Anguis

An hour had passed since the trio had arrived at St. Barts. Sherlock had switched from the pristine sneakers to the microscope countless times trying to see what he had not so far. As thrilling as this case was, the endless waiting for technology was infuriating. Not to mention the incessant pacing of the doctor. As usual, his nervous manner was exceedingly annoying and unhelpful. He was undoubtedly thinking about the woman in the car. He was sympathetic in that way.

Nicole sat in her corner quietly. Sherlock was wondering what she was thinking. The silent female was staring at him but not truly seeing him. She was in deep thought and Sherlock would give anything to know what it was. He craved to know something about her that was true, just so he could grasp a foothold to peel apart the falsities and disguise and deduce who she truly was. All he could imply was the regular day-to-day emotions that an idiot could infer. She looked weary which was unusual for the usually calm and content agent. He was used to her attentiveness. This sudden change in demeanor was foreign to the detective and hampering his concentration. He really needed to get a hold of this conscience of his.

John, on the other hand, was in turmoil. He was worried and for good reason. Nicole, their government-issued protector, was hurt, a criminal was toying with his flatmate, and a woman was sitting somewhere with explosives strapped to her. Everyone in the room was unbearably calm and he was wondering why he was the only one freaking out. Was there something he didn't know or was he the only sane, normal person in the lab? He looked to Sherlock first. Forty-eight hours awake and he remained restless. How the man functioned, Watson would only dream to know. Thankfully, Nicole had been able to coax him into drinking some sort of smelly beverage. A miracle in itself.

Speaking of the agent, John looked to the only female in the room. She looked like she had been dragged through hell and back. All the hours that seemed the leave Sherlock unaffected, weighed on Nicole. She had bags under her eyes and her frame slouched against the wall. John specifically looked at her eyes. The hazel seemed dull and in a trance. John didn't think she would hold on much longer. He lightly stepped in her direction and stood next to her. She gave no indication of his change in proximity.

"Nicole?" the doctor tried to softy break her daze. Sherlock looked at them both, surveying the moment. He was interested in the agent's reaction as well. Nicole remained motionless, her conscience not returning. Watson placed a gentle hand on her back and called out to her again. This time she snapped back to reality and looked to the doctor.

She smiled and only remarked "I look like hell, don't I?"

John didn't want to offend her but still shrugged with a small grin. She laughed shortly and began to stretch her aching back. Movements that Sherlock caught himself watching. Her extended limbs and torso showed that she was flexible, and her actions were fluid. Maybe she was a dancer before she was made into a machine of deception and disguise? If only she would let him know or indicate some emotion of surprise that would pinpoint the truth. This woman was infuriating with her mystery. Sherlock shook his head from these frivolous thoughts and turned back to his microscope where the true excitement lay.

Nicole rubbed her neck and felt her body slowly unwinding to the pressure of sleep deprivation. If there was one thing in the world that she loved more than anything else, it was sleep. Forty-eight plus hours was way too long in her book, but her boys needed her and she sure as hell wasn't going to leave them to sleep. All she needed was coffee. Something warm and caffeinated. Maybe even an espresso shot. She had gotten some caffeinated tea from the lounge but it wasn't holding her over. She was new to tea ever since the boys urged her to try it. John had been particularly persistent in the endeavor. He would make solely tea in the morning and hide the coffee grounds, leaving her to search the whole apartment despairingly before settling for tea. Sherlock even joined in the game. Nicole believed it was because he liked to see her suffer. It was fun for everyone until around day three without coffee and Nicole was going through withdraws. The men had never experienced true murderous intent before, but they sure learned what pain a wrathful uncaffeinated American could impart. Sherlock, understanding the symptoms of withdraw personally, soon decided easing the very angry woman into British traditions with daily teatimes.

Nicole tried almost every kind of tea until Sherlock found that she enjoyed citrus blends and stocked up the cupboard with every kind one could imagine. She was as surprised as John in his sudden interest to adapt her the English living. Nicole just took it as a sign he was accepting her, because she knew he was sparse with conversations in emotions. Soon, they were having tea everyday and the trio found comfort in the domestic aspect of it. Nicole and John would talk about politics and current events; John and Sherlock would talk about the doctor's blog and cases; Nicole and Sherlock would talk about science and investigation techniques. It was during teatime that Nicole wasn't their bodyguard, Sherlock wasn't a genius, and John wasn't an ex-military doctor. During these times they were friends bound by the sheer comfort of company.

Nicole smiled at the memories and rose from her chair. She tried to rub the weariness from her eyes and made her way to the door.

"Where are you going?" John asked concerned.

"I'm going to Carluccio's down the street for some coffee. I might even get something stronger." She smiled to John and pulled her hair into a ponytail. "Would you like anything?"

"Nah, thank you." He replied.

"Okay." She pushed the door open. "Can you hold down the fort while I'm gone and make sure trouble maker doesn't kill himself?" she nodded toward Sherlock.

Sherlock glared at her over the microscope eyepieces and returned to his work. "Ya. I can." John chuckled.

"Thanks. Oh and Sherlock. I'll pick up something to eat." Nicole smirked and headed out the door.

Sherlock scoffed in annoyance and yelled "I don't eat when-"

"Don't care" was all that came back as the door swung shut behind her. John chuckled at the comical scene and remarked that it was never boring with these two. He was entitled to endless hours of hilarity after everything he went through before Sherlock. He was going to make the most of it while it lasted.

Nicole walked back through the halls of St. Barts Hospital with a coffee in one hand and a croissant in the other. She was beginning to wake up slowly after the espresso she had at the café down the street, but felt that doubling up on coffee, although not the healthiest idea, would keep her awake for the rest of this twisted trial of wits her clients were trapped in. Nicole was nervous. She had never been against an invisible adversary in all her seven years in the agency. Whenever she was sent on a mission, she had a target or a clear group that wanted the other dead. It was simple and easy, not to mention way less stressful than whatever this was. The worst part was that she didn't know what other side wanted. Sherlock? Money? Just pure destruction? There was no motive in this trial. They were puppets and he or she was making them dance.

Nicole knew that her prime objective was to protect the youngest Holmes and the kind doctor, but she couldn't help but get caught up in all the excitement in their lives. It was invigorating to work a case that was mentally simulating as well as enjoyable. She would often have to scold herself not to delve into a case file her client had and solve the puzzle herself. She had made a mistake during the Jaria diamond by getting involved. She got caught up in her own adrenaline and taken the lead on a mystery not her own. These puzzles were distractions to her true task. Giving into temptation was the one thing they taught you to resist in the academy. A core principal that forty percent failed and they ended up fired, injured, or dead. She was not going to be a statistic.

Nicole had found a way to get the second hand high though. She frequently sat in on Sherlock's brain storming and experimentation sessions. She listened in on all the details whilst remaining completely impartial to the case. He used her as a soundboard to bounce ideas that rattled around his brain, and she remained silent unless asked. She liked to think he was fond of it, seeing that he called upon her more than John and actually asked for her opinion without condescension. Although her occupation within the agency would never allow her a normal life, she could see herself living with the two men, solving crimes and remaining friends. She sighed knowing that it would never happen. After whatever was currently happening, she would likely be shipped back to America to a new mission and a new target. It was only a fool's hope that she could ever live a civilian life.

She rounded the corner to the entrance of the lab and pushed it open to reveal there was more than just Sherlock and John in the lab. The first person Nicole zoned in on was Molly by the brilliance of her red hair. Molly had been an interesting person to meet and Nicole had a soft spot in her heart for the love-struck female. Her adoration for Sherlock was so immense and visible that Nicole was pretty sure that everyone in Bart's and Scotland Yard knew about it. The poor girl was infatuated with the idea and visage of the consulting detective and tried so hard to leave little hints and clues to signal her attraction. Clues that Sherlock had seen but ignored completely. He even took to insulting her to get her to leave. Nicole couldn't help but give him a sharp look after every time, but after the fifth event of Molly's regression and retry, Nicole boiled it down that she was a glutton for punishment. She knew better than most you don't choose whom you love.

The second person though, is the one that made Nicole stop in her place. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her heart rate dropped in deadly attention. The man that looked at her curiously was short compared to Sherlock's looming figure but slightly taller than John. The dark features on his alabaster skin made him look ghastly, and his eyes held the intent of a hidden cobra about to strike. They were ringed to show an infrequent sleeper, which made Nicole even more leery. Those who don't sleep can never be up to any good. His fake façade exuded nervousness but Nicole could see beyond the disguise to the dangerous, confident, and most important, powerful man inside. One sweep of him and she was alert. By the look of Sherlock and John, they did not feel the same she did. Nicole cursed Sherlock on his inability to listen to his instincts and wondered if the doctor felt her anxiety as clearly as a military man should.

Molly, finding the silence unnerving, addressed Nicole. "Nicky, this is Jim." Nicole's eye twitched at 'Nicky', she despised that nickname. " He's my boyfriend!" she continued cheerfully.

Nicole plastered a cheery smile on her face "Pleasure. Nicole." She turned to Sherlock and John. "I bought a croissant. Please eat it." She was trying to act normal.

Sherlock frowned at the bag she left on the counter. "Give it to Molly. She's already gained three pounds, what another?"

Nicole gave him a glare as Molly's merry face fell. "Eat it, Sherlock or so help me, I will force it down that snide mouth of yours." Sherlock exhaled unhappily and reached for the bag. Nicole could feel the calculating gaze of the unwelcome newcomer on her skin but refused to acknowledge it.

'Jim' finally made an excuse to go and went over the last of their nightly plans with Molly. He turned around and said a last goodbye to the detective. Sherlock ignored it by looking through his microscope and eating the croissant. John, trying to make up for the rudeness of his flat mate, said good-bye for Sherlock. Jim looked back from the doctor to young Holmes with a curious expression before leaving.

Nicole felt that she had a lead. She didn't know whether to tell the boys or keep this a secret. She could be wrong, which was rare but did happen, but also she could protect them if this was their new adversary. If Sherlock knew, he would be like a scent dog unable to give up the chase. He would put himself right in the line of fire to quench his inquiring thirst. He could get hurt or worse. A dead Sherlock is not what she needed.

It was decided, she would pursue this alone. Nicole waited five minutes through the bickering of John, Sherlock, and Molly before leaving the boys. She would make sure to leave surveillance on them, but this time she was handling this.

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~Posa