Headache
"Something's not right," I mumbled in between bites of my Monte Cristo sandwich. We had pulled off at a Bennigan's for some well needed lunch. Well needed for me, he claimed not to be hungry, yet continued to nibble on my fries.
"Why do you say that?" Sherlock folded his hands on the table in front of him and leaned into it.
"It's too easy, Rivera wouldn't just put himself out there like that."
"Like I said madam, his involvement may not be what you think it is, I believe this goes deeper than this Rivera character, but I do believe he has answers and it is of most importance that we locate him quickly."
"Before he finds us," I said, swishing a corner of my sandwich into the raspberry preserves, enjoying the crisp sweetness in my mouth.
"I'm not so sure I understand," Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and snatched up another french fry.
"Seriously?" I laughed under my breath, "You didn't notice? I think those Oreos have begun to rot that ingenious mind of yours."
"Well I would greatly appreciate it if you would share your suspicions with me."
"Alright," I took a deep breath and ran my hand through my hair, letting it rest on the back of my neck. "That burn in the motel room, it was set deep into the wood, probably caused by the ash that has slowly crumbled away over time." I pushed my plate to the side so I could lean over the table, "Now the mark in Claudia's shop was directly on the surface, fresh ash still lining the outer edges, smearing onto the wallpaper." A grin began to spread across Sherlock's face.
"It's a fresh burn Sherlock, he knows I'm here. Well somebody knows I'm here."
His grin grew wider.
"What? You think that's good news? Because it scares the shit out of me!" My eyes were wide as I stared at him in a moment of silence, waiting for him to say something, anything. He just sat across from me with that stupid smirk on his face. "And here I thought I was crazy,' I grumbled, turning my eyes to the oak table top.
Sherlock quickly reached out and grabbed my wrist, causing me to look up and meet those dark orbs with my bleak ones.
"There is nothing the matter with my mind darling, I was only curious about what you thought about the situation."
"And?"
"I believe that you are indeed correct my dear, now we must think, if the mark behind the tub is in fact significantly older than the one in the shop, which did appear to have been done very recently, it would lead me to believe someone has been watching you for quite some time."
"Why? I wouldn't have even come here if it you hadn't shown up, hell I try to avoid thinking about my parents all together."
"Someone seems to think otherwise." Sherlock released my wrist so I could continue with my lunch. I stifled a moan as I relished in the flavor explosion in my mouth. It was fabulous, I hadn't been to a Bennigan's in a very long time, I missed the chummy atmosphere of the once popular Irish restaurant chain, and sadly all the ones close to town had closed a few years back.
"All that fuss over a sandwich," Sherlock muttered raising an eyebrow, watching me lick the powdered sugar from my finger tips.
"Not just any sandwich Sherlock, a deep fried sandwich."
"Still, I don't see the point of…"
I silenced him with a nice sized chunk of my delightful Monte Cristo; I smiled, noticing a sparkle spreading throughout his eyes.
"My lord Samantha…this…this is…"
"Heavenly," I finished for him, "fantastically heavenly."
"Indeed," He grinned reaching for a quarter cut that sat on my plate.
"Glad I could get you to eat, now if only I could get you to sleep at normal hours," I laughed, pushing the plate in front of him; I could only ever eat half the damn thing anyway.
"One thing at a time madam," He grinned, finishing off the sandwich, managing to get most of the powdered sugar on his face. I leaned over the table gingerly wiping the sugar away that remained on his cheek.
"We should get going," I said quietly, he leaned into my lingering touch, allowing his chocolate eyes to slowly close.
"Yes, we should," Sherlock smiled gently before placing a soft kiss to the inside of my palm.
My father had stayed in Atlanta after he murdered my mother, Sherlock had his suspicious that he may have been set up, I still believe the otherwise. Dad had said he stayed because this was where mom grew up; he said it brought him a small amount of comfort knowing she had spent the happier portion of her life here.
Lies.
That is what I believed anyway, everything I remembered my father saying or doing always ended in lies.
His former home was located in a rural district just out side of downtown Atlanta. The house hadn't changed much over the years, a typical cottage style home, resting on top of a small hill overlooking the neighborhood. The flower bed still remained below the kitchen window, it brought chills to my spine, the house had a totally different feeling than the motel room had, I wasn't sure if it was fear or anger, probably both. I had been there moments after the shot was fired, the blood was still streaming from the hole in his head, forming a puddle around my feet, I couldn't move, shock had overcome my body as I stood and stared at my fathers lifeless body on the floor. I subconsciously tightened my grip on the steering wheel as I made my way up the drive way. I was glad Sherlock had fallen asleep on the way; I didn't want him to pick up on the insecurities I had returning to this wretched house. I took a deep breath and attempted to pull my self together before gently reaching over and patting Sherlock's leg. He flinched a little under my hand as his eyes popped open and a hand clamped down on my wrist.
"Seriously Sherlock, who else would be waking you in my rental car?"
He let go of my arm and sat up in his seat. "You can never be too careful my dear." Sherlock looked at the house that now sat in front of us.
"Don't let it get the best of you Samantha," he said, staring straight ahead. Apparently I hadn't done a very good job of composing my self.
"I'll be fine," I assured him. "Alright Mr. Ashbury here's our story. This here is my childhood home; we are on our honeymoon and taking a trip down memory lane."
"Honeymoon?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at me.
"The owners are more likely to believe that I wish to share my child hood with my new husband than they would if I just brought you along for kicks."
"Right, after you Mrs. Ashbury," He smirked gesturing towards the car door.
"Just behave Sherlock, and follow my lead."
I let my hair down and mussed it up a bit before pressing the door bell; Sherlock was eyeing me with a curious look on his face.
"What?" I asked, "Can't hurt to look like we've been enjoying ourselves." I grinned.
"Mmmm," Sherlock turned his head back to the door, looking rather amused.
The woman who answered the door was young, maybe a few years older than me, the ring on her left hand still shined brightly, so either she cleaned it often, or was somewhat of a newlywed herself. This was going to go better than I thought. I turned on my customer pleasing charm and launching myself into my role.
"Hi there!" I smiled brightly, using my expressive eyes to my advantage. "I'm Cameron and this here is my," I paused letting a girly giggle escape from my lips. "Well this is my husband Thomas."
Sherlock quickly followed by grinning brightly and slipping his arm around me, squeezing gently.
"Is it like you remembered dear?" He asked pulling me closer.
The woman in the door smiled politely, "I'm sorry who are you?"
"Oh I am so sorry," I beamed, pulling away from Sherlock but making sure I kept hold of his hand. "I grew up here. We are on our honeymoon you see and well," I took a moment to look back at Sherlock and grin again. "I thought it would be nice to show my sweet Thomas where I spent my childhood."
"You should hear the things she has to say about this place," Sherlock pitched in.
Her polite smile turned to a genuine friendly one, "Well come in then, we haven't changed much, maybe it will bring back some nice memories for you." She opened the door further and ushered us inside.
I highly doubt that lady I thought to myself as I stepped onto the plush cream colored carpet.
"I'm sorry to rush you, but I have to leave for work soon," The woman of the house said as she led us into the front room.
"Oh that's all right, we won't keep you." I smiled tugging on Sherlock's hand.
"Well feel free to look around then I guess," She smiled and left us alone.
"If it's another burn you're looking for dear I don't think you will find it inside the house," Sherlock whispered into my ear.
"I know, but I still want to see the living room," I started to move away, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on my upper arm; his eyes were full of concern.
"I'll be fine."
The walls were the same dull blue that I had remembered; the room began to spin slightly as I made my way closer to the center. I closed my eyes and swore I could smell the blood lingering in the room.
"DON'T MOVE!" The sound of a gun cocking had me turning in the thick puddle around my feet. The cop in the door way had his weapon raised and pointed in my direction.
"I…I…he was like this when I got here," I uttered, surprised by the cracking in my voice.
"Hands up!" The cop yelled, taking a step towards me. I did as I was told, slowly moving my arms over my head.
"Look I don't even have a gun, this man is my father, I only came here to talk to him."
The cop positioned himself behind me and pulled my hands down behind my back, the cold metal of the handcuffs cold against my wrists.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney during interrogation; if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you."
"What? No, I didn't do anything."
I was in the interrogation room, waiting for what seemed an eternity for someone to show up and question me. Not that it mattered; they already made up their mind.
"So you came in through the window, is that right Ms. Parker?" The questioning officer had hard eyes; I was in deep shit and there was noting I could do about it.
"No, I came in through the front door; I wanted to talk to him about my mother."
"Whom you think was murdered by your father." He placed his hands on the table and leaned in inches from my face, I could smell the coffee and cigarettes on his breath. "We know all about you Ms. Parker and your countless attempts to try to convince our department that your mother's death was a murder and not a suicide. So what? You figure if we don't follow your silly ideas that you can take matters into your own hands?"
"NO! Look, if I did it where's the gun? Wouldn't my shoes be dirty from destroying the flower bed? Check the blood from the kitchen it won't match!"
"Of course it won't, it was the victims. So who helped you?"
"What?"
"Who got away, who did you pass the gun off to."
"I didn't do anything!"
"Sorry sweetheart, it all points to you," The cop smirked as he left me to sit alone in the cold room.
"Samantha!" Sherlock's worried tone was quiet beside me. What the hell was that? I was bent over on the floor; Sherlock was kneeling down beside me.
"Are you all right?" His eyes trying to get a read on me.
"Yes…no…I…I don't know," I whispered, trying to get up only to fall face first into the carpet.
"Come now Samantha, let me get you up." I felt Sherlock's hand slip under my arm just as something under the television stand caught my attention.
"Look," I pointed under the wooden legs. Sherlock got up and went to get a closer look as I managed to push myself back up onto my knees. "It's another one isn't it?" I asked between breaths.
"Yes…and it's rather fresh." Sherlock returned to my side and helped me to my feet.
"So much for not finding anything in the house," I mumbled.
"Mmmm."
"So is it just like you remembered?" The house owner emerged from a room towards the back of the house. I quickly pulled on my peppy smile. "Oh it was just lovely, thank you so much!" I extended a hand out to her and she shook it gently.
"You're welcome; I need to get going now, sorry to rush you out of here."
"Oh it's no problem," Sherlock took over for me, "we appreciate you allowing us into your home," He left an arm under mine to help steady me. "We should be leaving anyhow darling."
I collapsed onto the stiff bed moments after entering the motel room, my body felt weak, my mind was tired, I just wanted to shut everything out. The mattress dipped beside me and I felt myself being pulled into a pair of warm arms.
"It was his blood Sherlock, that they found in the kitchen, but how, I don't remember any wounds other than the obvious one."
"Shhh you need to rest Samantha, we'll discuss it later." Sherlock pressed a kiss on my shoulder. "I didn't expect the house to have such an effect on you."
"Neither did I."
I was still in his hold when I woke several hours later, I turned over to be met by his dark and warm eyes, I knew he hadn't slept, yet he had remained with me.
"You stayed."
"Mmmm, you would start to stir if I attempted to move, I figured if I stayed you would remain calm."
"Thank you," I whispered, burring my head into his side. I heard a single knock at the door, followed by retreating footsteps.
"Stay here," Sherlock got up and slowly approached the door. "Hmmm?" He bent down and picked up a sheet of paper off the floor. "It's for you," He said placing it on the edge of the bed. It had my initials on the outside of the folded paper, typed, not hand written, I used one finger to push it open.
Tomorrow, noon, at the Zero Milepost.
Looks like we have a date.
A/N Things are getting deeper! I really hope you all are enjoying. Let me know :D
I discovered the perfect song for my dysfunctional duo, Basket case by Sara Bareillies, you should look it up, it's fabulous!
MUCH LOVE
-Shelly