A few days later found the duo in the back of a taxi, both in formal tuxedos, one looking slightly more affable than the other. Sherlock was uncomfortable. Granted, he did not normally walk around in casual clothes, his entire wardrobe consisting of nice dress pants and button downs (and the occasional t-shirt). That being said, he felt slightly ludicrous donning a tuxedo. The last time he wore one of these, he was attending his father's funeral.

Sighing yet again, Sherlock looked out the window at the cloudy night sky, contemplating the appropriate amount of time to stay before leaving without being considered rude, or even more of a freak. John, as if reading his thoughts, grumbled, "Five hours."

"Pardon?" said Sherlock, with a raised eyebrow. He sometimes wondered if John read minds.

"Five hours, not a second less. Can you hold your tongue that long?" said John, with a good-natured smirk on his lips. Sherlock rolled his eyes, a slight twitch of a smile infecting even his sullen face.

"I suppose I can survive," he sighed, looking back to the window. Much to Sherlock's irritation, he found his thoughts wandering to Dani again. Only the other day, Lestrade had casually informed Sherlock of yet another tidbit of information concerning the 8.4 young woman: she had a boyfriend. David Cortes, a security something-or-other from somewhere, Sherlock was not paying particularly close attention. He was still ruminating over the fact that Dani was in a relationship.

This didn't bother him. Of course it didn't bother him. Why would it? Why should he care? Who was she to him? Nothing, just a woman who works for Lestrade, nothing more. Then why did he find himself caught up on this little fact concerning Dani's personal life? After a bit more thought, Sherlock figured it out.

Not once in any of the instances Sherlock had been around Dani had she ever mentioned a significant other in any way, shape or form. No photos on her desk, no bits of jewelry that would have been convenient gifts from a beaux, no casual, "I have a date tonight, sorry" excuse when Lestrade or another officer would offer to take the team out for drinks at night. It was odd, uncommon, and bizarre for a young woman of marrying age to not have some sort of excitement or obsession over her relationship status. Unhappy? Most definitely.

Furthermore, Sherlock has irritated by the fact he could not deduce her relationship status by observing her. Then again, as he already noted, there was nothing about her appearance to suggest a boyfriend. So in all honesty, his lack of deduction had nothing to do with a fault of his own. It wasn't his fault the woman refused to leave a dissatisfactory relationship. And that was the end of that.

Yet here he was again, thinking of her. He needed a drink.

...

Two hours. It had been two hours since John and Sherlock had stepped out of their taxi and into he gala, and John could see Sherlock's discomfort clear as day. Too many people, too many false smiles, too many victims for deduction. But John had to admit that Sherlock was doing well so far; no one had run away from the duo in tears. The night was proving to be a success.

So far, they had seen Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson and a couple other familiar faces from Lestrade's division. Shockingly, however, John had yet to see Dani. But it was crowded and everybody looked so different, as if they were playing dress-up. He didn't know if he would even recognize the young woman.

John was in the middle of a casual conversation with Greg when Sherlock motioned that he was going to grab a drink at the bar, giving him questioning eyes asking if John wanted one. When John shook his head, Sherlock excused himself and made his way over to the bar.

Three more hours...just three more hours. Sherlock could do it...but it was as if these people were just asking to be deduced! Adulterer, porn fetish, FOOT fetish, heroin addict, drug dealer, high school drop out, bankrupt, egotistical-

"Hello, Sherlock," said a soft voice from behind him. A small body sidled up next to him at the bar, causing Sherlock to look over.

Dani. She had donned scarlet halter gown, with a thin satin ribbon looping around her slender neck, a loose fit around the bust, a cinched waist held by a ribbon tied in a bow on her back, and a graceful, flowing bottom half of the dress. From the angle she was standing, Sherlock could see the back of the dress was lower, revealing her upper back and even a bit lower. She wore silver pumps, not too high, just high enough to bring her up to Sherlock's shoulder. Her hair was thrown up in a loose up-do, nothing more than a slightly elegant bun. The majority of her make up was natural and light, a slight silver eyeshadow and mascara, but she had a scarlet lipstick to match the dress. She was smiling at him, taking in his uncharacteristic attire.

"You look very nice, Sherlock! You clean up quite well," she said with a smile in her eyes.

"As do you, Officer Carter," he said with a smirk, taking in her appearance another time. Red really did suit her dark hair...Sherlock shook his head slightly, disengaging the uncharacteristic thought from his mind.

"Sherlock, after the intensity of our last encounter, as well as the adamant nature with which you asked me to call you by your first name, I think it is safe to say we are on a first name basis, don't you agree?" Sherlock noticed the teasing-tone in her voice and chuckled slightly, remembering himself telling her to call him 'Sherlock' in the midst of a shoot-out.

"You make an excellent point Ms.- Dani," he said, correcting himself.

Dani giggled. "Ms. Dani, close enough." She smiled, looking up at him as the bartender refilled her glass. Sherlock noticed a look of exhaustion in her eyes. She appeared to not be sleeping very well, and the slight puffiness under her eyes confirmed his hypothesis. He looked over her very quickly, taking in the locations which previously held bruises from Livesy's assault. Shoulders, back and arms all appeared back to normal. However, Sherlock noticed that there was a slightly heavier layer of cover-up on her right cheekbone. A bit more had rubbed onto the ribbon around her neck, concealing he bruises that Sherlock assumed were finger-shaped. Finally, he noted cover-up in a slightly unorthodox area: her forearms. Sherlock's brow furrowed. He didn't remember Dani having any marks there after the attack...and furthermore, the rest of her bruises should have been long healed by now as well...

Dani noticed where Sherlock's gaze was. Her body tensed and she quickly took the glass from the bartender, moving her arms out of Sherlock's view.

"Dani-" he began, but he was interrupted by a boisterous voice.

"Well if it isn't the infamous Detective Sherlock Holmes chatting up my girl!" A thick arm snaked its way around Dani's waist, dragging her to a man's side. Sherlock looked upon said man and could only identify him as David Cortes, Dani's boyfriend.

He was tall, about two or three inches taller than Sherlock himself, and towered over Dani despite her meager attempt at heels. He had dark, slicked back short hair and a light coating of dark facial hair. His skin was tan, representing his Hispanic heritage. His eyes were hard and dark and when he smiled, it appeared more of a mocking gesture than a genuine one. His slick black tux somehow managed to NOT conceal his physique: it was obvious he was incredibly built. Sherlock could easily tell that he was in fact, in some kind of security field.

In Sherlock's once-over, he was able to deduce all he needed to about the man in front of him. 'Possessive' came across loud and clear in his stance. Dani was held close to his side, while his other hand was casually placed in his pocket as if posing for a photo shoot. Not once had he looked at Dani except when he grabbed onto her waist. So she was there for show...Sherlock felt his stomach flip in anger at this realization.

Obviously, David was a victim of low-self esteem. Feels the need to put on a show in front of people he has never met before. His tux and gelled hair gave him the appearance of financial prowess, yet Sherlock observed slight fraying on the man's trousers and cuffs, thus proving it to simply be a cheap rental. Finally, Sherlock looked at the man's hands: very large and rough. Security workers do not necessarily do manual labor, so the callouses were most likely due to intense gym workouts. Cares about appearance both physically and financially, then.

All in all, Sherlock was not a fan.

Dani looked up at her boyfriend (a comical sight due to the intense height difference) and offered him a light smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He didn't even look at her, and therefore missed the gesture.

"Mr. Cortes, I presume," said Sherlock stiffly, breaking the awkward tension after David's previous statement.

"A great deduction, Mr. Holmes," scoffed Cortes, his mocking smile coming back again.

"David," started Dani, finally earning her a glance from her boyfriend. "This is Sherlock Holmes, the detective I work with occasionally. Sherlock, this is David, my boyfriend." She smiled at Sherlock very briefly before turning her gaze back to David.

"Hmm, yes I think we figured that much out for ourselves, thanks babe," said David with that damn smile. Dani's smile faltered only minutely, but enough for Sherlock to see. "So what were you two giggling about over here?" This time Dani's lack of smile was a bit more obvious.

Sherlock intervened. "Simply about a case, nothing more." His eyes met Dani's and she seemed to give him a silent 'thank you.' Sherlock knew that they couldn't exactly explain that they were discussing calling each other by a first-name basis. He had a hunch that this would not appeal to David's self-esteem.

"A case?" said David, with a raised-eyebrow. "Murder is a cause to giggle?" Sherlock sighed with frustration. He added 'antagonistic' to the list of David's flaws.

"Simply recalling a particularly idiotic accomplice on a robbery, nothing too extreme." Sherlock gave a tight-lipped smile. The tension could be cut by a butter-knife.

David gave a quiet 'hum,' and Sherlock could only assume that he accepted the lie. Dani looked uncomfortable, shifting her weight from foot to foot, eyes slightly downcast. Sherlock decided to remove himself from the situation so as to not cause Dani anymore discomfort. He doubted his presence was really helping the situation.

"Well!" said Sherlock, after another awkward pause. "I'll just take this-" he grabbed his drink, "-and head back to John. Dani," Dani looked up to meet Sherlock's steely eyes. His gaze penetrated her eyes, and in that instant she knew that Sherlock could read her like a book. Make-up or not, it would be as if the bruises were highlighted, screaming 'look at me!' Dani gulped. "Dani, I will see you at work. David-" Sherlock turned to the giant next to him. "...pleasure," said Sherlock, in a tone that suggested it was anything but.

Sherlock's gaze met Dani's one last time. Dani wanted to tell him to stay...to not leave her just yet, but she knew that was not wise. Sherlock's gaze was as calm and cool as ever, but with a slight edge to it that Dani could not identify. Irritation? Frustration? Probably. No doubt David was boring him by this point. She knew it couldn't be concern or anger on her behalf. That wasn't Sherlock's nature, not his way.

He left.

David finally looked down at her. She wished he wouldn't.

...

The car ride back to Dani's flat was silent. Not a single sound permeated the car. Dani wanted to fold into her seat, let the warm leather consume her and pillow her head as she slept...she just wanted to sleep, to forget, to feel relaxed. But every time she closed her eyes, she would tense. She wasn't at home, not yet...

They pulled up to her door, and Dani slid out of the passenger's side door, grabbing her key from her purse. She felt David's arm around her again as he nuzzled her neck. Dani blinked...it was going to be another one of those nights it would seem.

The second they entered the flat, David had Dani pressed up against the wall as he kissed her neck. She winced as he sucked on one of her bruises. His hands found their way to the ribbon around her neck and untied it, the fabric falling down her front and freeing her chest. Dani's eyes flew open.

"David, no! Stop," she fumbled for the fabric to cover herself up, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them lightly, yet firmly, on the wall with one hand, kissing down her neck as she tried to shimmy away. "David!" She was panicking, her eyes wide and beginning to tear.

"Can't you just go with it for once," David murmured, agitation beginning to creep into his voice as he turned his attention back to her chest as he sucked and nipped, causing her to grimace and her stomach to churn.

"David, please, you promised, please stop..." she started to cry a little. She couldn't help it, she was scared. She didn't want it to happen again, not again, and he promised. She detested feeling weak, sounding pathetic, but she didn't know what else to do. It wasn't as if she could fight him, he was at least three times her weight in solid muscle.

David sighed dramatically, and his grip tightened around her already injured wrists. She winced. "You just love doing this to me, don't you?" He was angry. She could see it.

"I don't know-"

"Yes, you do," he growled, as his other hand dug painfully into her hip bone. "Dress up like this, tease me, let me see what is mine but not let me have it. You do realize that is the definition of a 'slut' don't you?" Dani flinched at his choice of words.

"I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did!" he growled as he thrust her back into the wall, throwing his hands off of her. Her head hit the wall, but she shook it off quickly in order to re-tie her dress. She rubbed her wrists as he continued. "It's been nine months, NINE MONTHS!" he roared as Dani jumped and backed up farther into the house, stumbling over her heels. "Nine months I've put up with this chastity shit. What, you don't like it when I touch you? Do I disgust you?"

"No-I-I-of c-course not, no-"

"ANSWER ME!" he roared, and his hand lashed out, backhanding Dani across her cheek. Her teeth bit into her lip and she felt a trail of blood gently drip down her chin. She landed on her hip on the hardwood floor.

She breathed heavily, too scared to say anything else. She kept her eyes cast downward, onto the floor. She always thought it was so neat, how wood has such spiraled patterns, like one big circular maze. She imagined what it would be like, walking around in circles, trying to find a way out. It was so pretty...

David was breathing heavily as well. "It's because of him, isn't it?" he said quietly, as he wiped a slight sheen of sweat from his forehead. She knew she shouldn't have allowed him to have that last scotch. But what was she supposed to do? Say no? Yeah right.

She was confused now. Who was he talking about? She looked up at him now.

He laughed, disgusted. "Oh God, enough with the act, Sweetheart." The word blowed into her chest. He knew, and he called her that anyway. He KNEW. He said that just to hurt her, to scare her, and it worked. "You'd rather be fucking him, wouldn't you? That pale scarecrow, the asshole detective, your 'consulting detective' with the big brain."

Sherlock? How on Earth-

"Sherlock and I-no-we work together sometimes, that's it, I promise-"

"But you wish it was more, wouldn't you? Would you let him touch you? Let him kiss you, make you whimper? Fuck you?" he said as he got closer and closer to her. She backed up slowly, pushing her body back on the wood until she ran into a desk leg.

"Stop it, David," she said with as much force as she could muster. She swore she would never let anyone speak to her like that again. Yet here she was again.

"Me? Stop?" He pulled her up by her upper arms until her feet didn't touch the ground. She felt like a rag doll. She had a doll once, when she was little...her only toy...was she a toy? She didn't want to be...

He shook her hard, her neck snapping. "DON'T YOU EVER TELL ME WHAT TO DO! EVER!" He shoved her into the wall again and hit her in the ribs. She felt the air leave her body. " I know it is because of him, you lying slut!" He kicked her. She tried to run to her bedroom. He grabbed her hair, pulling out the bun and letting it fall down her bruised shoulders.

He hit her, once, twice...one more time, or was it three? Dani wondered why neighbors could be so nosy when they wanted something, but the second they heard something that required help, they suddenly forgot about all the borrowed food ingredients, offers to help carry groceries, and casual conversations on the stoop.

It stopped. Dani coughed and the bitter taste of blood that she knew all to well bubbled on her lips. She didn't know why she was crying. She wasn't feeling particularly sad. Just cold. Did she turn the thermostat down before the gala? She couldn't remember, it felt like a week ago. She wished she had a blanket.

Actually, now that she thought about it, she might have been crying for her dress. It was so pretty...so light and loose, not too clingy...so delicate. She felt like a princess when she tried it on...like a woman. Pretty. Maybe even beautiful, but that might have been a stretch. David's only comment had been a once over and a dilation of pupils. It had made Sherlock smile. Sherlock never smiled. When he smiled, he had a light dimple on his right cheek...

Anyway, the dress was ruined now. The top was ripped. Blood stained the already scarlet fabric, but now it was mottled with dark brown stains. Dirt covered her bum from when she backed away on the floor. Such a pretty dress...

David was calm now. His gigantic arms were around her waist, encircling her as he rested his forehead on the back of her head. He was crying a bit. Funny...he didn't ruin his suit...why was he crying?

"My beautiful girl..." he sighed as he held her close. " Mi paloma, my baby." She never understood why people used that word as a term of endearment. She was twenty-seven...she wasn't a baby, she never was. "Do you see what you do to me? How much I love you?" When people love you, they hurt you. She knew that already, she didn't need him to tell her that. She learned that twenty-seven years ago. "Mi paloma..." My dove. She wasn't a bird, was she? She felt like one sometimes. Breakable, fragile, stupid...running into glass windows again and again, snapping her neck and stunning her.

She slept on the carpeted floor that night, in her pretty dress with the big brown stains. She dreamt of bird wings and big mazes.

Sherlock dreamt of scarlet lips and laughing eyes.

...

Author's Note:

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