Chapter Fourteen~ Drops of Jupiter
Diane wouldn't say that she was avoiding Sherlock. Well, maybe the morning after she did. But, how was she supposed to expect when Mycroft would just randomly show up and tell her to back a bag. Which is what happened, and her reaction of hopping up and hugging the Iceman before running up to her room had nothing to do with the fact that she was still mortified with what had happened. Neither had the sigh of relief she let out while leaning against her door.
When she had woken up that morning, Diane momentarily forgot everything that had happened the night before as she was more focused on the cotton feeling in her mouth and slight pounding in her head. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. Diane didn't get hungover after drinking very often, because she always made sure she ate something and had lots of water before going to bed...oh, and not laying down flat when she was blackout drunk. That little lesson had been learned the hard way the second time she had ever had a real drink.
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The first time had been when she was sick, and her parents gave her the choice of choking down a shot of warm whiskey and honey every hour, or having a mixed drink. Obviously, she had chosen the delicious concoction that her mother made up (Malibu coconut rum, limeade, and cherry syrup). She had one glass, then went to bed to sleep off the sickness. Diane's first blackout, she was fifteen at the time, and had gotten in trouble with her stepdad for whatever reason, probably not doing the dishes or something. As a result, she had been deemed grounded for the weekend. Not that she went out and did anything anyway.
Anyway, after everyone else had gone to bed that night, she sat up with her stepdad, Sean, and his dog, Choco. He had told her that if she stayed up the whole night, to keep him company, she could be ungrounded in the morning. So, they were just hanging out, watching a movie, enjoying the fact that her brothers were finally asleep. Well, Sean, ever the gamer, started talking about how he really wanted to play Assassin's Creed, because the movie they were watching had snippets of Italian and Latin. Just as a joke, she had told him, "I know a whole sentence in Latin." It was a prideful thing, that she had taken Latin studies that year and was excited to finally show off. "Hodie tempestas est clidum, curares aquam?" Which roughly translated to 'The weather is very hot today, would you like some water?'
"That's it, we're playing. But, if you want to play, you have to be tipsy first, 'cause this game is super easy unless you tipsy." It should be noted that he had been drinking a bit beforehand, which is what brought all this about. With a shrug, the young girl had acquiesced, and followed him to the kitchen, where he got down a shot glass and filled it almost full with Moonshine (of all the things he could have given her as a first drink), topping it off with the same cherry syrup to take the edge off. "Shoot this back, sip a second, then we'll play. If you want some more after that, cool. You can pour it yourself."
Everything kinda spiraled out from there. Not that anything bad happened, but Diane's hand-eye coordination with game controllers was just about nil, so trying to play a game where you had to balance on thin wooden poles and climb up buildings while intoxicated pretty much ended with her character dying too many times. Eventually, she gave up trying to play and handed the controller back to Sean, going to get her...10th shot? Yeah, even at fifteen, she could hold her liquor pretty well. At some point, Diane dissolved into fits of giggles because Choco had come up to her and licked her nose. That was when they found out that Diane was a very happy, very giggly drunk. It was after 5 am when she got up to go to the bathroom to pee yet again (shit ran through her like water), she had vaulted over the side of the couch.
She didn't remember if she stumbled, but she must have because her stepdad then told her, "You're drunk, go to bed."
So, making her way to her room, only making it there because she was used to walking around in the dark and knew where everything was without looking, Diane's vision looked like a television with the snowy static, and a very small point of clarity in the center. Not even bothering to change or pull her blankets down, she flopped down on her bed to sleep.
At least, that was the plan. She didn't know how much later it was, but she vaguely remembered turning over and smelling vomit, which made her lurch out of bed with a hand clamped over her mouth and across the hall to the bathroom. Finding the bathroom locked, she pounded on the door until whoever was in there (probably Sean), opened it and she fell through. After that, she didn't remember anything. Somehow, she had gotten back to bed, which she was sad to find did indeed have a bit of puke on her fluffy wolf blanket. Also, the bathroom was mysteriously clean, though it later turned out that Paul had cleaned it with a sock-rag of all things.
8 o'clock in the morning and Diane was already up and mobile, throwing her blanket in the wash and went about her daily chores of sweeping up the house. When her mother had passed her in the hallway, she stopped. "Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Sean let me drink last night, I'm still a little sleepy." Maria blanched at her daughters words, then stormed away to find her husband.
"Sean Paul!" She hollered. Oh, shit he's in trooooouble. Diane snickered. The only time her mother double named anyone was when she was upset with them. "What were you thinking, letting her drink?!"
Sean had been sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of black coffee. "I thought I needed a drinking buddy." Diane walked in at that point, giving him an amused smile. "How are you not hungover?" He groused. "You drank more than I did."
At that point, Maria threw her hands up, but eventually conceded that it was fine, since Diane had done it in the house instead of out with friends, and she was in no danger of being balled up in bed for the rest of the day.
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"Jesus Christ on a Cross." Diane set her bags down, John coming up behind her with the last one. "Remind me never to suggest Rome as a business trip, ever. God, it's good to be home." With a huff, she fell back and splayed over the bed.
"That bad, huh?" The doctor asked sympathetically.
"I thought Mycroft was bad about his weight here, it was nothing compared to how he acted over there. Bloody idiot flat out refused to eat anything for three days! I swear, it must be a hereditary thing."
"Mmh, I don't think so. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes don't seem to care very much. Probably just the boys' crazy genius making them vain."
"Don't let either of them hear you say that, John. God knows Sherlock would have a fit if you called him vain, and Mycroft might just make you disappear. And what would I do without my best friends around to keep me sane?"
"Probably murder Sherlock."
"Probably," she agreed. "Speaking of which, where's he run off to this time?"
"There's no telling. Who knows what that man gets up to when neither of us are here to babysit him."
"Wouldn't be surprised if he went and bothered that Molly Hooper girl at the morgue, panhandling for body parts."
"By the way..." He started, scratching at his cheek. "What happened with you two?"
"What do you mean?" Diane sat up with a curious look.
"Mary told me he showed up at the club you two were at. Said you ended up getting in a fight and then going home with him."
"Oh, that." She huffed again. "Bloody bastard turned the GPS on my phone on, tracked me to the damn club."
"I see. And that little spat wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you two were dancing?" He suggested.
Diane's eyes narrowed at him. "Why would it?" With a smirk, John pulled out his phone, showing her the picture Mary had sent him. It showed the two of them wrapped up in each other on the dance floor, her eyes closed and one hand over his on her hip, the other in those black curls. The expression on her face in the picture was happy, but oblivious to anything besides the moment in which it was taken. What surprised her was the look on Sherlock's face. He was looking at her, as much as he could from his position behind her, arms pulling her closer and a smile gracing his lips at her ear. This must have been right before he had whispered in her ear.
John watched in mild amusement as his friend's face went from rosey, to flushed, to bright red in quick succession. Her face fell into her hands with a groan. "You know, there's nothing wrong with liking him. He may be a thick prat, but he is more human than he appears."
"It's not that, John. I didn't realize who I was dancing with. Bastard had been watching us. I got so lost in the music that I didn't care who I was dancing with, usually didn't look at their faces. I let go, he saw that, and used it to his twisted advantage to freak me out."
"Are you sure?" He asked, a smile in his voice.
"It does seem like a very Sherlock thing to do, doesn't it?"
"Well, yes. But," John looked down at the picture, "that certainly doesn't look like someone who is out to mess with their flatmate."
"Yeah, I know what it looks like. It looks like a very drunk girl partying so hard that she attached herself to the closest person, it sounds like a trollop grinding on everyone who came near her. It's not. I was hardly tipsy, and I wasn't doing the grinding...usually. People tend to move on when they realize you're not going to reciprocate." Running a hand through her hand, Diane sighed. "He told me that the reason he did it was because he saw how...free I looked. How at peace. Apparently, he wanted to feel it too."
John let that information sink in for a moment. "So...he was experimenting on ways to get high without actually getting high? Huh. Well, I suppose it's a bit safer than solving murders and tracking down bad guys. I still don't see why it's a bad thing. You were having fun, he was having fun."
"And then I punched him."
"You did that?! He told me he got into a fight with some bloke at a pub. Said something about his mother, I think."
"Yeah, no, that was me." Diane hesitated for a moment, wondering to herself as to whether she should tell him everything. On the one hand, he was bound to find out eventually, probably from an offhanded comment by Sherlock. On the other, it might be that Sherlock was just as freaked out as she was and wouldn't mention it ever again. No, that wasn't right. Sherlock didn't think about things like normal people did; which is probably the reason that he had not told John anything that happened in the two and a half weeks that she was gone. He didn't care.
"Well, it'll sort itself out." John started towards the door, "Anyway, Mary and I are having a few friends over tomorrow night, if you'd like to come and meet-"
"He kissed me."
The army doctor stopped in his tracks, blinking rapidly in an attempt to process the information. "Sorry," he turned back to her. "I could have sworn you just said-"
"Sherlock kissed me."
John gaped at her, mouth trying to form words. "When?!"
"The same night. We got in another fight because I found out he had bugged my phone...I get really...aggressive, as he put it, when I drink. I kicked him, I fell, and he ended up wrestling me on the floor."
"Christ," the older man ran a hand over his face. "Right, and how did that lead to..." He finished with a wave of his hand.
"He was trying to talk to me, get me to calm down and I wouldn't. I'm pretty sure that he saw it as the only way to keep me from hurting myself."
"Yeah..." John sighed to himself. "God, that's why he's been acting odd. I'm going to go ahead and venture that it wasn't just a kiss?" Diane groaned and hid her face in her hands again. "Wha-"
"I don't even know!" She said through her fingers. "I don't know, and I've been going over every minute of it for two and a half weeks. It's been driving me crazy! And fucking Mycroft, omnipresent as he is, already knows about it. Smug bastard has been giving me hell for it."
"How could he possibly know about that?"
"Probably has your phone bugged so he sees everything that comes and goes from it. One of the first things he said to me was asking if I had enjoyed my night, and if that was what I considered keeping a close eye on his brother. Told me, 'A bit unorthodox, I grant you, but it's effective, at least.'!" She said in her best impression of her boss. "And after that, he kept talking about things that were going on here at Baker Street while we were gone."
"Mycroft does do that. Jesus. And you're sure Sherlock wasn't drunk?"
Diane shook her head. "Didn't touch a drop. He was sober as can be. Anyway, did you ask him?"
"I tried. He brushed it off, said it was nothing."
"Of course he would." Diane ran her hand through her hair again, noting that it was greasy. "Well, as long as he's out, I might as well go take a shower."
"Right. Just...don't punch him again when you see him, okay? Sherlock may be a genius, but he's a bloody idiot. Like I said, dinner tomorrow. Molly and Greg will be there."
"Sure, just text me when and I'll come by. Should I bring anything?" Her brain was slightly swimming at the sudden change of subject.
"One of those pies you make. The, uh, not key lime, but...shit what did you call it?"
"What? The really creamy one that Mary told me was better than sex?"
John's face lit up bright red. "Yeah, that one."
"That was the key lime. And yes, I will make it tonight and bring it for dinner."
"Great." Starting towards the door again, he smiled, "It's good to have you back, Diane."
"It's good to be back."
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Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago, I was in your sights, you got me alone. You found me, you found me, You found me.
I guess you didn't care, and I guess I liked that. And when I fell hard, you took a step back, without me, without me.
And he's long gone when he's next to be. And I realize, the blame is on me.
'Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in. Now I'm layin' on the cold hard ground.
Two weeks of weak hotel showers with crappy two-in-one shampoos and skin-drying soaps were washed away by the piping hot spray of 221B. Knots in her neck and shoulders were kneaded away as it beat down on her skin. Taylor Swift crooned away in the background. One would think that Diane had learned long ago to pack her own toiletries for a trip. And in fact, she usually did. But, it seemed like every time she remembered to do it, her bag got lost, only to be returned to Baker Street shortly before she got back. As such, Diane had just forgone her shampoo and conditioner, face wash, and deodorant, opting to buy the items after they landed at their destination. She lathered her hair with the mint and rosemary scented shampoo, reveling in the calming smell.
Diane was singing along with the music, dancing as best she could in the small space without slipping. Running a pouf over her skin, washing away the last few days and watched it swirl down the drain in a soapy whirlpool. Despite the constant meetings and meals with this dignitary or that, Mycroft had kept her mostly in the dark with the goings on of the government. Not that she minded, but she often felt that she could help him much more if she knew what was happening behind those closed doors. If it weren't for the creepy old men that tried sweet-talking her into their bedrooms, Diane would have insisted that she be allowed in the room with her boss. As it was, she as typically nervous of men she didn't know, more so when they overtly flirted with her. And every single one of them had been people that could destroy her and her career if they felt inclined to do so. Luckily, Mycroft held more power than them and had all but threatened them into leaving her alone.
Over the music, Diane could not hear the sound of the front door slamming.
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Another goddamn dead end. Sherlock flicked up his coat collar as he exited Bart's hospital, hailing down a cab. The most recent string of deaths that Scotland Yard had called him in to consult on involved several people who had all died in different ways. One had a seizure in the bathtub, drowning themselves. Another had fallen asleep driving and wrapped her car around a tree. Two had died of dehydration. The most recent one had been out with friends, then suddenly run out into the street and been hit by a car. The only thing that tied all of them together had been the fact that they all acted strangely just before they died, paranoid, tired and/or irritable. And they had all had the same chemicals in their blood. Something linked them, he knew it. But what was it?
He paid the cabbie and hopped out of the vehicle, mind still on the deaths. No, murders. They have to be. Opening the door, Sherlock was greeted with the sight of Mrs. Hudson standing at the bottom of the staircase, her head cocked a bit, listening. At the slam of the door, she started, seeing the other tenant looking very much in a foul mood.
"Oh, dear. No good, then?" He didn't answer, but just moved past her. "I'll go make you a cuppa. That'll cheer you up, dearie." But, the tall man wasn't listening. He had made it halfway up the stairs and stopped, the sound of music trickling down from the flat. With an irritated look to the landlady, she giggled. "Isn't she wonderful, Sherlock?" And then Mrs. Hudson ducked into her flat to start the tea.
The detective's eyes narrowed. Surely Mycroft would have told him that they were back in the country. Nevertheless, he continued up the steps. But, something made him stop at the door. The music wasn't coming from Diane's room upstairs. It was coming from the bathroom, along with the sound of running water.
"I let it fall, my heart. And as if fell you rose to claim it. And it was dark and I was over, until you kissed my lips and you saved me. My hands, they're strong. But, my knees, were far too weak to stand in your arms without falling to your feet. But there's a side to you that I never knew, never knew. All the things you'd say, they were never true, never true. And the games you play, you would always win, always wiiiin.
"And I set fiiiire, to the raaain. Watch it burn as I...touch your face. Well it burned while I cried 'cause I heard it screaming out your name. Your naaame."
Indeed her voice was nice...and very loud. As if she didn't realize how loud she was singing. He knew the song, as sometimes he did listen to the radio if for no other reason than for a distraction. Passing the door, Sherlock went into his room to trade out his white shirt (now covered in various stains from a failed test that Molly had accidentally knocked over) in favor of a purple one. Grabbing his blue dressing gown, he made his way back into the living room to wait for his flatmate.
In the time since that night, Sherlock had been deep in thought, questions chasing each other around his mind palace. Why had she pushed him away? Why had it bothered her so much that he used her phone to track her? Why had he kissed her in the first place? In fact, why had he followed her to the club? She had expressed mixed emotions over the course of the evening, and it confused him.
The water turned off.
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Diane realized as she turned off the shower, that she had not brought extra clothes with her. And she couldn't put on the ones she had worn in there. She had been wearing them since early this morning, rode a plane in them, sweated uncomfortably in the heat of Italian October. Drying herself off as best she could in the steamy room, Diane squeezed some of the water out of her hair and ran the towel over it a few times before wrapping herself up in the now damp cloth, and tucked it in between her breasts. She turned down the music on her phone as she gathered it and her dirty clothes up in her arms, and stepped out of the bathroom. Cool air hit her skin, causing goosebumps to erupt, as she checked her email on her way through the kitchen.
"Eh, maybe I'll make some tea before I go up." She said to herself, and turned towards the electric kettle on the counter.
"That would be lovely, thanks."
Diane yelped, dropping her phone and clothing as she spun around to face the living room. Her now empty hands immediately flew to the tuck that kept her towel from falling to the floor. "Jesus Christ." She gasped, leaning against the table. In his usual chair by the fire, sat Sherlock, a smug grin on his face. "Do you have to do that?!"
"Of course. You'd never talk to me otherwise." He told her nonchalantly.
"I am not talking to you right now." She turned away to click on the kettle, then bent at the knees to gather up her fallen items. Standing up, she turned and nearly dropped them again when she found Sherlock standing right in front of her.
"And why not?" Sherlock asked, head tilted just a bit as he observed her reaction.
"Christ, Sherlock! Well, for one, I am standing in nothing but a fucking towel, dripping wet, and I really don't want to have the conversation I know you're itching to have." Diane tried to back away, only for the step to be mirrored by the man in front of her. As she watched, he slipped out of the robe he wore, and flung it around her shoulders.
"There, now you're decent." Sherlock took the bundle of clothes from her.
"This isn't much better." She told him, tugging the silk over her still wet skin. After turning away from him, she untucked the towel and tied the robe closed over her body.
"It's better than a towel. And it means I don't have to wait for you to go upstairs, get changed and come back down. Which you might not."
He motioned for her to sit while he finished up the tea, making his usual, and hers just the way she liked it. "Right, because you are such a sociable person usually." She muttered when he handed her the tea in her favorite mug. It was green with a picture of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh adorning it in a slightly darker color. "Might as well get it over with."
"Yes, might as well." He took a long sip of his tea while watching her over the rim. His eyes roved over her, taking in the way her hair curled a bit when it was wet, how her skin was still flushed from the hot water, the way her hands pulled at the cloth she was wearing. She wasn't looking at him, so he took the chance to observe every little movement. Diane shifted in her seat, tugging the dressing gown to cover her legs and chest. He watched her, subtly, sniff at the cloth and then swallow thickly. The cold air of the room was making her nipples show through the thin silk, though she tried to hide the fact. "You're uncomfortable."
Her eyes flicked up from her cup, meeting his for less than a second before they settled on the fire, her fingers shifting the cloth over her skin again. "That obvious, huh?"
"Not really. You're very good at hiding it, but you fidget, you can't look me in the eyes."
"Can you blame me?" She said, eyes looking everywhere by him.
"No, I suppose not," he said placing his fingers on his lips. The movement drew her eyes to the digits before flickering away again. "Interesting. You've never had a problem with facing me down before. Perhaps it has to do with what happened. Or maybe it's because of the fact that you are vulnerable in your state of undress." Diane's body shifted again as he said this. "That along with the rather obvious fact that you are a bit chilled." At that, she made to cross her arms over her chest. "No need to hide it."
"There might not be a need to you, Mr. Holmes. I, however, am a bit more modest than you."
"Allow me to rephrase then. Don't hide from me." This time, her eyes held his, though it was more because she was surprised than anything. He watched her throat working as she tried to talk. All that came out was a small sound that escaped from her lips. "There. Was that so hard?"
A shuddering breath made it's way from her lungs. "Could please start up a fire."
"Of course." He told her gently, sliding gracefully from his seat to kneel before the fireplace. Before long, she uncurled her feet from under her, stretching them out towards the now blazing fire. He noted that her toenails still had the same paint on them as the night of the gala, but her fingernails were now a nude brown color. She's picked off the paint from her fingers, but hasn't messed with the ones on her toes. "You did not respond to my text message." Sherlock stated.
"Um, yeah. I was working."
"And? You kept in touch with Mary, and occasionally texted John when you can't reach her. So, why not take a moment out of your ever so busy schedule to answer the simple message." Diane had to take a minute to answer him. Indeed, she did receive a message from him, but had chosen not to answer because she was trying to think of how to deal with what had happened. It hadn't even been anything all that strange. As long as one doesn't take into account that it took him three days to realize she wasn't even in town.
Where are you? -SH
With a gulp, she opened her mouth. "I...I don't know."
Sherlock's lips twisted into a wry smile. "That's not an answer."
"Well, I'm sorry, Your Majesty." She growled. "I'm sorry that I didn't know how to respond to a text from the man who, just the other day had followed me to a club, danced with me, and then kissed me after I hit you and threatened you, and basically tried to kill you."
"You couldn't kill me. Though it would be extremely ambitious of you." With a jolt, Diane was out of her seat.
"You'd be surprised of what I can do, Mr. Holmes."
"Indeed." He matched her movement, standing up slowly. It was a power play and both of them knew it. But it worked. Diane leaned away from him as he came to stand very close her, making her have to look up as he was quite a bit taller than her measly 5" 6'. "And why are you back to calling me Mr. Holmes."
"Because..." She started, breathing a bit faster when he moved in close to her. Diane cleared her throat, "Because you make me nervous."
"Really?" Sherlock's face softened. In that moment, he saw something else in her face. Not anger, not fear, though those were mixed in there too. "I don't mean to."
"Yes, you do, you prick." She chuckled softly, as did he.
"I suppose I do." Reaching out, Sherlock took hold of her wrist poking out of his large dressing gown.
Of course, Diane knew what he was doing. She knew all about how he took down Irene Adler, the Woman. She knew how he had taken her pulse, and that's how Sherlock had known that she hadn't just been pretending when she flirted with him. Without giving the tall, dark haired man a chance to count her heartbeats, Diane twisted her arm away from him, taking a step back as she did. "I want to know why. Why did you kiss me?"
"Seemed like a good idea at the time." Her green eyes narrowed at him, fixing him with a withering look. "You were struggling. With your inebriated state, I thought you might hurt yourself in your attempts to fight. Seeing no alternative, the only thing that could be done to render you immobile was to make some sort of romantic advance."
"And how could you possibly come to that conclusion?" The small woman hissed.
"Rather easily, given the circumstances in which you first arrived at Baker Street. Every other time I would do something that could be seen as...well, not romantic. Perhaps, sexual would be a better term...yes, any time I would put you in what could be viewed as sexual in any way, you shut down. Something happened to you, maybe while you were with your ex, although childhood is more likely. So, what could possibly have happened to you that makes you so uncomfortable around men?" Diane opened her mouth. "Ah, but wait. You didn't give a second thought to fighting with your ex-fiance, who was quite short. You are not threatened by my brother, nor by John, or any of the men you danced with at the club that night, except perhaps the one who reeked of body odor, to whom your reaction was to push him away and then assert your dominance over him with a slap. Something... something about men... men like me in particular makes you nervous. Childhood trauma, shying away from sexual advances by men who are taller than you, overtly male, someone who you see as could hurt you as easily as breaking a toothpick." Instead of shying away like Sherlock was sure she'd do as he advanced on her again, Diane raised her chin and stood her ground. "Interesting." He purred, and watched as her breathing hitched. "You can verbally spar with me any given day, but the moment you realized that I could, and did, physically control you, you began to fear being near me. Add that to the way you clam up when faced with someone you are not sexually involved with doing something that seems sexual... What an interesting mixture we have here."
"There's nothing interesting about me, Mr. Holmes."
"Ah, but there is. Something happened to you as a child that made you be afraid of an large, overtly sexual man. Given the statistics, abuse is almost certain. The antidepressants I found in your room suggest that you suffer from depression, probably for a very long time, though you've only just started getting help for it."
"Stop."
"You were abused. But, by who? An uncle? No, certainly not. You're mother only has a brother who was going through treatment for Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and you never saw him. You have pictures of your uncle, which means you still care for him. Pictures of all your brothers, talking about them lovingly on a regular basis, keeping in contact with all of them. And besides that, they're all younger than you."
"Please, stop."
"So, who does that leave. Your father." By now, Sherlock was right on top of her, bearing down without mercy. "Your father, who was supposed to protect you. But, he didn't, did he. And your mother, oh, she just let it happen."
"Please, Sherlock." And he did. Blinking, he looked, really looked, at her. While there were tears in her eyes, she was still looking at him. Then he realized that she had a hand placed on his chest, stopping him from coming any closer.
"No..." His eyebrows furrowed. "No, that's not the reason at all, is it?"
Diane breathed shakily. "No, it's not. I had a few bad times as a childhood, but nothing like what you're trying to imply."
"What did I miss?" He whispered.
"Those pills you found...my family has a history of depression."
"It's hereditary."
"Yes. I had some environmental factors that attributed to it as well, but that was the biggest thing. And your right, I don't care for large men creeping up on me. But, that guy at the club that I hit, he was an asshole. He was asking me and Mary to come back to his place for a threesome. He was a pig. I don't mind your brother or John because they would not try to hurt me for anything. Though, I'm quite sure that Mycroft couldn't even if he tried. You, on the other hand, I know you could. I've seen some of the things you went through when you faked your death. I saw the strength that it took to survive the beatings and the torture. I also know what happens to the people that you do get into a fistfight with."
Underneath her hand, Diane could feel the heat from Sherlock's body, felt his breath. "You held your own quite well, despite having had a few drinks. You've been going back to your classes. How could I have missed it?"
She smiled through the tears, "You weren't looking for it. And you've been busy. I don't like being boxed in, feeling like I have no privacy or control. Occasionally, I like to give control over to someone else that I know I can trust." She gave him a pointed look, which he was confused about. "When we first met, you said that walk with confidence, but have self-esteem issues, do you remember?"
"Of course."
She nodded. "You were right. I do, and I always have. I had a revelation when I was in high school. As long as I make it look like I have no problems with myself, other people won't see the shy, bookish, weird girl that they picked on. I had a transformation my senior year, I became the woman you see now. And the truth is, Sherlock, you do scare me. And not just because I know you can hurt me physically. Part of it is that I know you have no idea what your doing or why. You were experimenting, that's all that was. That's why I was so freaked out." With a pat, Diane removed her hand from his chest. "Now, if you'll excuse me...I need to go get dressed."
As soon as she was gone from the space, Sherlock shivered slightly. "I'll be wanting that dressing gown back." He called as she walked out the door.
Diane stopped, grinning to herself. Closing the door behind her and making sure there was no one in the foyer, she untied the belt and slipped it off, shoving it back through the crack in the door. Not waiting for him to grab it, she let go and ran up the stairs before Sherlock could open the door all the way and see her.
So, when he saw her hand poke back through the door, his eyes widened, brows jumping to his hairline. He watched her drop the material, and heard the light pat pat pat pat of her bare feet on the stairs. "Cheeky." he scooped up the robe and went to gather up his violin so he could think.
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"Annie! Oh, darling, I'm so glad you could make it." Mary said when she opened the door to find her standing there with a covered dish. She pulled the younger woman into a hug and then ushered her into the hall. "What's this? You didn't have to bring anything."
"I know I didn't. But, I know how much you love my key lime pie."
"Ooooh," Mary chortled as she took the dish from her and led her into the living room. "Thank you, love. I'll just go put this in the fridge. You go meet everyone." Diane stopped at the doorway. The room wasn't absolutely full of people, but there were several that she didn't recognize. She saw John and Mrs. Hudson, but the others she didn't know.
From his spot in the corner, Sherlock watched Diane stand in the hall, looking at the people in the living room. She was chewing on her lip. I wonder if she knows she does that when she's nervous? He thought to himself. Her hair was down again tonight, framing her face and drawing attention away from the somewhat low v-neck of her shirt. At least, it did until she reached up to fluff her hair, which caused it to move out of the way of the line.
"Diane, don't be shy." Mycroft called from across the room. Everyone else's attention was drawn to her, and she stood a bit frozen. Until Mary came in and gently pushed her through.
"This is Diane?" The grey-haired man asked John. "Well, it's wonderful to finally meet you."
"Uh, hi. Sorry, I don't know-"
"Greg Lestrade."
"Oh, Detective Inspector. It's nice to meet you too. The guys talk about you all the time...well, sort of. Sherlock usually calls you Gavin, or Geoff..."
"Yeah. The prick knows everything else in the world, can't be bothered to remember my name." He groused.
"I am still in the room, you know." Sherlock said from the corner.
"I know." Lestrade said with a grin. "This lovely lady here is Molly Hooper."
"Hello," the mousy woman said.
"Heard a lot about you too. I'm so glad you've been refusing to give Sherlock anymore body parts. His experiments have been bordering on toxic."
"You...you live with Sherlock?" She asked.
"Well, yeah. I'm his flatmate. After John moved out, he needed another one."
"So, how did you know him?" Molly seemed a bit hesitant of her. Sherlock could see that. Diane was like a taller, less timid version of Molly.
"Oh, I'm Mycroft's secretary. He got me the place so he could have someone keep an eye on his baby brother. For all the good it's done him." Diane told her, trying to assuage her fears.
"You do a well enough job keeping up with him." Mycroft told her from his place by the fire.
"Oi, you lot," Mary poked her head around the corner. "Supper. Come on."
Dinner was a rather quite affair. John and Mary sat at the heads of the table, with Lestrade, Molly, and Mycroft on one side, and Diane, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson on the other. In that order. Mary had made a wonderful roast with baby carrots and potatoes, and a homemade Caesar salad. No one said much of anything. But, when Mary brought out the dessert, there were many words of amazement at the taste. All but Sherlock, John, and Diane said nothing.
"Mary, this is incredible." Molly praised. "I thought you said you couldn't bake."
"Oh, I don't. Diane brought this. Made the whole thing from scratch." When everyone turned to look at the other woman, her face had flushed a little.
"It's nothing, just a simple recipe that my mom showed me. She doesn't like to bake either, so I was the one who did it instead. At least until I went to college, and then my younger brother, Marcus, took it up. He's got a better grasp on it than I do." She finished with a shy smile and a shrug."
"Well," Lestrade said, taking another bite, "I, for one, think it's delicious. I might have to get the recipe from you."
After that, everyone else went back into the living room, while Diane volunteered to help Mary with the dishes. "You don't need to, dear."
"I know, but you shouldn't do it all by yourself, and I want to help."
"Alright, alright. Here, I'll make the tea, and you can take it out. I'll do the dishes in the morning." The two of them chatted for a few minutes as they waited for the brew to finish. Once it was, Diane took the tray filled up with cups and the teapot with milk and sugar on the side.
"Tea, anyone?" She asked as she came through to the room. Her question was met with sounds of approval from everyone. So, one by one, she poured the tea and passed the cups out.
"You can't be serious, Sherlock." Lestrade groused. "How can you not know what killed them?"
"I know how they died, Inspector. What I don't know is what caused them to be in the circumstances that led to their untimely deaths."
"Sorry, what deaths?" Diane sat down across from them.
"We've had five people come up dead. All of them died a different way, but they had some sort of chemicals in their bloodstreams that they shouldn't have had, in quantities that would have killed them eventually if they hadn't had accidents that did them in first." Sherlock explained. "It's driving me mad!
"Well, if you don't know, Molly can't find it, then we may as well be looking for a damn ghost." Lestrade groaned.
"What kind of chemicals?" Everyone stared at her.
Lestrade was the first one to speak. "I highly doubt you could do any better than this clot. I can't even pronounce some of 'em."
"Besides, Diane," Sherlock waved her off, "It's not as if you have the mental qualification to know something scientific that I would miss."
Behind her glasses, Diane's eyes flashed. "Try me, you arrogant asshole."
The detective's turquoise eyes met hers, sizing her up. "Alright then. What could possibly cause people to act manic, delirious, and paranoid; cause vomiting, diarrhea, dizziness, flushed skin, tachycardia, and blurred vision."
"That sounds an awful lot like poisoning." She smirked.
"Yes, it does. But, most singular poisons do not contain atropine, hyoscyamine, scopolamine, scopine, cuscohygrine, and apoatropine, among a whole host of other chemicals that are potentially poisonous to humans. We tested them for the usual ones, to see if it was a mixture. But, it would seem that whatever they took or were given was some sort of naturally occurring...something." Sherlock finished.
She thought for a moment, the atmosphere of the room tense as everyone held their breath, waiting for her to be shot down.
"Well, that's rather simple, isn't it?"
"What?" Sherlock gaped at her.
"Really? How can you not know what it is? Some detective you are." Seeing that everyone was still waiting for the answer, she laughed. "It's not any kind of pharmaceutical poison. It's not rat poison, or anything like that. They were being poisoned with mandrake root."
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A/N: Gonna stop right there for now, next chappie up soon.
Read and review, my lovelies. Ta-ta.
AcaciaDawn105