Sherlock had his eyes closed, his thoughts immersed deep into his Mind Palace. He was at his calmest and least distracted state when he roamed the halls of his mind, looking for answers, yet he felt at unease. He crooked his closed eyes and concentrated harder when he heard the door open downstairs, and close with force.
It was Ayra and she did not seem to be in her usual chipper mood. Opening his pale eyes, Sherlock tilted his head and looked coldly at his open door, listening to the heavy footsteps climb up the creaking wooden stairs. Her right foot falls heavier than her left, which means she sustained an injury in that leg, yet it may not be recent. From her generally fit physique and some other obvious notions, she used to be an athlete.
"Honey I'm home!" Ayra exclaimed, entering the living room and shutting the door behind her. Sherlock looked around him, noting he was the only one present at the room, making him crook his eyebrows in confusion. She hastily took off her thick coat and hung it up, marching up and taking a seat in John's chair. "You know my dog is usually happier when I call him honey."
"What is it?" Sherlock asked, not with annoyance, but because he knew she was trying to hide something. Watching the smile off her face wipe off, Ayra leaned back and tucked her legs in.
"You have a lovely family." Ayra commented, placing her cheeks against her palms. Sherlock closed his eyes and thinned his lips in grimace, finally opening them.
"Mycroft payed you a visit?" Sherlock asked.
"That's what his name is?" Ayra chuckled, letting her long hair loose. "My parents aren't the only one trying to intentionally get their children bullied."
"Did he offer you money?" Sherlock posed, moving closer to the edge of his seat.
"Yeah." Ayra answered, nodding her head. "There anything to eat here?" she asked, looking around. Sherlock creased his eyebrows and moved back.
"You just had dinner." Sherlock commented, watching her move over to fridge.
"What? That pretentious fucking tiny meal?" Ayra snorted, shaking her head. Sherlock leaned back and waited for a reaction as soon as she opened the refrigerator.
"Fuck!" Ayra shouted, closing the door in a hurry and moving away from it. "Eyeballs!"
"Experiment." Sherlock answered plainly, knitting his fingers together and resting it under his chin. "Did you agree to spy for him?"
"Yeah." Ayra nodded, still visibly shook. "Why, you want some?" Sherlock blinked his eyes and smiled, the corner of his lips quirking up.
"Yes please." Sherlock answered.
"Well, you can't have any." Ayra said, moving back into John's seat again, throwing her body on the plush material. "I'm paying for grad school and I need to live."
"Uni… dull." Sherlock murmured, making Ayra tilt her head up.
"Education is highly valued in my family and culture." Ayra mumbled, pulling her pants up over her waist. "And I'm fucking Bangladeshi for crying out loud."
"School never teaches you the important things." Sherlock replied quickly, narrowing.
"What? Like solving a murder?" Ayra asked, quirking her eyebrow. "That's not everyone's cup of tea, you know."
"Everything else is pointless." Sherlock said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Want something to eat?" Ayra asked, her thick lips pouted. Sherlock looked at her again, his expression softening.
"I don't eat while I'm on a case." He replied plainly, observing her. Most people just annoyed Sherlock – and always critique his work simply because they were incapable. Ayra didn't annoy him… and that was certainly… strange. John and Mrs. Hudson didn't annoy him either, but they were rather plain. She was anything but plain.
There was something about her that didn't seem right. She was clever, almost, if not equally as clever as he was. It stumped him – to have another one.
Ayra moved her head up and smiled, sitting upright and crossing her legs. "You are quite the shameless flirt Sherlock." Ayra smirked, winking at him. Sherlock widened his eyes and diverted his gaze, nervously clearing his throat.
"I don't flirt." Sherlock spat, his words laced with disgust.
"Please." Ayra scoffed. "You love staring at me."
"Your narcissism is off the charts." Sherlock shot back, his voice becoming defensive.
"LOL speak for yourself." Ayra smiled, flashing him a wink. Sherlock shook his head and let out a vexed breath, his pupils narrowing.
"Romance is meaningless." Sherlock said, fiddling his thumbs. Quirking her eyebrows higher, Ayra's smile grew wider, her dimples denting her cheeks.
"What about sex?" Ayra asked. Sherlock froze in place and widened his eyes, his Adams apple bobbing. He took a sharp breath through his nostrils and grimaced. He could feel the heat in his body rising – he didn't want to answer that. What he did away from his work was completely irrelevant.
"Why ask?" He chewed out, his fists tightly balled.
"I think you're quite the kinky one." Ayra commented, getting up from the armchair and walking over to his bookshelf and pulling out a thick book. "What Will Make Her Orgasm Like None Other. A Collection of Kinks and Tricks." Ayra read, a pleasant smile on her face.
"That's research." Sherlock snapped, only watching her smile grow brighter.
"Research?" She giggled.
"Experiment." Sherlock murmured, turning his back to her.
"Who are your subjects?" Ayra asked, opening and flipping through the book. She arched her eyebrows and frowned comically, her left eye considerably darker now. "Damn these are some rather… interesting… what the fuck is that? That can't possibly work."
"Perhaps if you try them then you might just get off." Sherlock commented, smirking. Ayra's smiled wiped off as she shut the book forcefully and shoved it back in the shelve.
"What?" She asked, her voice dangerously low.
"The ceiling is very thin." Sherlock said, pointing up. He was finally starting to get under her skin, and now he knew her weakness.
"Ugh." Ayra exclaimed, heading towards the door. "You listened to me masturbate?!"
"It wasn't my intention." Sherlock commented innocently. "You aren't very quiet. Must be frustration to not have an orgasm, in… four… no five months."
Ayra's mouth gaped open, her mouth curled in a mixture of shock and disgust. "You're such an asshole!" she shouted before shutting the door forcefully. Sherlock smiled and leaned back, his fingers curled together. Finally, he knew what ticks her off – and he was certainly going to use that to his advantage.
John entered the living room, opening the door slightly and popping his head inside. "What did you do?" He asked, looking behind him.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock questioned, his back straight.
"Ayra was screaming at you." John said, pointing to the door. "What'd you say?"
"Pointed out a mere observation." Sherlock answered slowly, closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of the leather armchair. "Apparently, she can't handle the truth."
"What did you say though?" John asked once again.
"I don't think you would want to know." Sherlock answered plainly, his eyes closed. His mind was at ease again. After all, it was bothering him that he couldn't gauge the same reaction for Ayra as he did from other woman, and making her mad certainly did the trick.
Ayra splashed some more cold water on her burning face, trying to cool her skin down. Blindly grabbing her towel, she slowly patted off the excess water and neatly placed the towel back on the drying rack. Did Sherlock Holmes make it his sole mission to piss everyone off?
Ayra reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it off, observing her body. She looked down on her stomach, and lightly touched one of her fading scars. She got much of her scars lasered off, but some still remained, just to haunt her every time she looked at the mirror.
Due to all the stress eating, she had certainly gained weight – and it really wasn't helping her back problems. Ayra was always big chested and whenever she gained weight, all the fat would make a direct deposit to her breasts, only making them heavier and more tedious to carry around.
She pulled off her bra and took a breath of relief and looked at the mirror. "Sorry, but you know why you need to be locked up." Ayra said, looking at her breasts. "Strict supervision at all times."
Shaking her head, she pulled on a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized shirt so she didn't have to wear anything underneath. She opened the bathroom door, her clothes folded in her hand and reached for the phone.
"Fuck me." She murmured, seeing six missed calls. Walking over to the counter and popping her pills, Ayra opened facetime and took a seat in front of the TV, the remote in her hand. "Hi maa." She said cheerfully.
"Where were you?" her mother asked in Bengali, her eyebrows creased in worry. Ayra rolled her eyes and scoffed.
"Bathroom." She replied. "I just got back. Had dinner with Em."
"Aw…how is she?" her mother asked, her tone completely changed. Bengali moms were so unpredictable – could go 0 to 100 in matter of seconds.
"You know the answer to that question already." Ayra replied sweetly, opening her refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of white wine.
"Why do you always have to do that?" Her mother exasperated. Ayra looked at the bottle for a white and considered getting a glass. Drinking from the bottle only encouraged her to finish the whole bottle. For once she's going to try drinking from a glass half full, like people usually do.
"Well you know me-" Ayra shrugged, watching carefully as she poured the glass half, watching it with disgust. "I am just a ray of sunshine." She said, pouring more wine to the brim of the glass.
Her mother paused for a while, only hearing her steadying breathing. "Is everything alright?" Her mother asked. "Don't like your classes?" Ayra crooked her eyebrows and sighed. Before everything happened, her mother was her pillar. In a house as unstable has hers, she needed a parent to rely on. Unfortunately most of her life was a lie now, and it did really break her that she couldn't share anything with her. Whether it be for her safety, or to protect her from the disappointment… it was still one of the hardest thing she had to do every day.
"Classes are good. Although I do have one professor who I just want to punch in the face constantly." Ayra said, crashing on the couch. "No reason, he just has one of those faces."
"Can you for once in your life manage to stay out of trouble?" Her mother shrieked, making Ayra close her eyes in frustration. "I worry so much about you, I mean this anger you have-"
"I only getting angry like for one person." Ayra said, pushing herself up on the couch. "And I don't have any other incidents."
"Really?" Her mother posed, making Ayra flutter her eyelashes.
Dhaka, Bangladesh (Five Years Ago)
Ayra was always put on bouncer duty, especially because everyone knew Ayra could give a significant ass-kicking to anyone at any time, or a group of people. Obviously she wasn't particularly feeling the festivities as she had another "disagreement" with her father earlier. She looked up, watching the dense starless night of the city, glooming over her. She squinted her eyes to stop the splitting headache, but nothing helped.
"People who are not invited cannot go in." Someone said in Bengali, making her open her eyes.
"Yeah, but my cousin invited me." Said the guy. "He goes to your school." Ayra tilted her head and looked at the guy, taking a deep breath. He was a middle-aged man, probably works in a bank but still relies on his family money. His cousin didn't go to her school – that man was just trying to come in for the free booze and prey on young foreign girls.
"What's your cousin's name?" Ayra asked, taking a step forward. The man looked at her and smiled, making her grip her fists tightly.
"Mohammad." He replied, with a smile on his face. He looked back on his group of friends and laughed, making Ayra flare her nostrils.
"Really?" Ayra snapped immediately. "There are approximately 150 million men named Mohammad in this world, but we don't have one in our school." Ayra took another step forward, inches away from the man's nose. "So walk before I smash your and your friends heads against the curb."
The group of men turned to her and laughed, making her squint her eyes and she felt a sudden pressure squeezing against her skull. She couldn't properly hear what they were saying, but as soon as she heard the phrase "magi", She gird her teeth hard against her gums and grabbed the man by the collar, pulling him down on the road. She stood over him and shoved her feet hard against his throat, depriving him of air and choking him.
"Yo what the fuck is she doing?" Someone shouted from the group, but no one came to his rescue as everyone watched in horror.
"Repeat what you said." Ayra gritted through her teeth, gridding her foot down hard. The man began to splutter saliva all over, making her wrinkle her nose in disgust. The man attempted to make a sound, but failed as he desperately tied to gasp for air.
"You crazy bitch you're killing him!" Someone screamed, making Ayra flash her bewildered eyes at the crowd, scanning to find the speaker.
"What you want to be next?" Ayra said, releasing her foot away from his throat. His blue face slowly returned to color as he gasped for air, his eyes wide in horror and shock. She narrowed her eyes and drew her face closer to his, making him squeal back in horror. "The next time you feel the need to call a girl a whore or try to touch them, think of this day when a seventeen year old girl nearly killed you." She came closer, making the man's breathing stop in sheer horror. "It could have been a lot worse." She whispered. One of the man's friend pulled him up and jolted away, making any other group of bystanders who were planning to get in slowly walk away. All the mutters disappeared in the thin air.
"Dude you took it a little too far today." Ayra looked back and took the lit cigarette from her friends mouth, taking a drag.
"Relax." Ayra said, blowing out smoke. "I know what I was doing."
"I did know what I was doing!" Ayra protested, almost knocking her glass of wine over. "I wasn't going to die."
"There was severe bruising on his neck. And he passed out-" Her mother continued.
"Claimed" Ayra reiterated. "And That was a lesson for him. Not to disrespect women like that. He can probably never look at anyone with poor intentions anymore. So I have no regrets about that."
"You never seem to have regrets about anything." Her mother sighed, making Ayra chew on her bottom lip.
"Can we not- please" Ayra finally said, finishing her wine glass. She looked at the empty glass and had the sudden urge to smash it against the wall, but restraint herself. "You know what, I'll call you later." Ayra said, before hanging up the phone. She took the wine glass and dropped it on the sink, and bend down to find the joint he hid. Turns out Mrs. Hudson had a side business which was very convenient for her. She placed the fat joint against her dry lips and lit it using the stove.
She promised herself she would only have one glass of wine today. Technically she wasn't breaking on her promise, but she needed something to soothe that splitting headache.
Ayra didn't bother to get dressed the next morning, but just ran down to Mrs. Hudson to see if she made any breakfast. Placing a firm knock on her door, her landlady opened it with a wide smile, her wispy hair disheveled. "Oh, good morning dear!"
"More like good afternoon." Ayra snorted, placing her hand over her mouth to cover her yawn. "I didn't want to cook anything today. Happen to have anything to eat?"
"Oh, you're just in luck. John went off for an interview this morning and Sherlock didn't touch his meal." Mrs. Hudson murmured, pulling out a tray with steaming hot traditional English breakfast in it. "Oh… I will have to make you more since these are pork sausages. Would you want beef or turkey?
"Either one of those are fine Mrs. Hudson." Ayra smiled, taking a seat. "It's already more than enough that you're cooking for me from time to time."
"Don't worry about it dear." Mrs. Hudson smiled. "I loved the pie you made the other day! May I have the recipe?"
"Of course. Baking has always been… a sort of therapy for me." Ayra smiled. "Always eat my own creation myself."
"That's good. You need the meat." Mrs. Hudson said, putting her plate down. "You are rather lanky."
Ayra looked up and snorted. "Lanky? What, with my D-cups, Kim-K ass and mermaid thighs? Please…" Ayra shook her head and stabbed her fork on her sausage, biting it in half. "This is heavenly Mrs. Hudson."
"Ayra!" A shout came from upstairs, making her crunch her nose. Mrs. Hudson looked up at the ceiling and shook her head.
"This boy…" she mumbled, going about to do something in her kitchen.
"What do you want!" Ayra shouted back, the small kitchen ringing. Mrs. Hudson squirmed but continued working.
"I need you up here." He shouted back, as if his mouth was placed against the floor for clarity. Ayra rolled her eyes and continued eating, shaking her head.
"Fuck off, I'm eating." Ayra screamed. "Now that boy is lanky." Ayra shrugged, pointing up at the ceiling. "You should force-feed him."
"Oh, dear we have tried." Mrs. Hudson replied, her eyes wide.
"We?" Ayra asked, half of her plate already done. "You mean John or the psycho brother?"
"Mycroft? You met him already?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "I know he can seem a little intense, much like his brother, but he has all the right intentions. After all their mother is such a sweetheart it really makes up for everything."
Ayra put down her fork and smiled, looking down at the table. "Is Sherlock a mama's boy?" Ayra asked, completely amused.
"Oh yes! Both the boys are very fond of their mother." Mrs. Hudson answered. Ayra squinted his eyes and giggled, trying to block her ugly snort.
"Wow he's just the cutest, isn't he?" She giggled, cleaning off the plate and taking it over to the sink to wash it.
"We are still talking about the Holmes boys, aren't we?" Mrs. Hudson asked, her expression filled with confusion. Ayra smiled and shook her head.
"Only Sherlock." Ayra said, placing her plate on the drying rack. "Does he have any girls or guys over… like not for a case?"
"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked, arching her eyebrows. "Oh, no dear. Sherlock never has any social visits. Such a mysterious and strange boy…" Ayra looked down and began to bite her lip.
"Ayra!" the shout came again, making both Ayra and Mrs. Hudson to jump. Ayra pursed her lips and looked up, her eyebrows crooked in annoyance.
"I'm coming!" She screamed, waving goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and storming out.
Sherlock heard stomping footsteps run up, breaking his concentration of staring into the graffiti and looking at the door. Ayra peeked her head inside, an unusual bring smile on her face and her long hair laying casually around her waist. "Hey babe." She added with a wink.
Sherlock closed his eyes and gulped, fixing his collar. Why must she always do that? Straightening himself, he watched his strange neighbor open the door and enter, wearing a baggy graphic shirt and shorts. It almost looked as if she wasn't wearing any pants. Her thighs were slightly bigger but they were still very toned, from playing football most of her life. Then again, this was considered acceptable attire in California.
"Oh, how nice for you to finally show up." Sherlock murmured, taking a seat.
"I shouldn't have, after how much of a prick you were last night." Ayra commented, flipping her hair.
"Why aren't you still mad?" Sherlock asked, lacing his fingers together and putting them under his chin.
"Cuz I just ate and woke up from a wonderful night of sleep and my attitude is gone." Ayra chipped, crashing in John's chair.
Sherlock looked over her and the corners of his lip quirked up. "Is it the food or the joint you blazed up in your flat last night?"
"The food." Ayra replied, a smile on her face. "The weed here is absolute shit. What did you find?" she asked, her tone becoming serious. The corners of Sherlock's lips quirked up when he reached for his laptop and gave it to her. Ayra narrowed her eyes, her lips moving silently along as she read the article he found this morning. After she finished reading, she looked up and nodded.
"Ah, interesting. This is going somewhere" Ayra commented sarcastically. The door flew open and John entered, a pleasant smile on his face. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and observed his flat mate, he seemed giddy – he met someone.
"Hey John, how was your interview?" Ayra asked, a bright greeting smile on her face.
"Oh great… she's great." John mumbled, making Ayra crook her eyebrows and smile at Sherlock.
"She?" Sherlock asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
"It." John reiterated, looking at Ayra. "How you feelin' now then?"
"Considerably better, thanks." Ayra said, handing John the laptop. "You may want to see this."
John crooked his eyebrows,, reading with full concentration. "The intruder who can walk through walls…" John read.
"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon."
John straightened up and looked at Sherlock, a questionable look on his face. "God, you don't think…"
"He's killed another one."
Sherlock climbed up the stairs after Ayra, making her look back and smile. "Are you checking me out Sherlock?" Sherlock froze and narrowed his eyes, his mind blank. He cleared his throat and looked down. Why did she have to ask questions he had no answer to? Sherlock was Mr. Punchline, as John said – he had the answer to everything.
"Checking what out?" Sherlock asked innocently, making her swirl around, her cheeks flushed and her mouth gaped open.
"Do you stay up at night and thinks of ways to insult people?" Ayra scoffed, jamming her apartment door open. "Or is it a natural talent and you have everything ready at the tip of your tongue?"
"I consider it to be a natural talent." Sherlock answered briskly, all too proud of himself to throw her off for a change. Ayra turned around and looked at him, her eyes scanning his frame from top to bottom. Sherlock knit his eyebrows and looked down, wondering if there was something wrong with him. With that, Ayra put on a mischievous smile, making his cheeks burn.
"Now you're just fishing for compliments." Ayra smirked, shoving by his side.
"What?" Sherlock asked, buttoning the single button on his suit.
"That purple shirt is divine." Ayra commented, making him take in a deep breath. "See, compliments are nice – try it on me now." Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, considering it for a moment. He didn't resort compliments for anyone, but as hard it was to admit… he had quite a few for Ayra.
For starters, he was very clever, and observant. That was something he hasn't seen… in anyone besides himself, and unfortunately Mycroft. Yet when it came to her appearance it was something else entirely. She was what most would consider beautiful – but beauty was a matter of childhood perceptions. Even so, she was beautiful.
"You aren't an idiot." Sherlock finally answered, blinking. Ayra smiled and closed her eyes, dramatically placing a hand on her heart.
"Ugh, I'm flattered." She chimed, reaching inside her closet. "Are you going to stand there and watch me undress?"
"I don't think you'll have a problem with that." Sherlock answered quickly. Ayra turned around and chuckled, shaking her head. "Seeing you are already so unusually comfortable with partial nudity."
"My my, you're becoming bold." Ayra sang, pulling her hair back. "No, but seriously, what is it?"
"You have a Federal hold on your name." Sherlock said, clasping his hands behind his back. The smile of Ayra's face disappeared, overcome by a dark shadow. She dropped her cloths and looked up at Sherlock, her eyebrows knit together.
"I can assure you I am no criminal." Ayra murmured, picking up the clothes from the floor and heading towards the bathroom.
"I didn't say you were." Sherlock answered back, quickly walking over to the door and blocking her entry. She stopped abruptly and looked up, her mismatched eyes dilated. She parted her lips to say something, but stopped short and turned her lips into a frown, looking down on the floor.
"Think of it this way, if there was something seriously off about me, Mycroft, being the over-protective brother he is, wouldn't let me live above you." Ayra said, placing her hand on Sherlock's chest and gently moving him away.
"Obviously, Mycroft knows." Sherlock murmured, looking back.
"Sherlock, think of this as a puzzle. And I'm not going to help you solve it." Ayra murmured, shaking her head. "I know you'll figure it out soon enough. Until then-"
"Whatever it is, it better not be dull." Sherlock commented, a little sharply than he intended. "It really would be a shame if you were waste of my time." Ayra closed her closer door and spun around, a bright smile on her face. Her strange eyes gleamed against the pale sunlight, making her look more mischievous.
"So you're admitting it?" She smiled. "You've taken a special interest in me." Sherlock crooked his brows, his icy blue eyes darting rapidly. He couldn't quite understand her behavior. What was she doing, scrabbling his mind trying to be nice to him?
"Don't flatter yourself." Sherlock replied, making her smile even more. He tilted his head, observing her. "Lectures are pointless; we are going to Scotland Yard-"
"Yeah… no." Ayra answered, shutting the bathroom door on his face. Sherlock stood outside the door with a baffled expression on his face. He did admit he enjoyed putting the rouse on people, but she was putting the rouse on him. He didn't completely understand it. Any women who would attempt to flirt with him usually ended up in tears. Sherlock was very good at shooting people's spirits down.
But why couldn't he bring down hers?
"Magi" means cheap whore in Bengali
