Sherlock puffed away at his pipe, grimacing as each drag stung his cheek and lower lip. An ugly bruise was already forming over the right side of his face, much to his disgust. He should have known John would have let himself get attached. That was what John did. He was the emotional side, the counterbalance Sherlock needed to focus.
Sherlock sat up a little straighter as he heard the soft steps on the stairs. The study door opened silently on well-oiled hinges, admitting Aberdeen into the room. The young woman looked a bit ragged, her cheeks and lips wind chapped, her hair ruffled, and the bottom trail of her dress was wet. The strong odor of fish and filth wafted off of her as she threw aside her damp cloak. She glanced up at Sherlock from her red rimmed eyes, a watery smile gracing her face.
"Couldn't sleep?" she murmured lightly, shedding her jacket and throwing it down beside the cloak. Sherlock made a no communicable noise, averting his gaze. Aberdeen let out a heavy huff of air that might have been a laugh. Her boots were quickly toed off and dropped beside the door. She strode quietly over to Sherlock and took his chin in-between her fingers. His head shot up in surprise, nose wrinkling and forming a line between his brows. Aberdeen shushed him, twisting his head towards the dim firelight to study the bruise that was now covering the side of his face.
"John's handiwork I see," she laughed dully, tracing a finger across the swell. Sherlock forced himself not to wince at the feathery touch. "I have some balm that will dull the pain and take out some of the swelling," she offered.
"I don't want it," Sherlock muttered.
"At least let me clean your lip," Aberdeen reasoned. Sherlock reluctantly nodded to the woman. She disappeared down the stairs again and returned ten minutes later with a tray. Aberdeen placed the tray on the table before lighting lamp beside Holmes. She studied his face under the brighter light for a moment; her lips pursed, then shook her head. She turned, retrieving a wet cloth from the tray, and held it out to Holmes.
"Hold this to your lip for a few minutes. I need to get out of these clothes before I catch the plague," Aberdeen huffed playfully.
"Or worse, you give it to me," Sherlock deadpanned. Aberdeen's green eyes shot to his face, her eyes narrowed slightly. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards.
"Holmes, did you just make a joke?" she murmured. Sherlock looked away pointedly, dabbing at his lip. Aberdeen snorted and left the room. Sherlock listened with half an ear as the young woman pattered about her chambers, which would be his in the future. Or is now? Sherlock frowned deeply. Time travel really wasn't his area of expertise.
Aberdeen returned swiftly, wiping her hands dry on a towel. Sherlock was pleased to note the young woman had thoroughly washed her face and hands while she was changing into her dressing gown. Aberdeen pulled a stool up beside Sherlock's chair, her shoulder brushing against his knee. A hint of spice wafted off of her skin as she gentle maneuvered his chin around again.
"Cloves?" he asked softly. She nodded once. He raised a dark brow mockingly. "You know they don't actually ward off the plague."
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I know. But I happen to like the smell of cloves, though, so I use them in my soaps," Aberdeen snapped, but her lips turned up in a delicate smile. Sherlock snickered. Aberdeen extracted the cloth Sherlock had been holding to his lip gently, laying it aside. Her index finger traced around the split in his lip softly, barely brushing the bruised skin. Her fingers were cool against Sherlock's skin, a welcome comfort he realized.
"That will smart for a few days but it won't be stitches luckily. I'd have to wake Dr. Watson to fix you up and somehow I doubt he'd be gentle about the procedure," Aberdeen scolded. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the young woman, realizing she was teasing him. "I'm afraid there's nothing that can be done for the bruise for now. Is there anything I could get you at least?" Aberdeen asked politely. Sherlock sneered.
"A 7% solution of cocaine would be helpful," he replied off handedly. Aberdeen stiffened and quickly looked away.
"I'm afraid you're on your own for that one, Holmes," she retorted stiffly.
"I noticed," Sherlock sighed, slumping in his chair dejectedly. "I've already prowled through your books and laboratory this evening. All of your hidden nooks are empty but the hidden compartment in the hearth still has a needle kit inside, which means you haven't put the habit behind you."
"This was Gideon's house first," Aberdeen whispered, glancing towards the hidden nook in the fireplace. "I cleaned out all of his paraphernalia when I moved in except for that last bit. I don't know why exactly I kept it."
"You kept it because this house is a mausoleum to Gideon. His clothes are in the closets, his books on the shelves, even his needle in the fireplace. You can't let his ghost go." Sherlock leaned forward to peer into her face. "You still take the needle out to look at it. You'll spend hours sitting here just studying it."
"Because it's Gideon's murderer and I can't even hurt it," Aberdeen whispered. Sherlock sat back with a sneer.
"Gideon killed himself," he told her sternly. Aberdeen's head shot up, her eyes burning with fury.
"You really are a rich bastard, Holmes. Have you ever had to look in the mirror every day and see the face of your dead brother looking back? He may have been just some poor, lost soul to everyone else but he was the only one who understood me," she paused, taking in a shallow breath, "He was my world."
Sherlock remained silent for a long time. The wood in the hearth crackled, throwing shadows over the pair as they wrestled with their inner demons.
"You've been down to the Thames," Sherlock finally muttered. Aberdeen nodded loosely.
"They pulled another body out of the river about a half mile from where they found Mary Tupper. A young girl, about fifteen. An unfortunate," Aberdeen muttered. Her fingers twisted in her lap.
"Not one of yours?" Sherlock asked politely, even though he knew the answer.
"No, she was a Whitechapel girl. Botched abortion. Dead before she hit the water. I can't decide if that's a blessing or not," Aberdeen sighed, scratching at her scalp. Sherlock reached forward without thinking and began plucking the pins from her hair. Aberdeen baulked, throwing him an odd look. Sherlock sent her a pointed glare before quickly pulled her back towards him and began plucking the pins from her hair again. Aberdeen sighed, leaning against his knee as he carded his fingers through her auburn ringlets.
"I take it back, Holmes," Aberdeen murmured contently, "You'd make a great lady's maid." Sherlock snickered. Aberdeen cleared her throat.
"Alexander is coming over tomorrow for tea. He wants to meet Gideon's 'friends' for himself. It's obviously Roderick's doing, but I felt I should warn you," Aberdeen murmured bashfully.
"That's not all you want to say," Sherlock supplied immediately. Aberdeen's shoulders slumped.
"I won't beg, Holmes. I still have my pride but please…" she drew in a shaky breath, "Alexander is a good man and he's been kind to me. In a few days you'll be gone and I'll still be here. I have to plan for that inevitable."
"You're boring life with Captain Hastings. A dozen screaming children flocking about your skirts. He'll lock you up the moment the ring is on your finger, Aberdeen. He'll never let you go on like this," Sherlock snarled. Aberdeen shot up, knocking over the stool.
"What other choice do I have, Holmes? Do you forget the place of women? This isn't your time! It's my duty as a woman," Aberdeen lashed out. Sherlock jerked to his feet, grabbing Aberdeen by the shoulders and held her in place.
"Damn their rules, Aberdeen! You're so much more then they'll ever be and yet you lower yourself to their standards!" Sherlock yelled. Aberdeen shook her head, her mouth pulling into a wry grimace.
"Why do you even care, Sherlock Holmes?" she scoffed. Sherlock's nerves snapped. He rocked forward, lowering his head until his lips hovered over hers. Aberdeen froze up.
"Don't," she whispered, her breath fanning against his lips. Her eyes were wide with terror. Sherlock gazed at her, his pale eyes sparking like lightning as his brain raced.
"Don't" she repeated, louder. "I'm not you." Sherlock moved back a few inches, putting space between them. Aberdeen crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes hard now. "I won't be an experiment, Holmes. Just another way for you to starve off addiction and boredom. I've seen the way you look at things, taking them apart with your mind and putting them back together again. Everything is pure logic to you and yet emotions baffle you. So you try to twist them to your advantage. I won't be played like that Holmes," she warned him. Sherlock blinked at her, his face blank.
"And what if I said I wanted to?" he asked flatly.
"You don't," she replied.
"I might," he murmured, leaning forward again. Aberdeen slapped a hand across his chest, pushing him back.
"You don't," she told him sternly, her mouth set in a hard line. "Tomorrow the novelty will have worn off and you'll be back to your wits. I suggest you forget right now that you even proposed something so ridiculous."
Aberdeen turned smartly on her heel and left him there to ponder.