This is way overdue I know but I just couldn't seem to write this chapter. I wrote it about three separate times and finally settled on this version so I hope you like it. I'm planning (fingers crossed) for the next chapter to be from Molly's point of view starting from the time Sherlock fell into the water up to the point where he found her in the closet and also explaining how she became human. That part is definitely going to be based off the Little Mermaid, mostly because I am not as creative as I'd like to be and I think that's a pretty believable scenario or at least as believable as you can get with this kind of thing.
Ramblings aside I present to you chapter three.
I still own absolutely nothing.
Undertow
For the most part, the girl seemed to sense that Sherlock was someone who could be trusted and as he spoke she slowly made her way out from behind the rack until she was standing in the middle of the room with a small smile. He had every intention of letting the flood of of questions that were hanging on the tip of his tongue break free, but before any of the words could leave his lips he found a choked gasp ripping itself from his throat when he noticed the girl was completely nude.
Not a single piece of clothing to be found.
His initial reaction was to look anywhere but forward and he found himself studying the patterned wallpaper just behind her head in desperation while a furious blush colored his cheeks. She seemed thoroughly confused by his behavior, head cocked to one side and brow tightly knit but she still didn't speak and he admitted quietly to himself how odd it seemed.
She didn't seem to notice the problem with her appearance and continued to watch as Sherlock squirmed beneath her gaze until his eyes, despite his best attempts to remain civil, slowly grazed down and landed on her once more and he noticed for the first time how beautiful she was.
Her skin was pale in the way a porcelain doll was pale; free of any freckles or blemishes. She had doe eyes, a deep shade of hazel; two forests of brown that melded perfectly with his jaded green. It was almost too easy to lose oneself in them. Dark lashes swept across the tops of perfectly rounded cheeks that held just the tiniest tinge of red, dusted with a tiny sprinkling of freckles that spread across the bridge of her nose as well.
From there his eyes only continued to lower, locking on the two small, perky breasts hidden behind a curtain of auburn hair that fell just above her navel in tangles. A toned abdomen and jutted hips that connected to the two perfectly shaped legs he still couldn't wrap his head around.
His focus was interrupted when he noticed her shifting on her feet uncomfortably, biting at her lower lip and glancing around as if she was looking for somewhere to run. The last thing Sherlock wanted was to be caught with a naked stranger in his room and the longer they stood here he realized the chances of that happening would only grow. Quickly he grabbed an old button up Mummy had neglected to get rid of and handed it to her but the only reaction was a blank stare.
He sighed, slowly moving toward her and when she didn't shy away or whimper he draped it over her shoulders and pulled it closed over her breasts and stood back to watch her. She was still for a few seconds, looking down at the fabric that fell to her mid-thighs before running her hands over the purple satin gently. She began to wriggle experimentally beneath it before humming happily and looking at him like he'd just given her all the riches in the world.
Sherlock couldn't help but smile.
Her happiness was almost infectious, he found, unable to look away as she toyed with the buttons and continued running her fingers over it again and again until she abruptly stopped and her head shot up quicker than he thought possible.
He opened his mouth to ask what the problem was but a knock on his bedroom door cut him off and his face instantly drained of color as his mouth ran dry. He followed her panicked gaze toward his bedroom door and felt his heart hammer in his chest.
Sherlock noted it was fairly early with the sun still hanging low in the sky and after yesterday's tiresome events he knew Mummy wouldn't be up for some time. None of the staff woke him in the morning's, they learned the hard way when he was a boy that when he did actually manage sleep it normally led to trouble when it came to wake him.
That only left Mycroft and he visibly shuddered at the thought of his brother finding this girl in his room. Mycroft never seemed to understand his younger brother. As hard as he tried to be supportive and kind his attempts always fell flat and Sherlock had long given up on the hope that they would have the kind of bond Mummy always wanted for them.
He looked back at the girl and held a finger to his lips, asking for silence before he motioned for her to stay put and then slipped out and shuffled across to the door just as another set of knocks was beginning to sound.
He pulled it open and was the last bit surprised to see his brother on the other side.
"Mycroft," he greeted, trying to calm the shakiness in his voice.
Fortunately Mycroft didn't seem to outright notice anything strange and simply swept past Sherlock and into the bedroom. Sherlock felt his stomach drop.
"Is there something I can help you with?" he ground out.
His panic was quickly being replaced with agitation as he watched Mycroft move around the room, toying with the few things on the dresser and finally settling on the edge of the bed. It was only intensified when the next words left his mouth, robotic and cold.
"We need to discuss your behavior from yesterday."
Sherlock scoffs. "My behavior? You're referring to my ungraceful exit from the service I'm assuming?"
Mycroft nodded and folded his hands in his lap. "Yes, that, and the apparent tumble you took yesterday that almost resulted in you freezing to death on the shore. You should know how upset Mummy was when you ran off like that and after you came back soaked and barely lucid. It is bad enough she's had to worry about you falling back on your old habits but now she's been frantic in making sure you don't suffer some sort of breakdown as well. I think we all know you and father didn't exactly get on well and your last conversation was anything but pleasant."
"Why must everything I do have some sort of connection to my addiction? I'm not sure if you're aware but I have taken care of the problem."
Mycroft's only response was a brief eye roll. "And what about when you return to school? To work? You're lack of self-control is not a mystery and one can't be too careful. It's not like I have the money or resources to strap you with a personal babysitter all day."
Sherlock felt his patience running extremely thin but the last thing he wanted was to start a shouting match so early in the morning, drawing the attention of everyone in the house to his bedroom. Allowing Mycroft to have his way during arguments like this always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth but the longer he thought about it he realized he was running out of choices.
Finally, he looked at Mycroft with a sigh and sat beside him on the bed. He kept his voice calm and his eyes as sincere as he could manage.
"If it will put you at ease, I'll apologize to Mummy when she comes down for breakfast and assure her there is nothing to worry about." He looked pointedly at Mycroft, who didn't look exactly satisfied but gave a brief nod anyways and rose off the bed.
As he approached the door with slow steps Sherlock saw him stop, pausing to peer over his shoulder as his voice came out low and smooth but his eyes never actually met his brother's.
"You may choose not to believe me but I worry for you Sherlock. I care for you more than you will ever know and I only have your best interests at heart, and I just wish you would allow me to help you."
And with that he was gone, the door softly shutting before Sherlock could even offer him a rebuttal. He let out a breath after a moment of processing and leapt to his feet to retrieve the girl from his closet and get her somewhere with less chance of being caught.
She was exactly where he left her, wrapped in the silk shirt he had given her as she toyed with a pair of loafers that were on the floor. She had the left one on her right foot and her bottom lip was stuck between her teeth as if she were debating something genuinely concerning. Sherlock chuckled and bent down, taking the shoe off of her foot and sliding it onto the other as her face lit up.
She smiled at him and took the other shoe, putting it on her other foot and wiggling her feet excitedly. He just shook his head and rummaged through the rest of his clothes, looking for something else he could give her before they ventured outside. In the back of the closet he found a spare pair of pajamas, the blue argyle pattern faded from time and many washings.
He gave them to her and mimicked how to put them on and fortunately she learned fairly easily. While a bit clumsy she managed to maneuver both legs (which were more than a bit shaky) into them and pulled them up. They barely hung on her hips, swallowing her tiny frame but for now it was all he had. Once she was at least semi decent he took her hand and quietly led her to the door, stopping to out into the hall and assure that no one was around.
Everything was clear so quietly he led her down the hall, their feet pattering softly against the hard wood. Mummy wasn't up yet so he had time to try and sort some of this ridiculous situation out before he had to be back at the house for breakfast. The more he tried to think of a reason or explanation for what had happened the more confused he became; less than twelve hours ago he had no belief in things like mermaids and fairytales and now he was dragging around a woman who had a tail the last time he saw her.
Despite his yearning for answers he kept his questions to himself as he took the girl to the guest house his father had built years ago. It had been empty for years and sometimes Sherlock wondered why it was even there but right now he was thankful.
He didn't have a key so he picked the lock as quickly as he could, stopping every few seconds to pull the girl back when she attempted to wander whenever something caught her eye. When he finally pushed the door open he ushered her inside and felt for the light switch, the room suddenly covered in an artificial yellow glow. There were a few pieces of basic furniture, a kitchen with a small refrigerator and a long book case lining the sitting rooms wall.
He let her wander as she pleased, touching everything she passed and even oohing and awing on occasion as he went and checked the back bedroom. Most of the surfaces were covered in dust, obviously unused for quite some time.
When Sherlock was done with his initial inspection he came back to find her seated on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, holding a book in her hands. He knew she couldn't read it, mostly because she holding it upside down, but the sight of her looking so normal and human struck him deeply.
He came and sat down beside her, a small smile tugging at her lips as she showed him the book and he gently took it from her hands, closing it to look at the cover.
"Great Expectations?" he mused, "I think you'd like this story. Maybe I'll read it to you sometime."
After setting the book on the table beside him he looked back and found her watching him closely, dark eyes sweeping over his face and the deepening rise and fall of his chest as his breathing picked up. He didn't know why she made him nervous but every time he looked at her he felt something tug at him and he couldn't tell what it was.
Finally when he couldn't take the silence anymore he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat so he was facing her.
"You know," he said through a humored laugh "I've gone through all this trouble to keep you hidden this morning and I just realized I don't even know your name."
It struck Sherlock as odd that he hadn't asked the girl her name until now but he attributed it to all the madness he had experienced just a few hours into the day. He looked back at her and patiently waited for her to tell him, thinking that after she'd had the chance to warm up to him a conversation would come easily. It strikes him as odd when she just continues to look at him, still smiling but not offering an answer to his question and he clears his throat, asking her again.
Still no answer.
He sighed and looked at her worriedly. "Can you speak?"
He watched her open her mouth, no sound coming out before she closed it and hung her head sadly. Sherlock chewed his lip and thought. It explained a lot but it also made things more difficult for both of them and he massaged his temples as he felt a headache brewing behind his eyes. He was desperately searching for a way around this and he smiled triumphantly when a thought struck him. He opened one of the table drawers and dug around, pulling out an old scrap of paper and an ink pen and handing it to her.
Sherlock motioned with his hand, as if he were writing, and asked her once again,
"Can you tell me your name?"
He knew it was a long shot that she would even know how to write but it's the only thing he could think of right now and he watched her as she stared down at the paper, looked back at him then slowly began writing. It took her a few moments and the end result was almost illegible but as she handed the paper back to him he could just make out the name and he smiled as it rolled effortlessly off his tongue as he locked his jade eyes with hers.
"Well, hello Molly."
Whoo, glad that's out of the way. Seriously though the only thing I could think of after I finished this chapter was Benedict Cumberbatch reading Great Expectations to me, *swoon*.