Nine
Incompatibility
I groaned loudly, my head spinning.
Very slowly, I tried to open my eyes. The light felt like it was burning my corneas and I quickly shut them again as I reached up and rubbed my forehead.
"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty."
Another groan left my dry mouth. My eyelids turned orange and the colossal sound of curtains being opened sent the nerves in my brain into overdrive.
"It's your own fault you feel like that, so no self-pity, thank you."
I squinted my eyes open a crack and heaved myself up into a position that was half-way between lying and sitting, resting on my elbows.
"Lucas?" I made out in one of the gruffest voices I had ever used. My eyes were beginning to adapt to the light now, and I could make out the dirty red of my couch beneath me and the beige of my apartment walls. I almost fell off the sofa when someone knocked my legs away and sat where they had been resting. I managed to recover and slumped my upper body against the armrest.
"Yep." The person told me before shoving something hot into my hands. "Drink this."
I shook my head and blinked, some of the mud clearing from my brain. I peered down at the steaming mug in my hands, containing pitch black liquid. I sniffed it. Coffee. I took a sip and gagged.
"What's in this?"
"Coffee, Tabasco, egg and bourbon. Should perk you up a bit."
I grimaced. "It's disgusting."
"That'll be the raw egg. Drink up."
I looked up at Lucas. The mirror reflection of my own dark brown eyes was giving me a patronizing stare. His choppy brown hair was damp, as if he had washed it an hour or so ago and it was half-way through drying. He nodded tersely at the miserable concoction. I made a face but nevertheless took another gulp, trying not to spew it everywhere.
"What, err, happened last night?" I asked timidly, having only just noticed I was still in the woollen dress I had worn on my 'date' with Sherlock.
"I was hoping you could tell me that." My brother said. I frowned. "All I know is that you turned up to your party half an hour late, spouting some nonsense about Chinese detectives, before proceeding to turn your attention to alcohol. A lot of it."
"Oh, God." I moaned. At least that explained why my spine was currently attempting to strangle my brain with my spleen.
Lucas narrowed his eyes at me. "Who's Sherlock?"
"Huh?"
"You kept talking about some guy called Sherlock last night, saying what an arse he is, but that it was alright cause he's amazing in bed." He looked away from me and sighed. "Really could have done without hearing that come from my little sister, you know?"
I kicked him and he let out a chuckle. I pinched the bridge of my nose in hung-over self-annoyance. I would have to blurt those kind of things out to everyone, wouldn't I? I was just that cool.
"I'd have thought Becky would have told you about him? You being so close and all."
"Don't hate the player." I kicked him again. "Ow! Alright, alright! So you mean that guy who turned up on your night out with Becky, who you ran off after in the middle of an important conversation – that was this Sherlock dude?"
I nodded.
"Sounds like a dick t- Stop kicking me!"
I did, after throwing in a few extra kicks for good measure, and we smiled at each other, Lucas rolling his eyes. I could always count on him to cheer me up. And to look after me when I had had a couple too many. But that had only happened a couple of times before when he was around. And last night there had been exceptional circumstances. A thought occurred to me, bringing back memories from the circus.
"Lucas, have you ever been in a fight?" I asked cautiously. "Like a physical one."
He frowned at me. "Who have you been fighting?"
I shook my head from side to side. "No one. But that's the point."
"Huh?" he asked as he cocked his head to the side. "Are you still drunk?"
I laughed. It didn't matter. Just because I had stood there like a perfect fool yesterday while the shit was hitting the fan, didn't mean I was hopeless. And normal people didn't need to be able to fight. It was only in Sherlock's screwed up little world where it was necessary. People usually didn't go to a Chinese circus and end up being chased out by deadly acrobats. Lucas' smile slowly vanished, and was replaced with a look of concern.
"You would tell me if you were in some sort of trouble, wouldn't you, Annie?"
I took another drink of the gross mixture, screwing up my face as the taste hit the back of my throat. "Gah. Course. Why?"
"It's just," he said seriously, "last night, in the taxi on the way back here, you were saying something about a cipher and dead bodies? Not exactly your usual drunken ramblings."
"Oh, no, that's not, well, don't worry. It's nothing to do with me."
"Good." He said while standing up. He walked towards the kitchen area. "Because it's not really your thing, is it? Excitement and adventure and really wild things?"
I sat silently.
No, I suppose it really wasn't.
I glanced at the wall above the fireplace, noticing the severe lack of photographs.
"You solved the case?"
"Yes." Sherlock replied as he typed away on John's laptop. "You missed the fun."
Somehow, I doubted that. Suddenly I was rather pleased that I had spaced out and gone to my party instead of running after Sherlock. His idea of fun and mine were rather different.
I bit my lip, standing halfway between the armchairs and the door. Part of me didn't like why I was here. The other part was just grateful I had seen sense.
"Look, Sherlock, I-"
"How's your head?" he interrupted me. I blinked, caught off-guard by his question.
"Oh, it's not too bad. Bit sore." Sherlock finished typing and closed the computer. He stood, sweeping on his coat over the grey suit. I frowned. "Where are you going?"
"Scotland Yard." He stopped and looked at me. "Do you want to come?"
Another question to catch me off-guard. Why would he invite me to Scotland Yard after last night's awful performance?
"That's why I'm here, Sherlock. I need to tell you-"
"Tell me when I get back." He said brusquely, heading past me towards the door. He had almost reached it by the time I reacted. I ran and slammed into the door, ensuring he couldn't leave. I glared at him, having had enough of this. He didn't look surprised at all.
"No. I'll tell you now." I told him forcibly.
He checked his watch. "Make it quick."
I scoffed. "You already know, don't you?"
His gaze met mine, not a hint of any emotions coming forth. I internally squirmed under that gaze. It was just so cold.
"That you are here to tell me you don't wish to see me again? Yes, I already know."
A guilty feeling swarmed my insides. I softened my expression. "Don't you even want an explanation?"
"I doubt you'll be able to tell me anything I haven't worked out for myself, but you can try if it'll make you feel better."
I looked at him. I wanted to turn away from those cold eyes, but I found I couldn't. He had me captured in his stare. And that was what I was to him – a trapped animal he had managed to ensnare. I didn't want to be that. No, I corrected myself, I didn't mind being his pet. I even enjoyed the thought of it at times. But it was something else that was really bothering me.
"I'm just a girl." I finally let out. He raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn't already been expecting me to say that. "I'm not some crime-fighting superhero. I don't run around, beating up the bad guys. I'm a historian, that's all. A boring old historian, who prefers analysing two thousand year old pieces of rock to the excitement of the chase. I don't belong in your world. It scares me, Sherlock. And last night made me realise that you need it. You need danger. But I can't be in danger all the time. I like being boring. I like being safe."
I stepped away from the door, having said my piece.
"Anything new you didn't get?" I asked lightly.
He didn't look at me as he opened the door and stepped through, his answer cutting through the silence.
"No."
The door slammed shut behind him
Wow, dramatic. And short. Mainly short.
Did anyone spot the Hitchhiker's Guide reference? I love that line. Especially the line after it.
Review please?
