Ayra looked down her balcony, tapping her fingers impatiently against the railing. What was taking him so long? If felt as if she'd been standing on that balcony forever. Her nose piercing was beginning to painfully burn against her skin as the cold wind hit, and she didn't even want to think about what her other piercings were doing. Her blunt nails began to scratch through the paint on the rod, slowly chipping it away.
"What's your boyfriend upto?" a woman asked behind her, making Ayra look back.
"I don't know- Sherlock!" Ayra screamed, getting no response in return.
"Sherlock?" the woman, whose name Ayra forgot to ask, exclaimed. Ayra ignored her and looked down, watching Sherlock walk into the balcony below her, a pleasant smile on his face.
"You may want to come through the front door now." Sherlock said, pulling out his phone and pressing it against his year.
"Yes, Scotland Yard. I'm reporting a murder-" Sherlock said when the resident screamed.
"Murder!" she yelped, looking at Ayra. "Who are you?!"
"Practically the police." Sherlock shouted from underneath. "Except we aren't incompetent. Now can you please spare the drama- we aren't the killers. Ayra!" Looking back and frowning at the woman apologetically, Ayra rushed out the door, without looking back and ran down the stairs.
Her heart was pumping with excitement and anticipation, much like her work. God, she missed work, but it was rather nice to just be a student for a change. Adrenaline pumped through her blood, making her fly through the corridor and slide into the apartment front door. She stopped, not breaking a sweat.
"John what are you doing here?" Ayra asked, watching John yank on the locked door knob, his age lines creased in frustration.
"If only this bastard let me in-" John exclaimed when the door flew wide open. Sherlock stood there, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "What the bloody hell took you so long?"
"Body – dead Van Coon." Sherlock said plainly, taking off and observing every inch of his apartment. While John followed with a line of swears after his roommate, Ayra followed shortly after him, her concentration on his apartment.
Everything you need to know about a person was presented in their home – and Van Coon was precisely who she imagined him to be. Posh apartment with three bedrooms bigger than her entire apartment, seamless marble flooring, crisp white furniture indicating man has no pets, no children… neither ever expects one to roam in house. Everything was dusted and cleaned, but highly unlikely he did it himself so he had a scheduled maid. Being a trader who spent most of his days in China, he didn't spend much time in his home and that was certainly reflected on this apartment. She slowly creaked open the door to his bathroom, examining his belongings. He didn't seem to be the type to use such perfumed products, but they were certainly being used and all rather expensive, meaning he had frequent female companion with him, unlikely a string of them. One night stands wouldn't just come in and use a man's lotion – he had a girlfriend but for some reason this was kept hidden. Perhaps because it was office romance and she may have been his subordinate.
Taking a deep breath, Ayra made her way to his bedroom, where his body was currently lying dead. Entering – a man with his suit still on has a gun discarded next to his right hand, a gunshot wound pierced clean through the side of his templates.
It was unfortunate to say but she was rather prone to seeing dead bodies, yet it was never normal. Taking a deep breath, she moved closer to the body.
"You aren't even the least bit frightened." A deep baritone voice called out behind her, making Ayra turn around. "Most people, seeing a man with a hole in his head would have a panic attack."
"How many times have I gotta say I'm not most, Holmes?" Ayra smirked raising her eyebrow. "Besides, this isn't my first dead body. I was an intern at the-"
"Orange County Crime Lab, yes I'm aware." Sherlock commented, waiving his hand. "Makes your opinions a little bit more credible."
"Why'd you ask then?" Ayra asked, quirking her eyebrows.
"It takes people to get used to death apparently." Sherlock frowned, shrugging his shoulders.
"How much have you stalked me?" Ayra asked, leaning closer to Sherlock.
"I haven't stalked you." Sherlock frowned moving away from her and heading towards the windows. He tried to push them open, but they were sealed shut, from the inside. "All the doors and windows in this house are sealed from the inside, except for this one." Sherlock pointed to the sliding door leading to the balcony.
"Can't imagine the killer use the balcony upstairs to jump in?" Ayra asked, narrowing her eyes at his left thumb. She drew closer to the thump, tilting her head. "We must be looking for Spider-Man then." She murmured to herself.
"Doors sealed from inside, and this clearly looks like potential suicide – so why do you keep on saying murder." Sherlock asked, swiftly turning around and facing her.
"But it is murder." Ayra reassured, taking a seat on the bed casually.
"Yes, but why?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.
"The gunshot was fired from the right side, and the gun is laying on his right, but he's left handed." Ayra said, taking out a napkin and lifting his left them. "There's fountain pen ink on his left thumb." Ayra hunched closer to the body, snapping on a pair of latex gloves Sherlock gave her and parting the dead man's lips. "Those and the very suggestive fact that an origami flower is inside his mouth."
Sherlock upturned his lips, almost in surprise. Moving closer to the body, he leaned over her shoulder to see tiny smudges of black ink stained on his left thumb. "That I didn't notice."
"What did you notice then?" Ayra asked curiously.
"Just have to wait until the police arrive." Sherlock said, pulling out his phone and checking the time impatiently.
"So what, you can show off to the commoners?" Ayra giggled, shoving her body off the bed.
"Other's opinion don't matter." Sherlock began when Ayra shut him off.
"You just said mine did." Ayra said, her smile growing wider. "And cut the shit; you're all about showing off. With those expensive suits and perfectly tailored shirt – you want the whole room to be looking at you when you're talking. If you didn't care about what people think you wouldn't be walking around looking like 007."
Sherlock's cupid bowed lips frowned deeper, almost in shock. Blinking rapidly, Sherlock began to pace around her, thinking of what to say next. "I-I like to be presentable. But not for others." Sherlock stuttered, being completely thrown off.
"Okay…" Ayra chuckled sarcastically, her unsettling mismatched eyes gleaming. With the havoc behind them, both Ayra and Sherlock looked behind them, knowing the police have finally arrived.
I got off work early. Let's grab tea. Em
Ayra looked at the screen and narrowed her eyes. A quick smile appeared on her face, which wiped off immediately. Taking a deep breath, she opened the balcony door and moved outside, inhaling the smog-filled city air. Being a diplomat's child meant she had friends all over the world. While it was all too great to rekindle with old friends from high school… it also meant owing people answers.
Tea? I want a full dinner with dessert bitch. AC
Tea is supper you twat. Better learn up on your English dialect if you want to spend two years here. Em
I beg to differ. No one in their right mind can call dinner, tea. AC
Ayra shut her phone screen and looked out at the Canary Warf skyline. She has been off the radar for quite some time, and rumors were quick to fly in an alumni community as small as hers. Although what she heard, things people were saying were saying about her weren't entirely false, well they at least got the drinking and the drugs part right. It's only a miracle the news haven't reach to her mother's ears. She looked back, watching forensic photographer's snaps photos of the body, police in body suits rushing through the crime scene. This is where she wanted to be – at a fucking crime scene. This wasn't normal, but her life was anything but normal.
How long has it been since she went out, on a social event? Not a social event she would have to attend for work, where someone would end up dying, but a real social event where she didn't have to worry about her life? After coming to London, she promised herself she would try to change, try to take things back to normal… face people and their jeering questions. Blinking a few times, she reached her shaking fingers and tapped away.
Come to Casida Anita in 30 mins. They have the best fucking wine. Em
Ayra looked up and blew out a breath of relief.
That's exactly what I need. See you in a few. AC
Ayra looked up and shoved her thick raven hair away from her face, looking up at the grey sky. She looked back, smirking watching the oblivious, and obviously freshly promoted Detective Inspector watch Sherlock show off in awe. Who wouldn't watch that one in awe?
Taking another heavy breath, Ayra slid open the double panel sliding door, being blasted with the chaotic noises inside. Without saying anything to Sherlock, Ayra approached behind John, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"I am in dire need to catch up with my friend." She whispered. "I know he isn't going to tell me anything, but do fill me in as to what's happening."
"'Course." John said, nodding. "Have fun." Ayra nodded her head and smiled. There weren't many people in the world she would trust with her secrets. Actually, there really wasn't anyone, except Em. While she was here in London, Em has been one of her stronger mental support through her toughest time.
"Hi. May I have more wine please?" Ayra asked, tapping her empty glass. "Actually keep it coming whenever you see this glass empty."
"Of course madam." The waiter said politely, ducking his head and mentally judging Ayra's drinking habit. She worked on the other side of retail – she knows how much they judge and shit talk customers.
"You've gone through a whole bottle of Chardonnay." Em commented, taking a puff from her cigarette.
"Stressful conversations need alcohol." Ayra answered, quirking her arched eyebrows. "And lots of it." She took a long drag of her cigarette, pulling the stick out of her mouth and looking at it in disgust. "You know, I always hated smoking." She replied bitterly, putting out the freshly lit cirgarette.
Twirling her pale blonde hair, Em began biting her inside of her lip. "Well in your case, I guess becoming an alcoholic is fitting."
"Not an alcoholic yet, Em." Ayra vexed, sliding her back against the soft cushion of the chair she was sitting in. Ayra closed her eyes and rolled her back, feeling the stiffness come through. "I'm cutting back. I've come down to one bottle of wine a day. With the occasional shots just to help me sleep, and the morning whisky…"
"What do you consider an alcoholic then?" Em asked, tapping off the burning ashes on the tip of her cigarette. "Do you have a therapist here yet?"
Ayra rubbed her burning eyes, shaking her head violently. "That doesn't help."
"You need to talk to someone." Em persisted, taking a large huff of her cigarette.
"I have you." Ayra answered, looking down on her clean plate, with her cutlery neatly placed side-by-side on the plate and her used napkin folded into a square.
"I meant a professional." Em answered. "I may have always been your shoulder to cry on, but this isn't about your petty crush on Justin, or something innit? This is fuckin' out of this world shit you read on Stephen King novels."
"Is it possible that if you obsess about something far too much, even subconsciously, then it will end up happening?" Ayra asked, sipping on her freshly filled glass of luscious wine.
"Yeah-" Em shrugged. "That can most certainly happen. Like I was shagging this Angelina Jolie look-alike. Never again falling for that celeb look-alike bullshit."
"I miss shagging." Ayra said. "This path to, you know, get clean and get my shit together before taking a piss test for the FBI is really not working for me." Ayra continued, taking a gulp from her wine. Of course that's what people thought she was going to do, work for the FBI. "I dildo really just doesn't do it for me."
"Really?" Em said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Back when I thought I was straight, I had sex with men and it was appalling, a real penis." Em shivered, making Ayra.
"That's probably because you'd rather have your face buried in a pussy." Ayra slid her back up, sitting up straighter, "I miss the thrill of being pinned down, or having to pin someone down and just ride them raw…"
Em looked at her and shrugged, taking a sip of her wine. "Straight sex is too overrated for me. And you're clearly acting like a pre-pubescent boy too scared to wank off, I mean why are you practicing abstinence anyways? I don't get how it's related."
"Because I'm sick of having sex with someone I hate." Ayra mumbled, finishing off the last bit of her wine. "And I hate most people."
"You're right. You are a ray of sunshine when interacting with people but I know how truly bitter you are on the inside." Em answered, squishing the tiny bud of cigarette on the astray. "I'll give you the contact info for my therapist. She's really goo- who the fuck keeps texting you?" Em asked, knitting her eyebrows.
"My neighbor." Ayra said, biting her lower lip.
"Should I be worried?" Em asked, tilting her head. Ayra looked up from her phone and smiled mischievously, climbing her body closer to the edge of the table.
"A little bit." Ayra said, showing an inch with her fingers. "He has cheekbones even Michelangelo couldn't remake. But he's certainly lacking the social amenities."
"Not surprised." Em shrugged. "Sounds murderous and just your type."
"It's the other way around this time." Ayra explained.
"Works at the Yard?" Em asked, her curiosity peaking.
"No… he's a consulting detective." Ayra said tilting her head. "Or at least that's what he made up the title."
"Red flag." Em said, putting her hand up. "The man doesn't do this for money."
"Doesn't matter…" Ayra said, her hand resting against her cheek. "It's not like I want to marry him or anything… honestly just really wished he would acknowledge my presence like every other straight man does…
"He doesn't flirt with you?" Em asked, laughing. "He gay or something?"
"No I think he's asexual." Ayra said, frowning. "Shame really."
"Bloody fuck." Em smirked, giggling. "Sounds like a real piece of work. Now you know what it's like wanting to shag someone when they have no interest in you."
"Well, it had to happen." Ayra said. "And this only makes me want him more. I mean you want what you can't fucking have. But I know I can't have sex with him, can't do another neighbor."
"Do you have a beacon that only attracts cunts?" Em asked, shaking her head. "You know, some people from our class are coming into London next month, so do you wanna meet them?"
Ayra looked up, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "How much do they know?"
"Only what rumors they heard." Em said. "You know, that you're an alcoholic who dropped out of uni, and got pregnant. You know, the delightful version."
"So knocked me up in this story? And I graduated top of my class in Berkeley. I gave the commencement speech did people not see those pictures? I was their valedictorian for crying out loud." Ayra shrugged. "The shit people come up with is astounding." .
"Well… I need to go love." Em said, beginning to gather her belongings.
"Yeah, me too." Ayra said, looking down at the unread texts on her phone.
"Have fun falling in love with him." Em said smiling.
"Fuck off." Ayra answered, placing her cash inside the check book.
"I think your flat should be close by from here." Em said, looking at her phone. "You don't need a cab or a tube ride."
"Yeah I would rather walk." Ayra answered. "Need to burn the alcohol anyways."
"Correct me if I'm wrong Sherlock, but it almost seems you're a tab bit obsessed with me." Ayra said, wrapping her coat tightly around her body. She heard complete silence from the other side, followed by a sharp breath. Sherlock Holmes didn't seem like the man who ever got any form of casual flirting, but the fact that it rattled him was absolutely delightful.
"What would make you think that?" Sherlock finally asked, his voice deep.
Ayra crinkled the corner of her eyes and smiled. "You left me twenty-four texts asking me where I was. It was really clicking my OCD you really should have made the number twenty-five."
"When you went out of the crime scene, you seemed rather elated to be rekindling with an old, possibly rather close friend, yet you seemed tense, almost nervous to meet her. You didn't really want to go." Sherlock commented.
"Were you watching me instead on focusing on the crime scene? Sherlock I'm flattered." Ayra smirked, tucking her freezing hands in her pockets. Apparently, it would get colder, and Ayra was nowhere used to freezing temperatures. Although she has spent a lot of time traveling and living in different parts of the world, she spent the last four years in Southern California. Her body would take some getting used to.
"Don't be. I simply notice everything." Sherlock said, his voice chewed. Ayra closed her eyes and smiled. She was really getting in his nerves.
"You're wrong by the way." Ayra whispered.
"About what?" Sherlock snapped, his voice alarmed.
"I wasn't stressed about wanting to meet my best friend after three years Sherlock." Ayra giggled. "But I was certainly stressed about something."
"What?" Sherlock asked cautiously.
"You're the detective Mr. Holmes." Ayra said mischievously. "Why don't you look deeper next time." Ayra hung up the phone and shoved it in her pocket, all too proud of herself. This day was considerably better than she thought it would be – and she was surprisingly calm.
Ayra's smile faded as she noticed a black Cadillac tailing forty yards behind her, and it has been tailing her for quite some time now. She looked around and noticed no one around, with just a few dingy CCTV cams. She slowly reached to the inside of her pocket, pulling a knife from the hidden compartment in her jacket and gripped it tightly inside her coat. She stopped when the car caught up to her. She watched with cold eyes as the dark tinted windows rolled down, but she couldn't really see anything inside.
"Hello Ms. Chowdhury. Do get in, I promise this will be quick and harmless." A polished voice came from the inside, the car's interior bathed in darkness.
"Aren't you going to offer me candy first? I heard it's usually the traditional way." Ayra commented, her voice steady. She looked around her cautiously, noticing there wasn't anyone around. Her eyes flashed over the CCTV camera right in front of her again, eyeing it carefully.
"Do you wish to smile for the camera?" the voice asked, when suddenly the camera snapped and focused in on her. Ayra crooked her eyebrows and looked back to the car, her spine running with icy chills. Ayra sighed and looked up at the sky. Not being followed was nice while it lasted.
"Who are you and what do you want?" Ayra asked, her voice sharp as she took a small step back.
"Please get in the car, Ms. Chowdhury." The voice asked again, completely calm. "You are visibly cold, I'll drop you off."
"That's a nice offer." Ayra said pacing through the side. "But you may understand why I'm going to say no."
"You really don't have a choice dear." The car took a small step further, completely blocking her pathway. "I know if you wanted to, you could kill everyone in this car, and in the car in front of me. But let's be civil. I'm not here to harm you." Ayra really wasn't in the mood; if anything happened she would take care of them in the car. She rolled her eyes and muttered a line of swears under her breath as she slid into the leather interior of the car. She found herself facing with a man, possibly in his early forties with thinning red hair dressed in a suit perfectly tailored for him – pin striped and Italian made. On his hand he twirled a black umbrella, but what caught Ayra's attention was his ring. It had the seal of her majesty on it.
She blew a breath of relief and looked up. It wasn't someone trying to kill her – he was government. Yet that wasn't all too comforting either. Beside him sat a woman, in her thirties, and most certainly his secretary. Not once that that brunette look up from her phone and acknowledge Ayra's presence.
"I'm delighted to finally meet you." The man said, fixing his suit. "You've been in England for two weeks are you're already the most intriguing out of the three."
"Three what?" Ayra asked immediately, pulling out her sharp blade and watching the sleek, sharp metal shine.
"No need to intimidate me, Ms. Chowdhury, I know what you're capable of" The man said, his voice perfectly calm. Ayra said nothing, but simply looked at him with her cold eyes. "Sherlock Holmes was always so uncomfortable around women." The unnamed man said, crunching his nose. "Certainly, someone who is seemingly beautiful as you. And you're flirting with him."
"First time for everything I guess?" Ayra suggested, crossing her legs.
"Well… he's having a lot of 'firsts' recently." The man commented, twirling his umbrella. "At least you have some brains."
"You seemed like a nice person at first, but this is going downhill rather fast." Ayra clicked her tongue on the top of her teeth, arching her eyebrows in defiance.
"Oh, I see why he likes you." The man chuckled humorlessly. "You actually make the gears in his head turn. Isn't that… odd."
"Get to the point please." Ayra snapped, her patience wearing thin.
"Sherlock Holmes is an acquaintance of mine… and I like to keep him under constant supervision. For his own well-being, of course." The man said.
"Of course." Ayra exaggerated and widened her eyes, looking out the window. To her surprise, the car was actually headed to the direction of her apartment. Looking back, she examined the man carefully again, when it finally snapped. She could feel the heavy stone on her chest finally beginning to lift off, letting her breath with ease yet again.
"I'll pay you handsomely if you simply report to me his daily musings." The man offered, a smile on his face. "You name the figure."
"Okay." Ayra answered plainly. "I have a shopping habit I need to sustain."
The man widened his eyes, completely taken aback. He was expecting a refusal, but Ayra knew now he was nothing harmless. "You're very trusting, very quickly."
"I know who you are, Mycroft Holmes." Ayra smiled, her eyes looking deeply into his graying eyes. Their eyes were similar, Sherlock and his. "It's nice to put a face to that voice, that would sometimes give me orders."
"What makes you trust me so easily?" the man asked cautiously.
"I don't trust you Mr. Holmes… Anyways, I think it's endearing to care for family so much." Ayra said smiling. "I always wondered how he can afford to have a wardrobe full of Vivienne Westwood suits and get away with all the shit he does. I had my suspicions if you two were related. But it was very easy to connect the dots when I met him."
The man cracked a smile, a genuine one and looked out the window, with his secretary finally looking up from her blackberry. ""You're certainly a bright one Ms. Chowdhury. Your reputation precedes you" the older Holmes commented, nodding his head. "How is sobriety?"
Ayra froze, suddenly all her confidence draining away. She didn't need the head of Mi6 reporting back to her superiors that she was failing to get her life back on track. After all, this is the reason why she was on "forced sabbatical" anyways.
"You really didn't have to bring that up." Ayra exasperated, tilting her head.
"I know. But you getting yourself fixed up concerns me as well. You are one of our best assets." The older Holmes said, the car stopping in front of 221B. "And what are the odds you are to live above none other than Sherlock Holmes."
"Karma is a bitch." Ayra said plainly, eager to slide out of the car.
"Sherlock isn't very fond of me." He said. "I would like our meeting to go unmentioned."
"Why do you want me to babysit him?" Ayra asked, reaching for the door handle. "He's a grown man – he doesn't need your constant prying."
"You did meet Sherlock Holmes, didn't you?" the man quirked. "I worry about him… constantly."
"Wonderful." Ayra answered slowly. "Just pay up. And please don't call me for any… of my regular work. I am beginning to enjoy the mundane student life."
"As you wish." The man said, nodding his head. "I bid you adieu."
Ayra nodded politely and gulped, opening the door to the car and jumping out. Without saying another word, the car disappeared into the bustling street of her neighborhood, leaving her standing in front of the fading green door.
Ayra shook her head and looked around for anything suspicious. Ayra already knew there were two rotating Mi6 agents on surveillance in the opposite building already, so why did Holmes have to get her involved?