When daylight began to seep through the small, dirty window into the cluttered room, Madelyn stirred on the twin bed slowly becoming aware of the man that lay beside her. She studied Sherlock's serene sleeping countenance, gazing fondly up at his masculine jaw and the stubble that coated it. She gently traced his jawline and lifted a lock of hair from his face, tucking it back into the rest of his deep brown mane (which was rather unkempt from sleep).
She could hardly believe her luck; encountering the most renowned detective in all of London, and perhaps the United Kingdom, during quite a perilous time of her life. He had managed to save her from the disgusting man who tried to violate her, and provided her shelter from the freezing cold of a winter night. He was her knight-in-shining-armor, for lack of a better term. But she wondered how long it would last. He was known for his extreme mood swings and rather uncouthly honest personality, neither of which she had really witnessed so far in knowing him personally. It was only a matter of time before he would revert back to his comfort zone and unintentionally hurt her. She frowned solemnly, where exactly she would go from here.
As she contemplated her future (with or without the frustratingly charming detective), the man of her thoughts stirred. Sherlock blinked slowly as his mind became more vivid as the sleep wore off. He stretched comfortably, becoming aware of the woman pressed against him in the small, now cozily-warm bed. He peeked downward and his distant chocolate eyes met her dark, amber-flecked ones. As the morning light shone through the small window beside the bed, however, her eyes began to brighten to a rich mahogany and the flecks of gold glittered finely in the sunshine.
"Good morning, Madelyn. Did you sleep comfortably?" His eyes softened and warmed as she smiled up at him lazily.
"Yes, sir, I did. I can't remember the last time I slept in a warm, dry environment such as this." She commented offhandedly.
"Well, it's no Hôtel du Triomphe, but it's shelter from the cold at the very least." He glanced around the dismally run-down room, noting the water stains on the ceiling, the cracks littering the walls, and the plaster chipping off every surface of the room itself.
Madelyn shrugged and rolled her eyes at his pessimism.
"It's indisputably better than where I've ever had in my lifetime." She pointed out, reminding him that her status was about as low as it could possibly get.
Madelyn sat up (as much as she didn't want to), releasing the majority of the warm air that had collected beneath the two jackets that were draped over both of their bodies. She shivered as the cold air flooded in where the warm air had been, creating goose-pimples all over her skin. Holmes was displeased with the sudden rush of cold air as well, but merely folded his hands behind his head and watched Madelyn as she got up to put on more layers of clothes.
"Mais surle côté positif,vous aveznulle part où aller, mais en hausse." Holmes spoke clearly in his superbly fluent French (But on the plus side, you have nowhere else to go but up).
Madelyn just looked at him perplexedly over her shoulder as she picked up her brown pants.
"What did you just say? I'm afraid that even as intelligent as I manage to be from my own up-bringing, I don't speak that particular dialect." She replied matter-of-factly.
"Oh, that is unfortunate. It is quite a useful and…universal…language." He conferred, continuing to lie nonchalantly on the bed.
"I'll take your word for it." Madelyn said, rolling her eyes at his overconfidence with the French language while putting on the pants she picked up from the floor.
He grinned at the advantage he would have her unfamiliarity with the "language of love." She tucked in her shirts in and folded her arms when she saw his smug grin.
"What?" She asked suspiciously.
"If you like, and ask me nicely, I might be willing to educate you in that particular tongue." He offered, with a hint of coquetry, no doubt fuelled by his immense vanity.
Madelyn smirked and narrowed her eyes briefly, silently accepting his teasing challenge. She raised a single eyebrow and wetted her lips deliberately.
"I can think of a different tongue I'd like to become familiar with." Her flirtation was bold and audacious, which caught Sherlock a bit off-guard.
He cleared his throat to regain his wit and composed himself quickly.
"Well, I don't see why I can't teach you both." He smirked, closing the distance gradually between them.
"Why must you assume that I need teaching in the latter?" Madelyn also began to decrease the distance between them, combing her black ringlets of hair out of her face with her fingers.
Sherlock's rich chocolate orbs stared intensely up and down Madelyn's frame. She closed the last small gap between them, returning his intense stare the entire time.
"But, I suppose I could use a little tutoring…" She admitted daringly.
Holmes quirked his eyebrows amusedly, the ends of his lips flashing upwards for a moment before his expression returned to its usual sobriety.
"Well then…let's have a lesson now, shall we?" He lowered his voice huskily, as his hands cupping both sides of Madelyn's face, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
Madelyn's face reddened with a light blush as butterflies took wing within her stomach, churning her hormones viciously and heightening each of her senses acutely. She could smell the tobacco that lingered in his breath mixing divinely with his unique musk, the combined scent of which she was quickly becoming addicted to. His soft touch sent tingles throughout her form, and prominently intensified her goose-bumps even further.
Holmes watched the young woman's face flush with color at his close proximity and touch. He marveled at her intoxicating smell; her sweet, floral aroma with a hint of earthiness and crisp freshness of snow clouded his senses entirely, prohibiting him from focusing on anything else besides her. He could feel the dam within his mind begin to vanish again, and tried to brace himself for the bombardment of bothersome human emotions he so desperately locked away, but to no avail. He was completely defenseless against the wild rush of hormones now coursing through his blood, urging and begging to be satisfied by the affectionate touch of a woman.
Without another moment's hesitation, Sherlock brought his lips against Madelyn's, gripping the back of her neck with one strong hand as the other moved to her lower back to bring her closer. Madelyn's eyes fluttered shut as she felt their lips meet for the second time in the past twenty-four hours. His facial scruff rubbed against her chin and cheeks, giving her skin an irritating, but pleasant itchiness. Her hands found their way around his broad torso and her nails scraped tactfully down his back. He shuddered under her hands and grunted pleasurably, nipping her bottom lip with his teeth before encircling them with his mouth once again.
Madelyn gasped when he broke his mouth away from hers and swiftly kissed down her jawline, bringing them to suckle on the silky flesh of her neck while also grazing his teeth skillfully against her sensitive scar. His hands were entangled in her hair, and he brusquely yet gently tugged it, tilting her head backwards to allow him further access down her collar. She moaned quietly, biting her lip and admiring his expertise in sensual and corporeal touch.
She tangled her own fingers within his smooth, flowing tresses, silently begging for him to continue. Since she continued to hold her head back for him to continue kissing her neck, his hands moved to the small of her back and pulled her hips to his, allowing her to feel the blatant evidence that their interaction assuredly affected him as well. Madelyn moaned again, but it was cut off by Sherlock's lips that had begun to crave the taste of her mouth again after sampling the velvety skin of her neck.
They remained entwined in a passionate embrace, lips locked in a heated frenzy, their tongues arguing with one another but speaking no words. It was Madelyn who broke their infatuated exploits, bringing them both crashing back down to the realism of their situation. Sherlock seemed to be having an inner-struggle with once again securing his emotions behind a thick wall, subconsciously deciding to allow an infinitesimal trickle of fondness for the young woman to remain. Sherlock cleared his throat nervously and began to dress properly for the day ahead. Madelyn followed suit, the remaining hormones in her blood stream ebbed away as she casually asked a question.
"So what is on your agenda today, Sherlock?" Her tone was innocent yet implying they stay together.
"Well, mon cher, since I am 'dead,' I would usually keep a low-profile, as it were. But with Watson on his belated honeymoon for the week, I don't see why I can't go out on the town with a lovely young woman." He caught on immediately to her implication, willingly obliging to the suggestion.
Madelyn smiled radiantly as she began to gather her clothes, trying to put them on as neatly as she could. When she had finished dressing, she stood before Holmes in her dark-brown pants tucked into her knee-high boots, with the white and grey shirts on underneath a darker grey pea-coat and her navy scarf wrapped around her neck, tucked carefully into her coat. Holmes himself was wearing grey slacks held up by suspenders over a (clean) white shirt, a solid dark evergreen ascot tucked into a patterned royal blue form-fitting vest, all covered by a navy waistcoat that fitted him handsomely. Madelyn's spirited smile dimmed as she watched the dapper man shave for the first time since, well, it was honestly quite hard to say. Sherlock could sense the mood in the atmosphere drop gradually and without turning from his grooming, inquired.
"My dear, why are you sulking? You were quite pleased a moment ago, what has brought about this abrupt shift of emotion?" His razor scraped efficiently against his weathered skin, slicing down the growth of hair on his neck and face, promptly revealing a much smoother surface.
"You said you wanted to go out on the town with a 'lovely' young woman. My clothes are far from that; I still look homeless despite how neatly I try to arrange them. You would look quite absurd with someone like me following you around, when you're dressed as dashing as you are now." She replied sadly.
Sherlock had finished shaving and turned his clean face to look at the timid girl that had sat back down on his bed with her messenger bag hanging limply on her shoulder. He wasn't about to give her a sickly-sweet, mushy, supportive pep-talk, but he couldn't just let her charmingly bright attitude snuff out at the simplest of dilemmas. Without saying a word, he grabbed a shallow, dark grey bowler hat and after placing it on his head, grabbed a hold of Madelyn's hand and stubbornly dragged her from the room outside into the snowy streets of London.
Oh, Holmes. You dog, you. Sounds like Madelyn could use some cheering up, what're you gonna do about that? I feel like the writing of their romance is awkward and rushed, is it awkward and rushed? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT, GUYS. I can see it in my head, but being descriptive without being repetitive is so freaking hard…
I promise the next chapter will have some more plot stuff. Please bear with me! Thanks for all the nice reviews, too. They're all so supportive and wonderful. I don't deserve fans like you!
Also, I updated the other chapters a bit so the POV isn't as confusing (hopefully). Thanks for the support, guys!