Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from BBC's Sherlock or the collective works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes.

The Rude Not-Client

Birdy shifted from foot to foot, not sure what she should do. She could sit down, just as the man had instructed, but that hardly seemed like the best course of action, especially given the night's events. The other option was to turn around and go to her room (though wouldn't that be considered rude?) and lock the door. She might even get some sleep. But how would the stranger react to her leaving?

That musing brought on more questions, however, such as who was the stranger, and how did he know her name? Surely Sherlock wouldn't let a dangerous man inside their flat… right? Upon further reflection, Birdy wasn't entirely sure she knew how her newly acquired flatmate would respond to anything.

The stranger sighed and turned his attention back to Sherlock, a bored look on his face. "I thought you claimed she was intelligent, Sherlock."

Birdy felt her face flush at the man's words. Sure, she was no Ada Lovelace, but she was hardly unintelligent. Birdy opened her mouth and attempted to tell the rude stranger this, but no sound came out. She felt a knot form in her chest, spreading up towards her throat. Birdy bit her lip to keep it from quivering. She would not let this man make her cry.

Birdy saw Sherlock bristle in annoyance at the man's words. "As if I would have an unintelligent flatmate. She was the only one to answer to my advert in the paper."

"Ah yes, your advert," the man said, a small smile forming on his lips. "Your Vigenère cipher. A bit obvious, wasn't it?"

"Well you wouldn't give me access to an Enigma machine, so I had to make do."

Sherlock and the stranger began to argue, completely ignoring the still present Birdy. Perhaps the stranger thought that she was an idiot and wouldn't understand what he was saying. Or maybe the two men had forgotten that she was there entirely. Unfortunately for the stranger, however, she was neither stupid nor absent, and he had revealed a lot about himself.

First, the man was obviously intelligent. It had only taken Birdy a few days after seeing the cipher in her morning paper to crack Sherlock's advert, but by the sounds of it, the man had known what it meant very quickly. So obviously, he either worked for the newspaper and had seen the cipher earlier than she had, or he figured out the code himself.

There was no way he worked for the newspaper, he was too well dressed for that. Sherlock had also implied that the stranger had access to an enigma machine. People who worked for the paper wouldn't have one of the German cipher machines unless they were a collector, but that didn't seem very likely. Maybe the mystery man worked for the military?

Birdy glanced at the stranger. He was slightly overweight, and his hair wasn't as neatly trimmed as Birdy thought was permitted. So maybe not military. But he was definitely important, whoever he was. Important and very intelligent was hardly much to go on though.

He definitely wasn't a client. It was far too late in the evening for a consultation with the detective.

Birdy fought the urge to rub her temples so as to banish the headache that was forming. People were so confusing. She worked with computers just so she didn't have to deal with people for a reason. How on earth did Sherlock manage? She watched her flatmate bicker some more with the not-client. Why was he dealing with the man? If the man wasn't here for a case, then why was Sherlock being so… tolerant of the stranger? The day before, Sherlock had thrown out some girl who had apparently been a fan of his work claiming that she was wasting his time.

The only other people who Sherlock put up with were the Watson family and Mrs. Hudson. He was hardly a friendly person. Birdy wasn't even sure that he liked her all that much. Sherlock didn't have many friends, and those he tolerated weren't glared at like the man with the reddish hair. So who would Sherlock put up with? Birdy found the answer slipping out of her mouth before she had even finished her thought.

"Mr. Holmes," Birdy said, interrupting the bickering men. "I've had a less than fantastic evening. If there is no other reason for my being here other than to have you insult me, then I wish you a good night. Good night to you as well, Sherlock."

Birdy wasn't sure where she had summoned up the nerve to say that. Maybe she should apologise, that was a bit rude to say. Whoever Mr. Holmes was, Birdy doubted that Sherlock would appreciate her speaking to his family like that.

The surprised look on Mr. Holmes' face brought so much satisfaction to her, though. No, she decided, she was not going to let him have the last word. Heart beating in her mouth, Birdy lifted her chin, spun on her heel, and began to walk to the stairs before she could stutter out an apology. She had to remind herself not to sprint.

"There was, actually, Ms. Mason," Mr. Holmes said, his voice even.

Birdy halted at the door frame. There went her dramatic exit.

Birdy glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Holmes, exhausted from the evening's adrenaline rush and ready to be done with the conversation. "And are you going to tell me, or am I going to stand here all night?" Birdy wasn't really certain where all of the sass was coming from, but she decided that she liked it when she saw Sherlock choke back a laugh.

Mr. Holmes gave her a tight lipped smile that she recognised as something she usually gave people she didn't want to interact with. "I wanted to meet my brother's new flatmate. Coincidently, the same young woman who took down one of my men this evening. I must say, I was expecting someone less…"

"Scrawny?" Sherlock supplied, reaching over the side of his arm chair to pull his violin out of its case.

"Miniscule," Mr. Holmes finished. "You must understand, Ms. Mason, that the man you attacked was a- well, you don't need to know what he was. If I wanted to speak to you before, I most certainly want to speak with you now." The way Mr. Holmes talked to her, it almost made Birdy feel like she was five years old— like she was some naughty schoolgirl and he was the amused head teacher. Mr. Holmes was probably fifteen years older than she was, but Birdy was still an adult, and she found that she really didn't like the patronising way he was speaking to her.

Birdy caught Sherlock's eye as he watched her from the other side of the room, plucking the strings of his Stradivarius. He lift one of his eyebrows, as if to ask her what she was going to do.

Birdy ran her tongue over her teeth as she turned around to face Mr. Holmes. She slowly walked up to him, making sure to keep eye contact with him. Birdy was by no means a short person, but she was painfully aware how tall Sherlock's brother was as she stopped in front of him, far too close for the socially accepted distance between strangers.

Mr. Holmes didn't look uncomfortable by her advances, if anything, he straightened his back even more, as if he knew that her actions were a challenge of sorts. Birdy had seen the same look on the faces of her male co-workers every time she corrected their work. Lucky for her, however, the problems she faced working in a male dominated field had perfected her skills in manipulating those with a Y chromosome.

Birdy lifted her hand and stroked the shirt on Mr. Holmes' chest. "This is a lovely shirt. It explains why you didn't want to do the heavy lifting. I wouldn't want to ruin such an expensive shirt either."

Idiot, he's going to have me arrested for sexual harassment! Don't touch him.

But Mr. Holmes startled at her touch, bumping back into the arm chair behind him. Apparently, he hadn't expected her to actually touch him, and if Birdy was to be honest, she hadn't expected to do it either. Her anxiety was making it painfully clear on how horribly the situation could turn out.

"I'm a very important man. I don't have time to chase around scared little girls." Birdy was impressed by how steady Mr. Holmes' voice was. The last man she had tried this on still wouldn't look her in the eyes.

"So I've gathered, Mr. Holmes," Birdy replied, giving him what she hoped was a coy smile. "But what business does such an important man like you have with such a," Birdy ran a finger down his waistcoat, "unintelligent," she wound her arm around his back, "and minuscule," she rested her hand on his belt, "little girl like me?"

Mr. Holmes actually jumped when she pinched his bum.

This definitely counts as sexual harassment. I am so going to jail for this. Why did I think this was a good idea?

Birdy was standing so close to Mr. Holmes that their hips were touching and she could feel his steady breath on her face. Besides his previous surprised movements, he gave no indication that he was uncomfortable by her actions. Mr. Holmes, it appeared, was indeed a difficult man to intimidate.

She sighed and stepped away, walking over to Sherlock's desk, she wrote her mobile number down on a spare piece of paper, and handed it to the man with the reddish hair. "I think that you will find calling me is just as effective as kidnapping, Mr. Holmes."

Mr. Holmes ignored the paper and stiffly pushed passed her towards the door.

"Wait, Mycroft," Sherlock called out in a flat voice as he continued to pluck his violin strings. "Don't leave just yet. We were having so much fun."

When they heard the door to 221 Baker Street slam, Sherlock rolled out of his chair and jumped over a pile of books so that he could get to the window. Birdy watched her flatmate while she dropped herself into the arm chair that Mycroft Holmes had vacated. She was shaking, both the rational and the anxiety-ridden parts of her brain yelling at her for acting so stupidly. Why had she done that? Just because he had ordered to have her abducted didn't mean that she could just do… whatever she had just done to him. There was no way-

"Well done, Bridget," Sherlock said, still facing the window. "I don't think I have ever seen Mycroft so agitated."

"You don't think he'll have me arrested, do you? I really can't handle going to prison. I only just got this new job and I really-"

Sherlock spun around to stare at her, his face a blank mask. "My brother is not foolish. He knows that all you have to do is say that he tried to have you abducted." He smirked and added as an afterthought, "Besides, it's mostly his ego you've damaged. I've done much worse things to him."

Birdy wasn't exactly sure how to reply to that. "Like what?" She finally asked.

Sherlock waved his hand as if to brush her question aside. "One Christmas I drugged him and stole his laptop full of government secrets. There was also the time when he was sixteen and I—" Sherlock cut himself off as he noticed something to her side. Birdy followed his line of vision and saw a black umbrella leaning up against the red arm chair.

"Is this your brother's?"

Sherlock's mouth twitched into a smirk. "I've never seen him go anywhere without it." He looked at Birdy, the hardness that usually filled his light eyes melting away. "You did a very good job at upsetting him."

Birdy ran her thumb over the carved wood of the handle. "How long do you think until he realises he has forgotten it?"

"Twenty minutes, at most. Why?"

Birdy pulled the wallet she had stolen out from the sleeve of her jumper. "I was thinking that Mycroft Holmes should donate a large sum of money to a woman's shelter. Think I've got time?"

Sherlock grinned at Birdy, an actual one that lit up his eyes, and made Birdy give a small smile back. He dropped his violin back in its case before grabbing his laptop and walking over top the coffee table to the sofa.

"I know just the place."

(A/N: Hi there! Thanks for reading my story. If you liked the chapter, tell me in the comments. If you thought something could be improved, also leave me a comment. Basically, leave me a comment! –CheckAlexa)