Hello, lovely lot! We actually have Scarlett and Sherlock interaction here which is exciting! I really enjoyed writing this one as much as Scarlett enjoys talking to Sherlock Holmes (or at least nearly as much lol). These first few chapters are very much just setting the scene for I have a LOT of ideas for the direction in which this story is going. XD Asdfghjkl, I've never been so excited to write something before! I hope you guys are all enjoying it too as that means more to me than anything. If you enjoy my writing, then I must be doing SOMETHING right, yeah? Please drop me a review to let me know what you think!
. . .
The first thing that Scarlett became aware of when she regained consciousness was the throbbing in her temple. This headache was like none she had ever experienced before, sending pulses of sharp pain across her forehead. What had happened?
She started to become more aware of her surroundings; twitching her fingers and shuffling a little. What was she lying on? It was not her bed... or any bed for that matter. In fact, the way her arm was drooped across the side, she guessed that she was currently lying on a sofa. Her eyes dared to squint open and a cold chill swirled its way down her spine. This was not her home. This was not HER sofa and that was not HER ceiling.
That wild imagination of hers started running at full capacity and the young girl came up with at least fifty possible scenarios on the spot. None of them were right, of course. For how could she have guessed what was going to happen next...
"Don't sit up fast, it will give you the most awful head rush."
A deep, velvety voice that held the tone of a bored man who had been left to count sheep completely cut through her panic ridden thoughts and made her sit bolt upright in a flash, despite the warning said voice had given her. Because... that was the voice of Benedict Cumberbatch. The actor that Scarlett so admired. His voice was unmistakeable.
The head rush was as awful as had been forewarned and it sent white spots flying across Scarlett's vision as she tried to get a clear glimpse at the man in the armchair who had just let out an exasperated sigh.
"No, I said DON'T. Ugh."
Scarlett could practically FEEL the eye roll in his words.
"Moron."
It was with that insult that the redhead finally managed to make out the figure before her. A mop of thick, curly, raven-black hair was upon his head. Skin as pale as her own, if not more so. Cheekbones that she was sure could cut through glass. Eyes sharper than the blade of a knife and more intricately coloured than any she had ever seen before. Cupid's bow lips that appeared to now be pursed in annoyance. A black tailored suit with a plum-purple shirt underneath.
And suddenly she knew where she was. That was Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. She was in 221B Baker Street.
"You obviously recognise me." The detective tutted. "Tedious."
What words could Scarlett possibly even begin to form in that moment? Her mouth had gone dry as bone as it hung open, simply gaping. Her eyes looked like they were about to burst from their sockets. Anybody would assume that she'd just seen a ghost.
Sherlock's expression of annoyance and boredom quickly turned to one of confusion when the girl did not answer him in any way. It was curious, the way that she looked at him. He had met plenty of fans in his time and they had NEVER looked at him like this. This... was something new.
"Have I got something on my face?"
The tone was patronising but his eyes glinted with curiosity. That was when Scarlett snapped out of her dazed bewilderment only to burst into a fit of giggles. Well, Sherlock simply did not know what to do. For what does one do with a hysterical teenage girl other than chuck her out? And John had told him specifically NOT to do that before he'd left the flat.
"I... um."
He was feeling awkward. He didn't like feeling awkward and he especially did not like not know what was going on.
"Have I said something funny?"
Scarlett's laughter began to die down when it started to make her head throb all the more. She clutched her stomach, blinking through the tears of hysteria in her eyes.
"Funny? Ohhoho, noooo. Nothing funny. I'm just wondering why I haven't had a dream like this one BEFORE now!"
The young girl raised her fist up, punching the air.
"Way to go, subconscious!"
Good lord. Where the hell was a John when you needed one? He would surely know what to do, he was a doctor and this girl was clearly a mental case.
Sherlock breathed in deeply through his nose and then out through his mouth, going over what his flatmate had told him before he'd left to get some more medical supplies for the cupboard.
[Keep her calm.]
"Okay... Just... calm down. You're safe."
The words felt stiff and meaningless as they came off his tongue. Sherlock Holmes had never been one for comforting.
Scarlett snapped her head towards him once again, the mad little grin still plastered across her face.
"I know I'm safe. Because YOU are Sherlock Holmes and nooooooobody messes with the world's only consulting detective unless they want to end up locked in a room with Anderson. Oooo, I wouldn't like to see their IQ after THAT encounter."
Then the giggling returned.
The consulting detective stared at her, expressionlessly. The cogs in his head were turning as he looked her up and down. He had made the most elementary deductions about her whilst she had been asleep on his couch but then he just got bored and stopped. It seemed pointless to gather information about some unimportant young girl. But what she had just said... about Anderson and the implication of the decreasing IQ. How could she know that? HOW? She didn't matter, she wasn't important, certainly wasn't special. So... HOW?
"What's the matter, Holmes?"
Scarlett was leaning forward now, elbows balanced on her knees as she looked at him knowingly.
"Can't work me out?"
She waggled her eyebrows cheekily and Sherlock decided that she had become a little too overconfident for his taste. For the second time since the girl had woken up, he rolled his eyes rather dramatically.
"Do not flatter yourself, Little Miss Daniels. I know everything that I need to about you and even that is irrelevant."
Sherlock did not know what he expected to see cross her face. Surprise, maybe. Perhaps resentment or confusion. She may even have been impressed. But, no. In fact, he hadn't even managed to knock that smug smirk off her face.
"Oh? And what is it that you...know about me? Or rather, that you /noticed/ about me?"
Her eyes were now sparkling with challenge as they locked with Sherlock's. It was the detective's turn to smirk now. Time to put her in her place.
"Your name is Scarlett Daniels. Any old fool could tell that just from looking at that locket around your neck. You haven't taken it off in a very long while. Sentimental reasons, of course. The inscription: 'My Scarlett Daniels ~ Love from Daddy.' The only thing you have left of your father, am I right? After he was killed in Afghanistan, there wasn't much left. Then there's your mental health. As much as you try to hide it from the world around you, I can read everything very clearly with one look. The way the index finger on your right hand twitches is a very basic indicator of acute anxiety. Your outburst of hysteria earlier was further evidence to that. Those bags under your eyes that you have so desperately tried to cover with some sort of makeup clearly show that sleep is not something that comes easily. Anxiety and insomnia? Paranoia too, I bet. You never speak a word of your troubles to your mother OR your little brother. You do not wish to worry them. Lately, life has been boring you, mmm? That is why you ended up on my doorstep today. You wanted something interesting to happen. Well, careful what you wish for, Ms Daniels, or you may just get crashed into by a dangerous serial killer."
He completed his little monologue with a very fake smile, aimed at the young ginger girl. With that small glance, he tried to read her expression. This time, she did seem to be impressed. What surprised him was that she did not seem to have taken offense in any way. How odd. He had just revealed that he was aware of very personal details about her life that nobody else knew and she just seemed to shrug it off.
"Sister."
Scarlett said with another smug smile.
"What?"
She pressed her lips together, leaning back on the sofa, looking to all the world like a small child on Christmas Eve.
"I have a little sister, not a little brother."
Sherlock blinked at the nonchalant tone in her voice. Though he had impressed her and he could see that clear as day, she wasn't willing to admit to it. Why?
"There is always something. The gender of the siblings, I keep slipping up there. Hm. That all? No questions, slaps or otherwise inappropriate insults?"
The smile on Scarlett's face turned into a grin.
"I'm not going to tell you to piss off, if that's what you mean. But... I do have one question. How did you know it was Afghanistan?"
The detective was now starting to realise that this girl made very little sense. He could read her easily but her personality... made no sense. He was not an idiot; he knew that there was more to people than the things he deduced from his observations but the information was all that he usually cared about. Apart from with John, of course, because John's personality made him fit into Sherlock's life with ease. John did not get offended by his deductions... At least not most of the time. That is why he got along so well with the army doctor; he was the closest person to understand Sherlock Holmes.
"My flatmate, John. He has a watch of the very same brand, bought from a stall in Afghanistan. Obvious."
Scarlett nodded slowly, gently brushing a strand of auburn hair from her eyes. After a few moments, she spoke again in tone that had not been aimed at Sherlock since he was a child.
"It's a shame that people can't see past the hard shell that you have on the outside, you know? They call you a freak only because they don't understand you. It's so horribly human of them. As a species we... judge before we try. They judge you, not that you care. But... you deserve so much better. Because you're brilliant."
It was Sherlock's turn to let his jaw drop a fraction. This girl had only just met him! And he had not exactly been the most civil person to her. She did not need to say these things with such sincerity and yet... she had. Suddenly, he felt guilty for voicing his observations about her dead father and her mental troubles. HE... Sherlock Holmes, felt guilty. It had been so long since anybody had been so selflessly nice to him because he gave them no reason to be so.
And it was in that moment that Sherlock Holmes decided that he, at the very least, tolerated Scarlett Daniels.
. . .
Special thanks to:
Rodent2000XD
Smiling Dreams
Xeres Malfoy
and Benedictlover
for reviewing, it really does mean the world to me.
OH. ON THE SUBJECT OF REVIEWS. From now on, any person that reviews will get a sneaky peak of the next chapter in their PM box. I couldn't get any cookies for you, so that's the best that I can do XD
Thanks again for reading! x
