Falling.

Chapter Two.
A Study In Pink. Part II.

Misanthropy: A generalized dislike, distrust, contempt, or hatred of the human species, human nature, or society.


The smell of turkey on whole wheat and chicken noodle soup coming from next door was oh so tempting against the chilly January air. Disappointing and unfulfilling plane food was never satisfying and Nora instantly regretted knocking as soon as she did. It was so distracting, so enticing, and if it hadn't been for the damn cab driver, she might not have felt so flustered. She couldn't think on an empty stomach and relief was just out of her reach.

Have you checked the place over yet? –JL

She wanted to ignore him but knew if she didn't the texts wouldn't stop and Jude's attitude on top of a lack of food would only serve to irritate her more.

The door opened suddenly and Nora let out a startled gasp at the sound of the heavy door creaking behind her. She turned to see an old woman standing in the doorway who was wearing a purple that came to her knees and appeared to be in her late sixties, maybe a little bit older. She was short, petite, and met Nora's eye level evenly. The woman grinned widely at her and Nora noticed that though her eyes were kind and her smile was friendly, she looked as though she had been expecting someone and that someone wasn't her.

"Can I help you, dear?" The woman asked, her expression becoming more confused as she examined Nora and her luggage.

"I'm sorry," Nora said as she extended her right hand to the woman who returned a weak handshake. "I'm new in London. My name is Nora Luvalle." Nora was surprised that the woman's confused expression didn't disappear but rather intensified. She realized then that Lestrade must not have told this woman that he had sent her over. Nora could feel her face warming up from the blush she felt creeping into her cheeks.

"Mrs. Hudson, dear, pleased to meet you," she said. Mrs. Hudson seemed nice and sweet, and it soothed Nora's embarrassment at arriving on this woman's doorstep unannounced. She was so very different from her first Londoner; where her cabbie had been cold and angry, Mrs. Hudson seemed nurturing and vibrant. And though she was warm and full of genuine kindness, her confusion was showing no signs of dissipating.

"Um, well," Nora stammered, trying to find the right words. The excitement of arriving in London was slowly starting to leech from her and she was becoming quite at a loss for words as her fatigue and hunger were setting in. "I was told to come by and look at an apartm – flat that you have for rent," she said, correcting her American word choice.

"Oh! Oh?" Mrs. Hudson said, first exclaiming her understanding, then voicing a second confusion. She rubbed her hands against the front of her as she said, "Sherlock didn't tell me he was bringing a girl round to look at the flat!" She exclaimed cheerily.

"Sherlock? I, I don't know any Sherlock," Nora answered, shaking her head in response. Suddenly, she remembered the second of Lestrade's texts about how "the guy renting is weird." This must have been the guy he had been talking about. Forgetting her manners, Nora asked Mrs. Hudson callously, "Is this Sherlock the weird guy already renting?"

Mrs. Hudson looked taken aback at the question. She must have made a face because Nora regretted her words instantly.

"Well, I wouldn't call him 'weird.' Eccentric. Perhaps a bit mad at times," she chided. She seemed to take offense at Nora's words and it was at this that Nora saw that Mrs. Hudson must be quite fond of this unknown person.

"Sorry," Nora said in a small voice, looking at her feet. "I haven't had time to stop to eat anything and I get a bit cranky when I don't eat."

"S'all right," Mrs. Hudson began. She looked over Nora and decided she meant well enough. She sighed quietly, "I do have an extra flat in the basement. You're welcome to look at it, luv." Nora smiled widely at her as she pulled her head up. She found she was quite taken with this woman and was very appreciative of her kindheartedness. Mrs. Hudson gave Nora and her luggage another look. "It's not in the best of conditions, mind. But it looks like you need a place quick." She helped bring Nora's bags into the foyer and ushered her into the door.


The two women chatted for a little while as Nora examined the downstairs flat. Mrs. Hudson had been right; it wasn't in the best condition.

"I had a place once when I was first married, black mold all up the wall…" Mrs. Hudson babbled as she unlocked the door to 221C. "It was absolutely dreadful, dear."

"The marriage or the mold?" Nora joked, nudging her shoulder slightly against the landlady. Nora laughed with Mrs. Hudson for a moment before taking in the room again. Twenty five years of dreaming all led up to this moment. Ten years of working jobs ranging from washing dishes to working retail to babysitting and making coffees all for this. She never went to college, she taught herself her profession because she needed the money and she knew she had the talent. And here she was now, looking over a flat in central London.

"Will I be able to strip this?" Nora inquired, walking away from Mrs. Hudson to look at the walls up close. She touched the wallpaper and thought it must have been put up before she had even been born.

"I'm sorry, dear?"

"The wallpaper," Nora asked, turning back to Mrs. Hudson, "can I strip it?"

"Oh, you can do anything you like, luv," Mrs. Hudson started chattering excitedly," as long as you want the place!" It became clear to Nora that the older woman had trouble getting people interested in this flat. It definitely was a fixer-upper. The wallpaper was old and tattered, falling off in several places around the sitting room. The mold created by the damp of the basement left offending black marks up and down each wall.

But Mrs. Hudson had also been right when she said Nora needed a place to live quickly. While Scotland Yard had agreed to put her up in a hotel while Lestrade helped her to find a flat, she didn't want to have to be an expense to her new employer for longer than she needed to be. She was sure she could find a much better place, one not so in need to attention, but she was tired and hungry and her impatience at wanting a place to call her own was leading her far more than her logic. If Nora agreed to this place, she knew she'd have her work cut out for her.

Just then the doorbell rang. Both Nora and Mrs. Hudson turned instinctively towards the door.

"That'll be Sherlock finally, never can get anywhere on time," she muttered under her breath. She turned back towards Nora and placed a light hand on her shoulder. "You just take your time, look around, luv. I'll just be upstairs seeing to Sherlock and his friend." Her excitement at the prospect of Nora moving in was infectious; Nora found herself smiling widely at the woman. Before she left the room, she turned back to Nora and added, "If you want, dear, you can leave your bags here and pop into Speedy's next door for a tick." The doorbell rang again. "Good sandwiches," she whispered and ran upstairs to answer the door.


"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called as she opened the door. He smiled widely at her as she opened her arms to take him into a hug. Sherlock allowed it, even kissing her on the cheek, but he wondered why. Since he'd moved into her upstairs flat, she'd stopped hugging him as often as she normally would. Maybe it was because she was seeing him more often; maybe it was because he was now her lodger instead of just a family friend. But by the look of her, she was excited about something; it was showing in her wide eyed grin and tight hug.

As he hugged her, Sherlock noted a different scent on Mrs. Hudson than usual. She normally wore the same Estée Lauder perfume but today there was something distinctly floral lingering on her. Roses, maybe?

As she ushered Dr. Watson into the foyer, he knew it couldn't be fresh roses in the flat. Mrs.. Hudson made it clear to him that she hated roses once.

Well, she had made it clear to her husband once when he brought a bouquet home after a particularly nasty…fight. I merely overheard. Some would call that cheating, but it isn't; it's listening.

Though the scent was still faint, it was strongest in front of the door to 221C. Sherlock peered at the door as though trying to see through it. Interrupting Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson's polite chatter, he announced, "Someone else is here."

Mrs.. Hudson stopped on the stairs abruptly, causing Dr. Watson to stumble on his cane behind her. She touched his shoulder apologetically and whispered harshly towards Sherlock, "Oh yes, I've finally got someone interested in the basement flat."

"That flat!?" Sherlock questioned condescendingly. "That flat's awful! Damp and rot everywhere? Who'd seriously want that flat?" Mrs. Hudson huffed her irritation at him for his biting comments. Sherlock never did know when to stop himself, a trait carried over from his childhood.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her and turned to open the door, wanting to investigate this new woman and why she'd ever want to rent such an awful flat.

Woman? Yes, woman. Only a woman would walk around smelling like roses.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson scolded as his hand gripped the knob. "She's only just arrived, please! Don't you dare go scaring her back off to the States!"

"Ugh, American…" Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes childishly. Mrs. Hudson sighed sharply enough for Sherlock to notice. She motioned for Sherlock to follow her and his guest; Dr. Watson looked aloof as ever as he leaned on his cane, forgetting about his leg.


Nora explored the downstairs flat for a little while before she finally broke down and decided to go next door to the café. Once she got a decent, hot meal in her, she'd decide on whether or not to take the flat. Sure, the landlady was incredibly sweet and reminded of her grandmother. Sure, she'd have a neighbor right upstairs to get to know and harass about his funny name. Sure, she was in the heart of the city with the Tube and a park right outside her doorstep – but was it worth it for this flat? She'd have so much work to do on it: stripping and cleaning and painting and carpeting. The ceiling was incredibly low and being in the basement meant she'd hear every single thing that went on on the floors above her and the bedroom was a bit small for her liking.

But as she looked around, Nora began to envision making a life for herself in this place. She could light a real fire on cold days and she could sit by the window and watch the sunset against the city. When the weather was nice she could walk to the park and sit and fill up her sketchbook with drawings of beautiful strangers. And when she felt adventurous, she could walk down the block to the Tube and ride until she got lost. She even had a big enough wall space to recreate her mural like the one in her room back home. And Mrs. Hudson had said she could do whatever she wanted as long as she took the flat…

But this was a big decision. So first, a hot meal. Then, she'd make her choice.

Nora could hear Mrs. Hudson upstairs with two men. One was the splendidly named Sherlock and the other was his mystery visitor. Nora didn't want to disturb them, so she decided to quietly sneak off to the café next door. She climbed the stairs –

Have to deal with this staircase too, what a mess…

– and closed the door lightly behind her.

"Nora?" A voice called quizzically from behind her. She vaguely recognized the voice but wasn't able to place it until she saw the person it belonged to.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade!" She called out excitedly. "What are you doing here?" She asked as she crossed the space between them to shake his hand. They'd spoken on the phone several times and even on Skype once or twice, but this was the first official time they'd met. Seeing him in front of her now, she could sense that DI Lestrade commanded the attention of whatever room he was in. He looked distinguished with his black hair speckled with grey and perfect white teeth. On the phone, there was something laid back about him, like a man who never took himself too seriously. Now, it was obvious that the thing DI Lestrade took seriously was his job. Nora could sense something was array; the anxiety was written all over his face.

"Brilliant!" A young, enthusiastic voice cried out just before a small thud was heard against the floor.

Nora turned her head up the stairs toward the excited shouting going on in the apartment above her. A confused look crossed her face as the disembodied voice kept on.

"Four serial suicides, and now a note!? Oh, it's Christmas!"

The look on Nora's face went from confused to disgusted, feeling offended at the stranger's comments that suicides were as happy as Christmas. Nora was hoping, praying even, that this nut wasn't the man Lestrade had mentioned to her earlier.

Not this weirdo. Please…don't let it be him.

"You've not met Sherlock yet?" Lestrade asked her, watching an unexpected disappointment wash over her posture.

Damn it.

"No," she exhaled heavily, keeping her gaze fixed on the stairs. She heard them creak and then stop, as if the person descending them hadn't yet decided whether to do so or not.

"You're not investigating him, are you?" Nora asked, as a sickening feeling washed over her that only a killer would be excited about death.

"What, Sherlock? You think I'm investigating Sherlock?" Lestrade chuckled quietly.

"He is awfully excited about those suicides," Nora said slowly, turning herself back to face the Detective Inspector once more. It bothered her that Lestrade seemed to be more amused by her question than concerned.

"Sherlock consults for me sometimes," Lestrade explained. "When something seems impossible, Sherlock somehow finds me the answer." Nora furrowed her brow at the older man; was it her or did Lestrade seem proud of him, like the way a father sounds when describing his child's accomplishments?

She decided to take Lestrade at his word, but was still unsettled by what she'd heard. She turned back towards the stairs again, anxiously wondering when this much-talked-of stranger would make himself known to her.

"Well, I wish there was time for proper introductions and the sort. Or to even let you eat, you must be starving."

Nora huffed and threw him a small smile, silently telling him he was right.

"But there's been another suicide and I'd like for you to come along to the crime scene. It's a very high profile case and it's best if you're acquainted with it as soon as possible," Lestrade explained.

Nora felt her face fall at the thought of having to postpone her dinner in order to stare at a dead body and be introduced to a slew of new people. She found herself incredibly annoyed but tried not to let it show in her features; she smiled at Lestrade as best she could.

"Sorry," Lestrade apologized. He started making his way to door as he said, "Hey, I'll have a sandwich waiting for you. You like chicken?" He asked with a slight impatience as he opened the door and made his way over the threshold.

Nora nodded politely. Truthfully, she'd accept dog food right now if it meant she was getting food in her stomach.

"You can ride with Sherlock, he always follows in taxis. Get to know him a little, see if you can stand him enough to rent the room below him. He's actually pretty funny when he doesn't try to be." As he shut the door, Lestrade smiled coyly at her, as if he knew something very important but wasn't even considering telling her yet. He didn't want to frighten her off.

"DAMN MY LEG!"

Nora heard a second male voice call out. Again, she jerked her head up towards the yelling.

What the hell is going on up there?

She heard footsteps on the stairs again, this time lighter. Mrs. Hudson appeared on the landing and flashed Nora a warm grin.

"Well, dear?" She inquired. "Did you have time to think it over? I know it's a lot to take in," she cooed, trying her best to sound like she wasn't expecting an immediate answer.

"I, um…" Nora felt overwhelmed with her fatigue and hunger and impending crime scene appearance and the thought of having to share a cab with a complete stranger who was apparently quite excited about death and suicide notes. She ran her hand in her hair anxiously at the barrage of thoughts.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea, pop out," Nora heard the second man call out eagerly. She turned to look at the speaker and saw both the men going to dash out of the flat hurriedly. Well, she saw a tall, dark haired man walking hurriedly and a short, light haired man limping on a cane behind him.

"Both of you?" Mrs. Hudson asked, sounding disappointed that she wouldn't be having company for her afternoon cup of tea.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Nora looked curiously at the man she assumed was this Sherlock, who seemed far too pleased at four people's deaths. And yet, she softened as she watched Sherlock bend down to kiss Mrs. Hudson firmly on her cheek. The morbidity surrounding his enthusiasm coupled with his playful nature around his landlady left Nora with the sense that this man was a complex and unknowable thing. She didn't quite know what to think of him and she found herself desperate to study him and make him a featured character in her sketchbook.

Nora made a small noise behind Mrs. Hudson in an attempt to remind everyone that she was in the room. It wasn't as though she was hiding in the corner and she began to feel offended that though Sherlock was facing directly at her, he didn't think to greet her.

"Oh boys, This is…"

"I'm Nora," she interrupted rather rudely, removing the glove from her right hand and extending it out to Sherlock. "I've heard a lot about you." Her voice was rushed, tainted with exhaustion and annoyance. It wasn't intentional. Not towards him.

He was handsome she thought, her eyes observing him as she stepped out from behind Mrs. Hudson. His hair was curly and dark; perhaps the darkest shade of brown before black, and unbelievably unkempt. Too unruly for a man of his age, which Nora suspected somewhere in his mid-thirties. She couldn't quite the place the color of his eyes, somewhere between ice blue and emerald green. It was a color she didn't know and she thought she'd seem them all. His cheekbones were sharp, strikingly sharp and they were incomparable to any other man she had ever met.

His expression was blank and yet somehow he exuded irritation in waves. Nora felt smaller and smaller under his gaze. He shifted his eyes down to her outstretched hand and Nora slowly curled her fingers into a fist when she saw his lip curl into a slight sneer at it.

Stunned, she shifted her eyes at his companion who was leaning absentmindedly against his steel cane.

"Uh, John Watson," he said politely as he offered her his own hand. Nora stared at him for a second, trying to decide how genuine the offer of civility was before extending hers to him in return.

"Nora Luvalle," she said flatly, unimpressed and offended.

John Watson nodded curtly at her and looked back at Sherlock who was still staring intently at Nora. She felt herself shrink and had to force herself not to yell at him for being so rude or who the fuck he thought he was or just what the hell was his problem anyway.

He was studying her and she felt her cheeks redden as the thought entered her head that this was what it must have felt like when she observed those around her. Several silent seconds were passing between them at an excruciatingly slow pace and she knew his thoughts were undoubtedly spiteful. When she studied someone, her eyes were wide and soft, observing them for what they were…crooked smiles, spontaneous laughs, the tuck of a lower lip and the creases around their mouths, the countless stories painted on their faces. He was not looking at her this way. His eyes were narrow, focused, and harsh. Judging every single inch of her being with his penetrating, icy blue…or was it an emerald green gaze. Now that it was her turn to be scrutinized, and although she welcomed it, she would have given anything to know what he was thinking of her.

Sherlock, on the other hand, couldn't be bothered with her. He eyed her quickly and looked her up and down a couple of times. As he did with most everyone he met, he deduced her in only a few moments. He took what he heard from Mrs. Hudson, looked at how she presented herself to the outside world, every inch of her being and saw what she didn't realize she was putting on display. He even observed what she tried so hard to hide. Like it always happened, a flash of random words flooded his head and he took note of all of them.

American.
Midwest accent.
Early twenties.
20/20 Vision.
Braces for 6. No, 7 years.
Artist.
Painter.
Right handed.
Dancer for 10+ Years.
Youngest Child.

He squinted at her as he took in all her features. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't breathtaking, gorgeous, jaw dropping, or even remotely stunning. She wasn't attractive by any definition of the word. She couldn't have been more than few inches over five feet. Too short. She wasn't fat, but she wasn't slender and thin, just healthy. Average.

Her hips were too wide for her waist, giving her already short legs an even shorter appearance that looked odd with her wide feet. Her skin was pale on her chest but slightly tan in the arms and face. Bland, uninspiring brown eyes that were far too large for her freckled nose. Tiny scars from adolescence and diseases scared her upper cheekbones.

The state of her exposed hand didn't improve her overall appearance in the slightest. It looked like it might have been beautiful a while ago, long before her teenage years, but was now covered in hideous calluses that no woman her age should have had if she would have had proper training in her hobby. Given the black stain made up of charcoal, ink, and lead on the underside of her left glove, it left little to the imagination about the appearance of the hand underneath. Her hair was a decent length, stopping just past her shoulders but the lackluster color matched her eyes and it was clearly evident based on the frayed and split ends, she had absolutely no idea how to take care of it. And if she did, it wasn't a priority.

She was ordinary. She was boring.

And on top of that, she'd "heard a lot" about him. Funny choice of words for someone who'd only just arrived in London. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't have spoken ill of him; for whatever reason she'd been fond of him since he was a child.

No doubt then she had spoken to Lestrade as he made his way out of the flat a few minutes before. Sherlock had noted voices down here in the foyer when he was standing on the landing, but he'd been waiting to hear what John was saying to Mrs. Hudson, not what Lestrade might have been saying to the mystery woman looking at the horrific downstairs flat.

What was it they'd talked about then? Had he advised against renting the flat because of Sherlock? But he and Lestrade had been…acquaintances of sorts for years now. Considering all that Lestrade had done for him, he couldn't imagine that he would ever speak against Sherlock to a complete stranger. But maybe he had. Maybe deep down, he was just like all the others.

He must have brought Donovan then and told her to wait downstairs. Lestrade knew of Sherlock's contempt for his second-in-command and, though they'd never talked about it, he was sure Lestrade also knew of her torment of him. The constant "freaks" she spat his way did little else but aggravate him and truthfully, cut into him harshly the way a dull knife would. Over and over. Again and again.

Freak.
Freak.
Freak.

That word echoed in his ears as he leered at this stranger and continued to judge her appearance.

This woman was no different.
This stranger was just like all the others.
Another dull knife.

Freak.

Her clothes were wrinkled and stale, obviously bought secondhand from some broken down thrift shop. But she tried to dress her outfit up with nice jewelry and accessories that were all new or from just last season. She had a sparkling pair of cubic zirconia earrings –

Of course cubic zirconia, no one her age or salary bracket would have real diamonds.

– that were just the right size for her ears. A sterling silver necklace in the shape of a heart hung delicately against her sweater. It was something she wore constantly as it was scratched, but had recently been cleaned. She wore a chunky yellow scarf –

Must have been colder where she came from.

– that she had untied and draped around her neck. Matching gloves stuck out of the pocket of her heavy red wool coat. The whiskey colored purse she was carrying was also new, not yet worn around the long handles. It was large and looked like there were several bulky items in it, at least two books, a magazine, a notebook, and a bottle of water.

Not only is she new in London, she arrived today.

Sherlock looked down to her boots and saw that they were this season's style but were water and salt stained.

A place with snow. Lots of snow.

Before him was a woman of contradictions; old and new mashed into one person and not quite successfully. She looked as though someone had tried their best to dress her the way they wanted to but seemed to lose interest in the backswing.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson whispered harshly at him to snap him out of his reverie. He turned to look at her, his irritated expression unwavering.

"Look at you, all happy, it's not decent," she reprimanded. His expression did a 180 and went from snide to eager in an instant. He had wasted enough of his time on this woman, this boring, dimwitted stranger and quickly decided that she was no longer worth it.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" Sherlock exclaimed as he rushed out of the door, not giving this stranger another thought. John Watson glanced back at Nora who had a thoroughly offended look across her face; he turned his head in embarrassment when she caught his eyes and followed Sherlock out the door as quickly as his leg would allow.

Nora let out a choked groan as she watched the men run out of the flat. She wanted to say something, but she was so stunned at this meeting. Two of the rudest people she'd ever met in her life and all in the span of an hour?

This was too much.

Suddenly, Nora realized when the door shut that she was supposed to have shared that taxi. Without realizing, she yelled, "Hey, wait!" and made a sprint for the door. Just as she was going to leave, she saw a completely confused Mrs. Hudson standing in the middle of the room with her hands in the air.

Without a moment's thought, Nora yelled, "I'll take the apartment!" and slammed the door behind her.

She saw the cab just as it was pulling away from the curb. Nora tried calling out to the men inside. She couldn't see Sherlock and even if she had, she knew he wouldn't have held the cab for her. She could only make out John's silhouette, who wasn't paying attention because he was looking at his leg.


Sherlock and Nora have finally met and what a first impression they had!

Sorry for the late update! Life gets in the way sometimes.
Again, none of this would be possible without my wonderfully talented friend/co-author/beta Katestrophic. She's pretty much awesome!

Review for us, Darlings! They really do brighten our day! :D