Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind
A/N: New chapters up, more coming. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)
Chapter 4: Where is my Mind?
Sherlock came in just then and shut the doors behind him before casually making his way to his seat. I stared at him for the longest time, his hair wild from his obvious train exploration and clothing damp from the snow that had started. Slowly I clench my fists preventing the urge to harm him and return to my own seat. He sits there casually staring out at the rolling trees as we continue on. He once again looks distracted though I have a feeling it was no accident that he disappeared for a reason. In fact I felt very uncomfortable when those men had come into the car seeking someone-I was pretty sure it wasn't something.
Sherlock sat there waiting on me for an answer but when I refused to say anything he found it irksome. Questions meant answers and his own form of questions would come so he could learn more. I being more stubborn than he guessed kept my mouth shut. In truth I was thinking I may say something that I would either regret or that would give him insight into my personal life. I didn't wish to share either ideal and still remained quiet.
Sitting there for a long time his finger gently tapping his mouth he finally looked up. "Did you see anything unusual from the two that entered the car?"
"No, I wasn't looking." I remarked scornfully, though they had given me the creeps and I shifted slightly uncomfortably at the memory.
"You're supposed to be assisting me Isabella, not hiding."
"I went looking for you and guessed either you fell off or went uptop." I retort feeling seriously annoyed with him at the moment.
"You felt discomfort." I gave him a look that implied 'do not go there'-Sherlock would never listen and had to continue. "What bothered you about them, I've watched you enough to know that you don't ignore the details like others do." Looking up I find this observation to be unnerving.
I had once been told by my own mother that I reminded her of this neurotic detective, minus the bad habits and lack of tact. I had laughed at least until she said she meant it. Now thinking back I don't find it at all funny, in fact to be compared to him now knowing him on a personal level I felt offended. I think back already knowing he isn't going to stop badgering me with questions.
"Thin, both of them though one was shorter than the other. They wore black, I had this urge to not bother to focus on them too closely, they freaked me out. Something shady about them set off my urge to keep to myself instead of getting attention. Something you should try to do more often." I add giving into my urge to be less than pleasant.
He made a face at my less than enthusiastic cooperation and settled back in his seat. I noticed his hands feeling about his pockets before he looked even more disagreeable. Finally he settled his hands in a praying fashion under his chin-I figured the lack of his pipe made his contemplative moments more difficult. I wondered how he was holding out when since I had met him he had not ingested any sort of chemical stimulation and was lacking his trademark pipe.
It didn't take me long to wonder what he wasn't sharing. He had known they were looking, he had already made a plan and once again I found myself left in the dark. I didn't even know if I should have any faith in him. Sherlock Holmes would do all he could to protect his friends, he had even tried to protect Irene Adler-though I think the mind of her own concept had been her undoing. I didn't fit in either category, I began to wonder if I could be considered someone of less importance. I might have even let the idea of his brilliance lead me to believe he could find out how I got here.
"Pensive, a new look on you."
I shrug not feeling the need to share. "I am quite capable of deep thought Sherlock." I fidget uncomfortably with where my thoughts had gone.
He sat there for a long while watching me, I hate when people do that because I can feel it. It's like a sensation of insects crawling on your skin and no way of removing them. Crossing my arms I look out the windows seeing we are at a steady speed and feel relieved by that. It meant no new surprise visitors right away.
"I can see right through you Isabella, your gestures and actions give away more about you then you would like." I clap lightly showing my sarcasm and pointedly stuck my tongue out though it felt incredibly childish on my part. "I will start with the doubt that I plan on leaving you behind to suffer some vicious wrath of my enemies. I do not plan to do so, though you hate it…you are a woman and I despite my somewhat obnoxious behavior-quoting you I may add-I do have some standards. I will keep my word for your help in the matter of making sure John and Mary are safe. I don't know how much I can help, but I've never given up without doing the most I can do. You've clearly gathered that it takes a lot to outwit me."
"Exactly, not even Moriarty's genius outwitted you. You proved to be the shark in that complicated game. Though you did pay some prices," I didn't say the exact ones but once again I knew that he most likely already was a step ahead of me.
I could be smart, I could be compared to him by family but one thing was certain. I am not Sherlock Holmes and despite any education I have from my own time, he can still be a hundred miles ahead of me and I would be left clueless. It felt alien being in this time and being with this particular character. I found myself curious to know if the author of the stories of Sherlock Holmes even knew how much of a real character he had created. Sighing I once again fold my legs tightly to my body and cradle my hands under my chin staring out at the rushing by scenery. I have no thoughts that really matter at the moment, I just think about how my time spent with Lianna had changed me from the woman I had been.
I had become a recluse for the most part. I had shut off from the world only allowing an old widow and her niece into my life. I had made no move to settle in any place in this crazy time and tried to purposely avoid letting anyone truly know me. I turned private, a strange concept for someone that back in my own time used to go out. Went to dances, camping and shopping; had fun nights with the girls and movie nights where we could stay up late having laughs or scares.
Sherlock's POV
Watching her he saw her eyes sort of become unfocused and wondered what she was thinking about. He could guess it had something to do with her past and present colliding. He had seen the same look before he gathered her emotions over the letters. Isabella was a complicated mess of emotions, woman and temper. He found it a challenge but had never expected her to lash out on him. He reached down feeling around his injured ribs, they felt good now and the bruises were fading but moving too quickly usually caused discomfort.
His arm had long since healed, the scar a heavy reminder at prices paid to end the insanity of Moriarty. The train begun to come to a stop, looking up he realized they were near Paris. A familiar stop he looked out seeing the hustle of a place he had seen when terror reigned in.
"Paris?" She looks around spotting the familiar landmarks from her own time and feels strangely nostalgic.
"A stop before going to Baker Street, for the most part I hope to find an old friend." She looks skeptical, he smirks that knowing way and she doesn't feel like the need to ask further. "How do you feel about Gypsies?"
Original POV
"Madame Zimsa?" His eyes shine with that gleam and I realize again I had been played. "You keep doing the games to get answers out of me and I won't aim at your nose next time. I'll go lower." He looked at me in disbelief, it didn't take his IQ to get what I meant.
"Noted." He stood leading the way out of the car stopping in his tracks.
I pause looking carefully around him keeping low. This time I am for once glad he's taller than me. One of those creepy guys are standing there observing him. I don't pay attention to him, instead I look around for the other one seeing no immediate sign of him. Now the question is what do I do while Sherlock beats this moron senseless? I step back giving him room and wait patiently. I hear sounds of the fight, watching brief glimpses of him move before moving sideways watching the assailant go headfirst into the outside door of our car and slide down looking to be either in a lot of pain or out cold. I prefer the latter.
I'm squished into the corner of the car and look sideways seeing an arm come into the car with a gun and react swinging my own down forcing the other attacker to loose his weapon and alerting Sherlock to the other one behind him. I move into the car and heave the doors open watching the second one go sailing out the door and land halfway down the steep incline near the tracks.
"I think they know who you are." I say watching him slam the door shut, seeing his expression I gather two wasn't the only number.
"After you, no throwing you off." He winks jumping down to the ground below before I do the same.
Unfortunately I have no grace and never had much to start with. I lose my footing managing to wave my arms wildly before something wraps around my waist pulling me to a steady footing. I look behind me seeing Sherlock look amused before leading the way, rolling my eyes cursing him under my breath despite the save I follow. I am reminded of that saying the blind leading the blind and hope we don't go blindly into some major trap.
Going through the romantic town I expected funny hats, couples around in abundance and striped clothing. I saw very little of that when Sherlock led the way through the streets. I eye small vendors and outdoor café's before he pulls up short near an alleyway set back in what appears to be a likely place for an ambush. Looking at him I see he's amused, I'm beginning to think he takes pleasure in making me miserable. I mocking his earlier gestures to leave the train indicate he can get kicked around first, that way I have time to run away.
His expression changes to disdain before he walks on ahead of me. I skeptically look around before daring to follow-though I would rather be elsewhere-stepping around things in the alley such as boxes, crates and other debris I purposely avoid identifying things that look like someone got sick on the ground. In fact when he rounds the corner both of us pull up short seeing nothing but a solid brick wall. Genius yes, but like most men that I've been acquainted with a terrible lack of tact to ask for directions-I groan putting a hand over my face and shake my head. I am beginning to see a pattern her which I wonder if it means that Moriarty threw him off his game or if he meant to come to a dead end.
Mockingly he directs my attention to a barely visible door to the right. It's an improvement over the dead end theory, though his superiority complex again peeves me right off. I remind him very subtle that I'm no push over to violence but instead redirect my hand slapping the wall. It's a vain reminder that I could actually cause more issue than help.
I rub my palm as he steps past tapping on the door. I see something move inside behind the glass before hearing something that sounds like a crash. I don't like that in the least, he reaches out to the door but for some reason I reach out pulling his wrist back. He meets my gaze searchingly before pulling back and stepping back. Recognizing the maneuver I move to the side wincing at the crash when his foot meets the door throwing it open. There's a startled cry before I hear something shatter and peer in watching another of the strange men crumple to the ground.
"Their turning up like roaches." I see Sherlock duck before I follow suit seeing a man appear a glass bottler-what was left of one-in his hand staring at him like he's seen a ghost. "Did you fail to inform your buddy that you are in fact not a phantom?" I recognize the gypsy as the close friend of Madam Zimza and see him drop the bottle in fright.
Going shades paler than his dark skin I wonder if white streaks will appear in his hair. He steps back indirectly due to his fear causing him to stumble over another of the strange figures. Sherlock steps inside the room talking softly trying to calm him, at this time I find myself seeing him regaining some color and note he's wearing ragged trousers, long jacket and the scarf he had taken from Watson. I wonder if he thinks this is a spirit he's encountered seeking vengeance for his unfair doing.
"These people have been chasing Zimza around?" I snap to attention seeing our friend had lost the essence of seeing a specter and is alert to Sherlock's questions.
"Yes, she was convinced of your demise as were your friends. She felt there was nowhere to turn, she hasn't left the encampment since your memorial service." I remember that part in the movie and flinch, Watson was going to throttle him but before or after being grateful to see him alive was still up in the air. "These men belong to someone seeking the one we were after…the sharp shooter." I blink sorting my thoughts trying to remember his name.
I recall Watson explaining he was a former military sharp shooter with a dishonorable discharge. "Moran?" the man finally taking his attention off Sherlock stares at me looking perplexed by my presence before looking to Sherlock for clarification and nodding. "I expected that, he seemed sincerely close to Moriarty…like you are to John." He didn't like my comparison but didn't argue my point either.
"We need transport to the train that will get us to London the fastest." Sherlock was far from humbled by the knowledge Moran was hunting him down. "Zimza should know that I'm alive…however she needs to remain in the encampment where she is most likely safest." He nodded before darting out of the building past me and leaving Sherlock to study the villians that had been the cause of the latest misery in my life-other than him of course. "What do you know of Moran Isabella?"
I sigh leaning casually against the frame taking in the building that looks ready to fall in. It smells of old dampness, I can hear small squeaks from someplace in the darkness and take in that the building has been abandon for some time. How he knew that Zimza's right hand would be here I could only guess. His question though is direct and judging by the hardness in his dark eyes I might wish to answer to what I do know of Moran.
"Honestly not much, just that he did whatever Moriarty wanted and was his personal assassin. It wasn't revealed what he was up to and I only know that he escaped during the chaos of Zimza's brothers murder." I tap the wood finding it appears sturdy enough which eases my cocnerns of the ceiling caving in.
"A tangled web of interesting chaos and the relative concept that just maybe Moriarty is either truly dead…or needing someone to tend to his every whim due to some sort of damage during our fall," I look up seeing an uncharacteristic coolness in his gaze and find myself bewildered by it.
"I didn't help him, I dealt with you." I say finding myself offended he would think me capable of hiding that kind of ordeal from him.
"You wouldn't have let him freeze to death." Sherlock hits on my lack of conviction right there-I wouldn't go hunting let alone leave someone to die, despite their evil ways. "Should I be worried when it comes to my death whether you will take a stand or cower?"
I glare before turning away and storming from the building. I don't need to be treated like some hopeless victim that won't do whatever it takes to survive. I never needed to do so until I ended up in this time with the madman known as a famous neurotic detective. I halt when two of the familiar darkly clad attackers from the train are present in front of me. Unfortuantely they are the ones from the train and the one on the receiving end of my tricky looks none to happy.
I lift my hands up in a placating gesture alarmed when I see his fist coming at me with brass knuckles. I duck landing harshly on the ground before wincing as gravel and debris bites into my arms. The other goes to lift his boot reading to take my head to the ground the hard way before I catch a glimpse of something dark and see him go flying to the ground. A few minutes later I watch the other hit the wall hard before hands are on my wrists hauling me to my feet.
"Holmes?" I manage confused by the quickly played out events.
"It would seem we've worn out our welcome." He directs us to the street, I have no qualms with following him and yet he still keeps his hand locked gently on my arm leading the way.
It isn't long before my arm feels sore from the movement of slipping in and out of alleyways. I look up when it becomes clear he's heading to a coach service. Resentful of the days events and mad that he thought I would hurt him I stop directing my arm free from his grip and rub the tender area. Sherlock stops short of turning another corner before peering behind us identifying for the moment we are safe from this men.
He waits catching his breath while I lean backwards against a brick building staring up at the sky. Twilight is evident with soft hues of rich blue and fading violet. I find my thoughts drifting to happier times when those colors meant safety and a warm bed. Looking up I stare still offended by the idea that he would expect me to help Moriarty let alone leave him to suffer some violent death. I don't know why but suddenly I miss the faith from my friends, I miss the cave that I came to call home and most of all I miss the idea of feeling safe.
Experience with Sherlock has a very humbling effect. Reality sets in quickly and I know beyond a doubt this will be most likely hazardous to my health. Lowering my eyes I stare at the ground rubbing my face with one hand before hearing him clear his throat.
"I shouldn't have assumed," in disbelief I find those dark eyes I come to know well and see the faintest hint of a resentful gleam-appologies obviously not his strong point. "Moran isn't the most important villain in this story…just the front man."
"He's equally dangerous because he would do whatever it took to avenge Moriarty." My voice is low, even I don't recognize the thought that is reflected in it. "Do you have any idea of how I got in your time?"
Sherlock knew this would come up eventually. "I believe that it happened in your own time. I don't think there are technological advances in my time that will get you home." He says truthfully taking a calculative risk he hopes will play on her deeply mixed up feelings.
"So this dragging me along with you is a ruse to get help?"
"My bringing you along is to get you out of a cave where you feel seclusion is the answer to everything." He said seeing I wasn't keen at all on his idea of help. "You had no one left, you were closer to the widow more than you think. You are the most emotional person I have met, somehow you keep them under control appearing passive, tolerant when on the inside you are anything but." I look at him long and hard, I feel nothing but a strange resignation knowing that everything he said was true.
"In not so little words, I have nowhere to go and that makes you my hero?" He snorted finding that disagreeable.
"You have nowhere to go…I am no ones hero."
"You're a hero to John," I point out before realizing that the alley we're in has gone dark and started to walk along the wall, Sherlock falling into step beside me. "You think Mary hates you. She respects the fact you would do anything to keep John alive and happy."
"She does hate me."
"She doesn't like you, she does however feel that without you she would lose the John she loves most. Don't let her temper convince you otherwise, you didn't run away from me when I told you off."
Sherlock looks at me as we walk down the street and hail a carriage. "I couldn't run Isabella." I look at the indications of his injuries and wisely say nothing. "You can never run from the truth…I need to keep them safe and in order to do that, I need your help."
I didn't know how I could help the famed detective, I guess though after considering my options it would be better than turning into some freaky hermit lady that lives in a cave. Shrugging I pause at the edge of the street watching Sherlock carefully examine the various people passing us with little attention on what we're doing. He looks convinced we're safe for the time being, I don't ask any questions climbing into the carriage wrinkling my nose at the strange chemical order that greets me. I turn around indicating to leave the carriage and see his dark eyes look at me in surprise. I step down to the ground rubbing my nose feverishly before seeing him glance it to see the issue and note his expression wrinkle in distaste.
He doesn't say anything glancing casually up at the driver, I think he's suspicious but I don't say anything. Instead he seems interested in my current wellbeing. Not that I mind, I still feel like my senses were invaded. Slowly I feel an arm around my waist finding it odd before being gently led over behind the carriage. I look up seeing he looks convinced that something isn't right and seeing that I feel a sinking sensation.
"Can you run?" I look at Sherlock feeling his hand gently lift my chin making me look at him.
"If I need to," I didn't feel steady but I also wasn't in the mood to end up on the wrong end of one of his enemies.
Sherlock's eyes had a dark gleam to them, an indication that running is a need to do so. Taking a deep breath, it helped a little bit and cleared my head. He looks around the carriage on both sides. He looks far from pleased and seems irritable at best, gripping my waist he indicates the time to go and I bolt. He's right at my side indicating directions. I follow them feeling incredibly lost by the time he begins to slow. I'm trying to maintain some sort of breathing and grip my knees gasping for air. He pauses leaning against a wall both of us trying to regain our composure.
It isn't long before I take in our surroundings. The buildings look abandoned but the indication of many lights just states that it's late. I managed to breath somewhat normally and glance out of the alley we've hidden in. There isn't any movement but that doesn't mean that they aren't waiting for us to make our move. I feel a hand touch my arm and glance down seeing Sherlock looking out as well. He scans carefully before looking as unconvinced that I am that we in the clear. We had been in the clear before, it had proven to be a false security and clearly we had been kept track of somehow.
Walking down the street I stumble still feeling the sensation of nausea and pinch the bridge of my nose trying to get it to pass. I stop short dragging my feet slightly before taking a deep breath. I again find a hand around my waist keeping me moving despite my own reluctance since every motion made the queasy feeling worse and the vertigo even harder to deal with. I had no clue about chemicals, whatever had been in that carriage obviously didn't like me and I did not relish the effects it had on me either.
I hear the sounds of horses and look up seeing a renting service for travelers. Gauging his reaction I see he isn't keen on the idea of the place. I know full well it may because he wasn't enthusiastic about horses. He looks up at the sign before standing straight and preparing to knock on the door. Hearing noise from the actual stable I catch his wrist stopping him, I point and he in turn listens leaving my side going to the stirred up horses. Still feeling not so myself I follow, watching where I step due to the strong odor of horse manure and hay. I had ridden horses when I was young, I found them an appealing animal and had a knack for finding the wilder of the bunch. I had been told once by a good neighbor that the wilder ones liked me because I was a free spirit in turn.
Looking inside I see someone mucking out the stables and observe Sherlock standing stock still eyeing each horse with some apprehension. Moving slowly past him I make myself comfortable leaning near one of the stalls and gently reach my fingers out stroking the muzzle of one of the dark colored ones seeing he had yet to make his move.
"Sir?" the man stops his task turning sharply before lifting a lantern to observe his latest visitors. "Good evening," I see he's an elder gentlemen, tall and lanky with what looks like years around horses.
His clothes reflect he's been at this a while and he smells as bad as the manure he's cleaning out. He smiles at the greeting before tipping his brown hat and eyeing my still statue like companion. I see his clothing is of a dark nature and he looks to be unbothered by our visit.
"Evening, how man I help you?" His voice is warm and inviting I see that Sherlock's expression is stony though he seems unbothered and I continue since obviously he greatly dislikes the last resort.
"Are any of your lovely horses available for rent?" I ask seeing him brighten at the prospect of travelers.
"Yes, what are you looking for in a traveler?" he questions obviously reflecting on the idea that I'm a young woman.
I turn seeing Sherlock move into the barn still looking uneasy around the animals. "Something fast," I suggest watching his dark eyes widen before he pretends to be the ever impassive detective. "Something that won't throw two riders and one that can deal with someone with a lot of issues around them." I add ignoring the dark look aimed at me.
"I have just the one," he moves to the stall where I was earlier and leads out the dark chocolate coated horse, her main and tail black as midnight and eyes so dark they look like coal themselves. "This one will get you where you need to go. Just remember to take good care of her. This paper will get her back where she belongs after you're done." I take the paper identifying the horse, owner and place of return before acknowledging Sherlock coming up behind me with interest.
"You should fill this out dear." I hand the paper to him offering a smug smile before gently easing my hands on the horses muzzle and ruffling her coarse main. "Beautiful girl." I whisper softly ignoring the strange aversion Sherlock has to the animals and watching the gentleman get her ready to ride.
Sherlock's POV
Finding Isabella's soft tone to the animal made him realize what he was willing to do to get out of danger and to his friends. His dislike to the four legged menaces was not the easiest for him to admit, she knew his little secret much like John and didn't seem to care if he liked the idea of transportation or not. What had surprised him was her talking to the caretaker favoring a horse that could take on two riders, be fast and that would be able to deal with his discomfort around them.
He had expected her to enjoy this, instead she set aside her lack of caring about his personality traits and chose to be kind. Glancing down he scribbled fake names and gave an address where the horse would be found. This seemed to please the man much more than the information he had offered, it meant that his precious creature wouldn't be too far off from his own means of retrieval.
"Good day to you both and good luck." He resumed his work while Sherlock cautiously approached Isabella and the thing he deemed a menace to all transportation.
Isabella easily swung up onto the horse looking down and offered a hand. "I know this isn't your preference but I doubt we can do better with everyone out there gunning for you. Carriages are obviously somewhat hazardous." He eyes her offered hand before again focusing on the horse. "I know the front, back and middle are one of your pet hates…what choice do we have?"
"If I had a choice…we would be in London and all of this would be a bad nightmare." He looks up seeing her eyes dart down slightly before he snorts in distaste watching the horse move anxious to be underway.
"I won't let her leave you behind." Sherlock looks up seeing Isabella meet his gaze, her eyes are dark in the gloomy light but he can tell by various aspects she's sincere.
Original POV
I wondered what he meant by 'we' because if he had any choice at all he wouldn't have fallen to a possible death. He would have outwitted Moriarty and he would be serving his time, his reputation destroyed and his whole plans for a war that would distrupt the world put to ruin. Instead I find his words both comforting and somewhat painful. When this is all over I will just be another part of a case, I knew that he put aside cases when completed which would leave me wondering where I belonged.
I couldn't go home, I couldn't very well stay in this mad world of Sherlock Holmes-did I belong anywhere? Shaking aside the trouble thoughts whirling in my mind I instead swear to not leave him behind and try to get him on the horse. We need to get a move on and his lack of love for the animals isn't going to get us there any faster. Reluctantly I watch him easily get onto the horse indicating he had attempted this once in his time. I smile watching him glance around before seeing him place his hands down on the saddle.
"You can't stay on like that." I mutter rolling my eyes.
Feeling his presence behind me I sense the warmth from his body despite the bit of distance between us and feel strangely insecure with someone at my back. I had always had issues with people at my back, I hated it so much I would purposely shift around when I was in a public place just to be sure they weren't my enemy. I instead of letting this negative impulse reflect on Sherlock turn slightly seeing his reluctance to change his hand position.
"What would you suggest?" he asked bitterly at the idea of the whole mess.
He's close enough that I feel his warm breath but instead of being spiteful back I reach around gripping his wrists and place his arms firmly around my waist. I feel him tense seeing his eyes move down looking confused before I smirk smugly and gently tug the reins of the horse.
"I suggest to hold on." The horse easily is guided by my movement and begins a steady trot out into the street.
I feel his arms tighten and am now aware of him being closer than ever. It isn't necessarily an uncomfortable feeling but I had always been one that believed in the personal bubble theory. I wait for a direction and hear his reluctance before we start on a path that leads out of town. Judging by the thining of buildings and lack of people I can only guess that he may be leading us to a place to hop a train inconspicuously or maybe I can meet Madam Zimza in person?
Feeling tired is the main problem I'm having on this interesting journey. It's very, very dark but I by my own sense of time gather that it won't be long before dawn. Looking up I blink a few times trying to stay awake. Sherlock already had enough issues with horses, going to sleep on him wouldn't make it easy and I personally didn't want to hear any more complaining from him than I needed.
Sherlock's POV
He watched her closely watching her jerk a few times and mentally counted the reasons for it. He flinched eyeing the horse she was controlling and didn't relish the knowledge that sleep deprivation was getting the better of Isabella. In fact the idea that she would be leaving him to deal with it on his own worried him. He felt her begin to slip and righted her watching her shake her head fighting to stay awake, her intentions of being true to keeping him safe on the horse clear in her attempts.
"We better get to wherever soon Sherlock, otherwise you're going to be steering our lovely lady friend." She rubbed her eyes ignoring the huff when he lifted her hair out of his face ignoring the stiffening feeling she gave off when he did so.
"We're almost there." Isabella alert to him again moving her hair tilt her head. "Do I make you uncomfortable Isabella?"
"I have a personal space issue, you're in it."
"You gave little choice." He reminded startled when she jerked the riens forcing him to hold tight feeling the wind pick up and refusing to remove his hands to push her hair out of his face.
Original POV
I had enough of his attitude to last me a lifetime. I chose at this point to make him as discomforted as I felt and snapped the reins. I smile satisfied feeling his grip tighten feeling the horse pick up speed before widening my eyes in alarm feeling him bury his face in my neck and becoming exceedingly aware of his closeness. I had always had a trust issue, especially with any man being this close, I felt remarkably panicked and instantly forced the horse to slow down to a light trot feeling Sherlock slowly lift his head from my neck.
Hearing him mutter something I figured resembled a curse I feel somewhat relieved by the absence of his person. "Don't ever do that again Ms. Gracen." His voice sounds breathless to me and again I tense up feeling warm air near my ear. "It isn't very courteous to make my issues more dominant than they already are. You like John know what I mean."
"Why do you dislike horses so much, don't bother with the whole front, middle and end speech. Heard it before." Much to her own alarm let alone his discomfort the horse snorted attempting to rear. "Whoa!" she called easing back on the reins forcing the horse to comply before reaching out patting her neck trying to sooth her more. "I think our friction is causing her discomfort."
"Our conflict and hostility is because you don't much like contact from men." I blink at that, I again remind myself who I am dealing with and try to think of some way of arguing with him-there is no argument for the truth. "Someone hurt you considerably to be offended by my contact when I feel no attraction to you."
I reflect on the no attraction part, I didn't expect him to like me in a romantic fashion but him saying it with such disdain incensed me to a point where I did consider letting the horse dump him. Common sense kicked in and instead I made the horse stop and turned sideways nearly off the horse so I could meet those dark eyes.
"What is so wrong with me Holmes? I know you have no heart, you're to busy involved in the life of the game, the detective world. You need the thrill to live, the puzzle to be who you are and to always be an old lonely miserable jerk. Nonetheless there is no reason to drag me down with you. I have no home, I could have stayed a lonely old cave idiot…instead I went to help you. I knowingly did all I could to get you back on track and stupidly let you lead me into your world. A world that in reality is dangerous, no one is safe and despite that you do what you can to keep them safe, what is so wrong with me exactly?"
"You're an emotional trainwreck." He surmised far more quickly than I expected glaring back at me with equal wrath.
"Then why did you bring me along?" he silenced at that looking contemplative, his hand seeking a pipe that still did not exist. "What did I do to make me so fascinating?"
"You reminded me of someone…though you seem wiser and I could keep you safe." I stare my mouth parted in astonishment-though being compared to Irene Adler did offend me slightly-I was far from as devious as she was and knew not to cross people like Moriarty.
"I was safe." I say though now I find myself unconvinced of that, in my experience with the legend of this man-nothing was as easy as it looked and he made it look simplistic to a point of unrational. "What didn't you tell me?"
He didn't expect anger to get the better of him, he didn't realize how thorough my knowledge was either and that gave him reason to consider his options. Weighing them carefully and deciding whether to actually say anything.
Sherlock POV
It was easier to let her think she had always been safe. Isabella contrary to her lack of involvement got involved the night she dragged him out of the river. He had gone into town and began to notice odd things, such as people watching her and more interested in him then her. He had even seen things that she had overlooked when it came to her friend. True she had been sick, hoever he had gathered that it wasn't necessarily fatal and had let her think that.
"Holmes!" he blinked aware of her pointedly glaring at him.
"You weren't safe," he said deciding that was enough for the time being. "You're safer with me, we need to continue."
She reluctantly snapped the reins watching the thickening trees begin to thin out and hearing noises in the distance. "I know trust is the last thing you will do with me," I shift back around to the horse, seeing strange flickering in the distance and see my theory of invading the gypsy camp is accurate. "If you know something that I overlooked and I don't like the explanation I won't hesitate to hurt you. Do we have an understanding Sherlock?" his arms tighten in response.
"If it hurts worse than what you like?"
"Meaning that you know something I don't like already."
Original POV
I relax a bit knowing that some sort of rest is in the near future, I don't know how much longer I can keep up at the pace he's pushing us to go. I am again aware of a severe lack of personal space hearing him breath obviously studyng the distant light. I again still at the difference in distance between us.
"I have learned many things Isabella, especially dealing with things as I do." He feels me tense and smirks at my discomfort. "Truth is often much harsher than the evidence leads. Sometimes a gentle white lie is easier than a hard biting truth." I don't further question him-I don't think I would like my answers. "Turn up here at the opening in the trees."
Doing so it isn't that long before we are literally swarmed from each side with Gypsy's, I watch several of them do a double take before a familiar face in the crows instructs them to let us through. I see Madam Zimza's right hand and remember our first encounter earlier that night. He looks relieved to see Sherlock though his eyes look to me questioningly. Sherlock with a bit of a stumble climbs down from the horse talking softly forgetting me. Relieved to be ignored for the moment I gently stroke the horse feeling her shift about nervously and realize she is calming down. It confirms the tension between us didn't help the horse much, though I felt something else had been troubling her and sliding down to the ground I look around seeing something around her back leg. I reach out pulling what appeared to be a very old bandage from the animal and see a gruesome sort of cut. This horse was injured and the keeper obviously didn't much care.
"She's been hurt," I blink surprised by a flurry of movement meeting dark eyes and see wild curls of dark hair spill down around a curious woman's face. "This looks old…the owner obviously didn't care for her much." I'm taken back to find Zimza at my side and glance around seeing Sherlock was well out of sight. "I never thought I would see him come in on a horse…your doing?" I nod though I'm still lost on how that egomaniac could ditch me so easily. "What is her name?"
"I don't think he gave her one." I reply still finding myself staring at the woman confused.
She's shorter than me by a bit though she doesn't seem to notice, she wears black heavy clothes and trousers which are baggy on her and allow her to blend easily in the darkness. She slowly reaches over examining the wound and frowns obviously concerned for the horse.
"You name her." I look at the sidelong glance she offers me as if waiting on an answer. "She is free spirited and a far harder horse to tame than indicated. I believe this is the only reason you got this far." I look to the beautiful animal and feel saddened that the creature was so bluntly used in this whole mixed up affair.
"Selkie,"
"A changeling creature of the ocean," I recognize Sherlock's voice and give him a pointed 'where the hell were you look' which he ignores, suspiciously I meet his gaze seeing he had known of the injury. "I thought it best she goes someplace where people cared for her. I didn't expect her to be tamed by you." I reach up and bluntly slap him though I avoid his face and catch the back of his head.
"She could have never walked again."
"She will be the swiftest horse here, you did well not to run her to hard." I look down at Zimza seeing her male friend tending to the wounded animal.
Sherlock's POV
The sharp snap to the back of his head was harder than he expected. Wincing he reached up rubbing his head watching Isabella's attention being redirected to Zimza caring for the horse with her familiar companion. She had warned him, he had known she meant it but he didn't take int to consideration she would be this fond of the menacing animals. He still found their presence useless. Music could be heard from the campfires as well as laughter and voices. He found his thoughts drifting to the night John and himself had come to the camp originally. He was astonished that the gypsy would eve welcome him back into the area. He suspected that she had yet to finish her grieving process and took notice to the heavy accents of black on black, she had been striped of all jewelry except the basics of her earrings and the necklace she wore around her neck. No doubt mourning jewelry in honor of her brother who had been brainwashed in the events that lead to the near end of himself.
"Tend to her," Zimza looked between the two travelers and indicated they should follow.
Isabella obviously wished to better pay her attention to the horse, however he wasn't as willing to be left alone with Zimza. He could tell she was upset, she blamed him in part and many other things. Sherlock did not know where he stood on the violence scale and would rather have someone watch his back despite how she felt about him at present.
Original POV
I look down at the grip on my wrist rolling my eyes wondering what else this man can drag me into. I could sense some hostility but wasn't sure if it was mine or ZImza's. I doubtfully look in the distance seeing the horse being led to others and can tell they are caring for her. I exhale tiredly and am aware of a curious amount of stares before observing a tent of assorted colors ahead of us and her leading us in. The flap has the same feeling of finality a door would and I purposely dislodge my wrist from his grip watching him dart a look my direction.
"I'm not bailing you out of this one. I will just make sure she doesn't kill you." I smile humorlessly seeing his eyes darken and his expression turn resentful at my lack of assist. I chose to watch crossing my arms slowly and half expect her to go off like a truly upset female. Instead she offers him drink and turns her attentions suspiciously on me, I feel uneasy knowing her skill with a knife and wonder if avoiding Sherlock is the answer.
"This is the woman that aided you? How did you survive that fall Holmes? Why put your friend through so much?" ZImza's questions were hostile and with force but clearly Sherlock didn't see them in that fashion.
"She's the one that put me back together." Sherlock didn't seem inclined to answer the others, I had a notion that I could guess why.
"He wouldn't have survived if I hadn't for some damn reason went looking for the noise. He put Watson through it to keep him safe, though how protected he is now is beyond me. He knows everything." I can't help the sardonic tone, I know he's keeping something and I have yet to figure out how to break through that stoic persona. "I like the forthcoming neurotic and high detective." I rub my temples already thoroughly sick of Holmes but lacking other options.
Zimza seemed to muse over what I said before looking satisfied. Sherlock pointedly gave me a cold look for my interference but I at present am too tired to give a crap. Instead I take in the assortment rich colors and design around me before watching Zimza lift something from behind her and stand. Her approach has me up in arms and I stand upright tensing for a fight I don't even think I know how to win. Instead she hands me a throw blanket that smells of spice, wine and smoke before directing her conversation to Holmes.
It's a review of events I already knew of so I take the blanket and curl it around myself feeling for once less anxious and more calm. I listen to them talk about how the hwole thing went completely wrong before seeing Zimza produce a pipe similar to Sherlock's. It is longer I notice but he seems to take what he can and lights to pipe clearly in deep thought. Distracted for the moment by the laughter of people outside and the view of dancers I watch in fascination seeing that they can enjoy life despite all tragedy that has haunted them. I smile lost in their lives, the joy they can find and wonder what my life would be like in the coming future.
I smell a sweet hint of spicey smoke and jerk startled by Sherlock leaning opposite me watching the group. Smoke curls around past my nose before he lifts the pipe from his lips and watches them. Zimza I see is outside with her group but is aside still in grief over her loss.
"She blames herself for not getting to him sooner." I want to object to that but he's right, she explained that she should have known him despite his changes. "From what I learned John will be leaving to Brighten in the next few days, I need to get there before they're gone." I yawn feeling drained and unfocused but his words sink in.
"How are you going to let him know you're alright without making him a target again?"
"Watch, wait and see if Moran dares to make a move, John in convinced that I truly died on the night I took out Moriarty." I stare at him carefully out of the corner of my eyes unconvinced by his methods even if I had known them to work in most cases. "He will get hope. No hard evidence."
"What about the breathing device you took from Mycroft? Won't that be hard evidence?" Sherlock turns sharply at that his eyes narrowed slightly-I refuse to look away already knowing that part because of my own time.
Sherlock's POV
He had his answer, Isabella was by far more knowledgable than he expected. It didn't shock him, he had already known her to have a list of things that would be useful to him. Though keeping her close had become a bit of a chore, he found her intelligence at least somewhat more tolerable than most. She didn't surprise easily with his methods, she didn't necessarily approve of them either. He understood a few things about her through observation but she was still an enigma, a curiosity in her own right and out of place in his world. She could be helpful and a danger to him.
"Only John knows about it." She looks to him with a tired sort of half lidded gaze, it looks as if her fight has about left her.
"Mycroft, John and…(yawn)…you." She rubs her eyes tucking the blanket tighter about herself. "That's where your world ends in my time. I've lost my value." She turns watching Zimza enter the tent briefly before indicating where they would rest for the night. "Thank you." She says watching the woman pause at the tent entrance to talk with the most annoying man to date.
Seeing her surrender to the idea of sleep Sherlock looks to Zimza doubtful of her intentions. Isabella sleeping won't help him if she truly has ill feelings toward what happened to her brother and blames him. Instead she said a few soft phrases in her native language before her eyes focus on the dark ones uneasily examining her.
She plucks the pipe from his hand and take her own puff before allowing the smoke to curl between them and frowns slightly. "You would be wise to tell her why you brought her with you. The truth comes out when she can least deal with it may prove fatal to you Holmes. You can read the tarot well, I believe in the tarot." He snorted disagreeable with her words before wondering if the lack of sleep was getting to him. "She is not of this time," she said pointedly seeing as ever he he was indifferent to her accusation.
Zimza lifted a card in her hand and shoved it bluntly against his chest before leaving the tent. Taking a breath before examining the now sleeping future girl he picked up the card and flipped it around. His enduring patient and passive world faded when he betrayed emotion he could usually avoid. He stared for the longest time at the intricate detail of the card, the faded pain from several times of usage and with distaste slapped it down on the table to the side. He wouldn't let superstition get to him.
Original POV
Cold, I feel it even though I knew I had been covered when I fell asleep. Shivering I move close to something solid and tuck in feeling warmth. It is easy to go back to sleep at first, until something moves and reluctantly I crack open one eyes searching for the disturbance. Now starting to wake my other senses kick in, the smell of tobacco an assortment of things I had grown used to over the few days-that's when it hits-I try not to panic realizing that I had literally curled into Sherlock's body. Of all the things in the world to do I do something this stupid.
I can see the smug look in my minds eye and chose to face him even though I prefer not to. Looking up after moving back I see that he's sound asleep unaware of what happened-thankfully-slowly I pull the blanket tightly around myself and mentally go over how many ways I can call myself an idiot.
I should have known better. "I assume you're done mentally beating yourself up?" If I could have face palmed myself I may have, instead I settle for ducking further in my blanket trying to hide my embarrassment. "If that is the case we have work to do Isabella." Sherlock gets up before I can share my unkind thoughts with him and sprints easily enough to the exit.
"I hate him," I decide once I uncover myself and sit up.
