Chapter 4
Camie hadn't thought of Sherlock as a good kisser until that night. Upon telling him, Sherlock promptly told her that she needed a little work. His voice was harsh, but there was a smile in his eyes. They sat in uncomfortable silence before calling a cab back to 221B.
Sherlock disappeared into his room the moment they arrive. A half an hour passed, so Camie shut the door to her room and sat on the bed, staring at the boxes on her floor. They were stuffed full with most of her things. She hadn't been able to move everything out of Rosalie's apartment at once. Camie sighed. Her hand twitched, searching for something to do, something crazy and irrational. She picked up her new mystery book that sat on the edge of the bed. Camie read the first five pages, only to throw the book and mutter, "The butler did it. Why is it always the butler?"
Camie jumped as the door flew open. Sherlock rushed in and grabbed her hand, pulling her out the door.
"What happened?" Camie ran after him, almost stumbling down the stairs.
"Nothing. Just come with me." His deep voice rose three pitches, and sweat accumulated on his forehead from nervousness. As Sherlock pushed open the door, Camie snatched her coat off the hook at the bottom of the stairs as Sherlock pushed open the door and pulled her out onto the cold London streets. He let hold of her hand as he called a passing cab. Camie buttoned her double breasted coat and pulled on her gloves as the cab rolled to a stop. They climbed in.
"Where to?" The cabbie looked back at them.
As Sherlock took off his gloves, he rambled off a name and turned to Camie. Her cheeks flushed as Sherlock watched her without a shred of emotion on his face. He took her hand, moving his fingers to the seam of her right glove. He pealed off her glove and turned her hand over. Sherlock pushed her sleeve up, but Camie tore her hand away. She held her wrist and looked away. Her eyes travelled to the floor of the cab. "Some scars don't heal."
Sherlock rubbed his own arms feeling the nicotine patches on his skin. "Still the addict."
His phone rang in his pocket drawing his attention. "Yes... How unfortunate... Why... Oh, yes... We'll be there in the morning... Yes, it can wait. Thanks, Molly."
Sherlock slid the phone into his coat pocket and adjusted his scarf. "Molly found Aconite on the victims skin."
"Why poison them when they are bleeding out?"
"Perhaps to scare them into writing the message."
"Write the message and you get the antidote." Camie slid her glove back on. "Where are we going now?"
"On a..." Sherlock cleared his throat. "Date. John's always suggesting I go on one. I thought a walk along the Thames would be nice. That is what people do on date, I assume. It's always helped me think."
The city lights shimmered on the dark water. In the distance, boat and car horns echoed each other. The street Sherlock and Camie walked was dim and silent. White clouds of vapor escaped their lips when they breathed. Camie watched as the water in her breath crystalized and fell softly. Her hand wrapped around Sherlock's. She could feel the mental war in his head through his hand. The muscles would tighten and relax. He would look at her, start to say something, and then look away.
This was going against everything he had ever known. He couldn't understand the emotion he was feeling. Love was a primal, chemical thing that couldn't be controlled. Sherlock fought for control and found there was none to have. These feelings weren't rational or logical. Sherlock looked down at Camie at the way the light and water reflected off her cheeks and eyes. A slight smile played on her lips. She was enjoying this. The revelation shook Sherlock. She enjoyed spending time with him. The third person ever to be happy when he was around.
Camie looked up at him before he could look away. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something. In this light, her skin looked flawless. Her hand shivered in the cold and her heart was beating faster than in the cab. The sadness that had been there before was gone. The mental wall that separated logical from primal in Sherlock's brain shattered.
Sherlock pulled her closer and ran his thumb over her jaw line. He titled her head up and saw the fear in her eyes. But, when Sherlock started to back away, she pulled him closer.
The raw ache, the longing, in his stomach reappeared and he wanted nothing more than to be back at the flat with her. He pulled away, took Camie's hand, and ran for the flat.
Camie was laughing as they ran into the flat, breathing hard. As they hung up their coats, the duo listened for Mrs. Hudson's snores. Camie took Sherlock's hand and pulled him up the stairs to the living room. Camie took off her jacket and laid it on the couch. Sherlock did the same, slowly. He had stopped looking at her. Camie took his hands. Tears from the cold shone in her eyes. One touch of her lips and the partial wall Sherlock was building shattered once more.