about him catches your attention; the way his eyes gleam in such a familiar way. Where had you seen that before?
You scan the rest of the café and realize it's completely vacant of any other person. Just you and this stranger.
"Good evening, Special Agent (L/N)." he purrs, ripping the empty air.
"Who are you? How do you know my name?" you question calmly.
"It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is who you are and how you are acquainted with Sherlock Holmes."
"You seem to already know who I am." You glare at the posh man and he grins.
"What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"
"We work together." you huff.
"But we both know there's more to it than that." He flicks a small notebook from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and begins fingering through the pages. "Three times you've encountered him in the past? And now a fourth. This is your first day in London and you already know the man who doesn't take time to get to know anyone." He leans forward and folds his hands onto the table. "Now, is this still strictly a professional relationship?"
"I believe that's none of your business."
"It could be."
"No, it really couldn't."
He straightens and you take the second to swallow a drink from your now lukewarm coffee.
"I'm willing to pay you a reasonable sum of money if you would update me on what Sherlock's doing. Nothing that would make you uncomfortable, just how he's getting along and such—"
"No"
"I haven't even mentioned a figure."
"I don't want your money. I'm not a spy."
He sighs as he tries to produce a smile but fails to raise the corners of his lips as your scowl burns into him.
"You were given a living space on Montague Street, yes?" he inquires while rising from his chair and straightening his suit. "You might want to 'meet the neighbors' as some would put it." He gives an insincere smile as he whisks a black umbrella from beneath the table and casually walks outside and opens the material against the light fall of snow.
You drain the last bit of darkness from your cup just as your taxi pulls up to the curb. This day is getting more confusing by the minute.
~Sherlock's POV~I stare out the cab's window, pondering all the information that's been thrown at me today.
(F/N)(L/N). She's here. Obviously still with the FBI judging from how she was referred to as "agent". She must be here with the Legal Attaché, but why she's working with Lestrade, much less Scotland Yard, I have yet to learn.
I thought that when I met her she was just another passing figure. Like another case. There's the enjoyment, the thrill of it all, but once it's over, there's nowhere else to go but forward.
And now she's here. I can't believe the thought never crossed my mind that she would join the Legal Attaché. She is intelligent but I didn't think she was that intelligent.
The car encounters a hole in the road and I'm soon reminded of the item in my pea-coat's pocket as I'm shaken. Its small weight is suddenly multiplied to that of a rock's. It's never come with guilt before, so what's different this time? Is it because it's stolen? Why would that make a difference? It's larceny either way I get it. Lestrade knows about my...habits but as long as I don't give him a reason to arrest me, he's too desperate to get rid of me. ...No, I won't even consider that possibility. It could not be because of her. She is just like any other woman.
The can stops at the end of Montague Street and I pay the driver before striding to my flat. I'm a couple yards away when I see a woman with (h/c) hair and wearing a (f/c) coloured coat hop up the steps to my destination. She flicks out a key.
Great. Another neighbour to complain-Wait. Is that-?
A/N: There's a reason for why Sherlock was so agitated or "touchy", if you will. ;)