CHAPTER 3: WHAT IS THIS FEELING?

Over the next few days, Sherlock could not stop thinking about her, which annoyed him immensely. His brain was betraying him!

"Sentiment is the grit in a sensitive instrument." He must have told himself that a million times since meeting her. That didn't seem to stop his cheek from tingling where she had kissed him, didn't stop her note, still in his coat pocket, from burning into his hip. That didn't stop the way her handwriting had formed her name had engraved itself in his mind.

Finally, after even playing the violin didn't help him (though it seriously annoyed his neighbors in the hotel he was staying at) he decided to call her.

He was bored, he told himself. The case had been solved, but Mycroft was asking him to stay in the country a little longer. She had been mildly interesting (very interesting, which he will only admit inside his own head) to talk to. It's just something to occupy him until Mycroft finally arrests the man and he can go home.

(he's not attracted to her nope not at all most definitely not that's not the case)

So he called her.

After four rings she picked up.

"Hello, this is Kristy."

Something stirred in him at the sound of her voice.

"Hello Kristy. It's Sherlock. We met at the club a few nights ago?"

"Well, about time you called, dork. I was starting to think I wasn't interesting."

Sherlock found himself smiling and forced himself to stop.

"It wasn't that. I just… didn't have time."

"That case giving you a hard time, huh?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Poor baby." He could practically hear the smirk in her voice. "Do you like coffee?"

He blinked at the sudden shift in subject. "Um…yes. Why?"

"I'm bored and want coffee. Wanna meet me at the Starbucks on Fifth?"

Sherlock blinked again. Was she… asking him out?

He was pretty bored here at the hotel…

"Okay."

"Awesome. Give me a second to escape from this woefully boring social engagement and I'll be there." She gave him the exact address and hung up with a cheerful "Bye! See you there!"

And she was there. When he got out of the cab, she was sitting at a table outside. Seeing him, she got up and smiled, waving. Sherlock waved back and headed over.

"Hey." she said when he reached her, leaning over to hug him. Sherlock was confused, but hugged her back. The same perfume from the night at the club surrounded him. He decided it was citrus. Quite faint and very pleasant. They sat down and ordered coffee.

She wasn't wearing as much makeup as she had been a few nights ago: none at all, actually. She wore a soft rose-colored sweater against the October chill of NYC, pale blue jeans and, once again, boots, tan this time instead of black. Her hair was gathered back into a sleek ponytail.

"So." She said, leaning forward and folding her arms on the tabletop. "Tell me about yourself."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. "That is excessively vague. What do you want to know?"

The waiter came back and set their coffee down on the table: his black with two sugars, hers with a little cream added.

She laughed softly. "Just to know." She gave him that smile again. "Just tell me… you know. Hobbies. Family. Your job." She gestured with her hands. "Who is Sherlock Holmes?"

He could count on one hand the amount of people he had opened up to in his life, but she was smiling again and the sun was hitting her hair just right, turning it into a tail of fiery copper down her back, and her eyes, the color of the coffee in her cup, were looking at him with more interest than he could remember a woman ever showing him, and he couldn't stop once he started.

He told her he lived in London ("Ooh, fancy." She said.) and that he was the world's only consulting detective. ("Cool!" she said, eyes sparkling and her grin infectiously wide. "You started your own job. That is seriously cool!") He told her about his interest in science. ("A man of many talents, aren't you?" she said, winking at him over the rim of her mug, and he could feel himself blush, something he hadn't done since he was at least eight.) He told her about his brother. ("Mycroft and Sherlock, huh? Your parents really got creative in the name department." Her smile told him she wasn't being mean, merely observing.) It was addicting and unnerving, talking to someone who didn't find him off-putting. The strange stirring within him was happening again, and so to collect his thoughts he asked her. "What about you?"

She shrugged, looking down into her cup. "Eh. I'm nothing special."

He surprised himself by replying "This morning with you says otherwise." And then he blushed a little again when she smiled up at him through long blonde eyelashes. (how old are you geezum cripes get it together Holmes).

"Smart, talented, handsome, and smooth too? I think I hit the jackpot when I let you sit down." She said, smiling flirtatiously over at him. His blush grows darker. (What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is this woman doing to him?)

"I'm working on a chemistry degree in college." She tells him. "I've lived here all my life. I have one sibling: a sister, Sabrina. I was actually 'hanging out'" she makes exaggerated air quotes "with her when you called, so I am forever in your debt for rescuing me from the torture. She's trying to start a heavy metal band with a bunch of her friends, and 1)I hate heavy metal, and 2) she is absolutely awful. But I can't see her unless she is practicing." She made a face, and then brightened. "But anyway, yeah. I want to become a biochemist when I graduate. Either that or work in forensics. I find the human body absolutely fascinating."

Sherlock was suddenly very aware of his heartbeat speeding up slightly.

They talked and laughed for another hour before she got a text and had to go. "One second." She said before walking around to his side of the table and pulling out her phone.

"Smile." She said, draping her arm around his shoulder. "This is for your contact picture."

He didn't know what made him do it, but he wrapped his arm around her back so her cheek was even closer to his and smiled at the camera: a real smile, not a smirk.

She took the picture, then smiled at him and hugged him again. "Bye, Sherlock."

"Bye, Kristy." He smiled at her retreating back, and then started to walk in the opposite direction. He hadn't been walking long when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and checked it.

It was the picture she had just taken, the one of them smiling. A text accompanied it.

You're cute when you smile. Dinner 6 Friday, maybe? I know a reeaaalllyy good Italian place…-Kristy

He found himself grinning again.

This is just because I'm bored, he told himself as he answered.

Sure-SH.

CHAPTER 4: A VERY PERSONAL CASE

Sherlock may or may not have a problem.

Mycroft called to inform him of the problems England was having extraditing the criminal, which meant he had to stay in America for at least two more weeks. Normally this news would have sent him into a pout, but he wasn't as bothered now. In fact, the news that he had two more weeks to spend here made him very cheerful.

All because of Kristy.

They had been meeting ever since they had gotten into a spirited debate (over some of the best Italian food he has ever eaten) over which element was more reactive to water: she said calcium, he said very active metals. Some of the things he had said had caused her to laugh, ducking her head so her hair (which had been down and held back with a black headband) had fallen forward to hide her face, shoulders shaking. And once again, at the end of it, they decided to meet up again at the same coffeehouse they had first met at. That meeting, only lasting an hour or two, had made him even more intrigued by her. Then she had had to go back to school, so he amused himself by texting her between meetings.

Sometimes it was just debates.

I'm telling you, dork, calcium is more reactive! –Kristy

No way. It's very active metals that are more reactive. - SH

Clearly, you need to sit through a chem. lecture here. –Kristy

Other times, it was flirting (though he tried not to call it that because Sherlock Holmes does not flirt.)

Ugh, lectures. Lectures are boring. Its way more fun texting you. –SH

(He totally doesn't obsess over that text until she replies)

Awww! I like texting you too. Your way more interesting… and way better looking… then my professor.-Kristy

(He totally doesn't blush at that nope nuh-uh not at all)

Her forwardness intrigued him. Most of the other women or girls he had been around had been shy or coy. They played games with his head, so he played with theirs right back, by telling them he knew exactly what they were doing. None had ever interested him…until now.

It wasn't just the fact that she was pretty. She was intelligent and funny, and naturally happy. She never played games: she told him exactly what she thought. Like what happened over another conversation:

You have got to call me or something. My friend is sitting next to me and asked who I was texting and I replied ' my boyfriend' and she doesn't believe me so call me so I can prove her wrong. She'll owe me five bucks HA! –Kristy

Sherlock's heart just about stopped when he read the words 'my boyfriend.' He quickly replied.

I'm your boyfriend now? –SH

Um…duh. We've been going on dates and everything. But if your uncomfortable with that that's good too. – Kristy

Was he okay with that? Oh yeah. He was just fine with that.

I'm perfectly fine with that label. - SH

Well then, boyfriend, call me. I need five bucks. - Kristy

He had called her then, still thrilling silently over the words.

Then, the day before he had arranged to meet her at the movies, Mycroft called him and told him that he was free to come home.

All suaveness abandoned him.

"I can't." he blurted.

There was silence on the other end before a perplexed Mycroft answered "What?"

"I can't come back now. There is a" he almost said 'girl' but stopped himself "case that I have found. It's rather…personal. I don't want to leave until I have solved it."

Well, it was the truth, technically. Kristy (and his feelings toward her) is the most interesting case he believes he has ever come across.

It took Mycroft a second to answer.

"Very well, Sherlock. Call me when you have solved this case and I will fly you home. Good luck to you."

Sherlock felt the tension drain out of him.

"I will. Goodbye, Mycroft."

He hung up, still trying not to grin.

Geez, he was turning into a teenage girl.