Alright, here's chapter 25 everyone. Hope you like it!
Marlene took a step back from her wardrobe, trying to take everything in at once. Different-coloured jumpers, hooded sweatshirts, frilly dress shirts, skirts and pants of varying material. What would be appropriate?
He's not going to care. She grimaced as she pulled a white button-up blouse off of a wooden hanger. The public will, though. Sherlock didn't care about such trivial things, but she couldn't go out with him looking like a mess. There. A white blouse; it was a start. Now for bottoms. Black jeans. It was basic and nondescript and just forgettable enough that no attention would be drawn to her. He was taking a huge risk, taking her out in public. He hadn't exactly told her, but she pieced together through limited conversations with his brother (she still wasn't too keen on him, especially since the Diogenes club incident) that Sherlock had made some powerful and dangerous enemies for himself. Frightening as it was, it didn't deter either of them. She pulled on the pants, buttoned the shirt, put in tiny silver earrings. Presentable enough, she supposed, then went to the to put on a bit of makeup, but not too much, just enough to aid her cause. It would be a very discreet date, he was never sure of who could be watching, so no public signs of affection whatsoever. Marlene didn't mind. His presence was enough.
She looked in the mirror she shaded a lid lightly with taupe eyeshadow and dabbed mascara onto curled lashes. Decent. She heard a rapping on the door and grabbed her purse and jacket on the way out.
He could still see the roses-she'd kept them maintained-on the table behind her as she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
"Wearing makeup." He commented while they walked to the main door. "How unusual." Marlene blushed despite herself, despite everything telling her no, that this venture wasn't safe.
The cold November air slapped her face as they made it outside; no one in their right mind would have gone out today with the wind screaming overhead and the dark clouds rolling in, but neither of them were quite in their right mind. Two huddled figures amongst sparse vehicular and human traffic, walking with purpose toward the tube station.
On the train, they decided to sit side by side, yet kept it impersonal enough so that passersby would not think to take a second glance, pulling out their phones, making a game of deducing passengers and texting one another their finds.
Neither person gave the man toward the end of the car much notice, other than the usual sweep: headphones in, baggy clothes, a London baseball cap, aviator shades. A tourist.
By the time the two reached the museum, their curiosity had peaked; Sherlock was suddenly hit with the fact that he knew barely any truly personal information about her; things that solely she would know. Sure, she took her tea with milk and one sugar cube (he always added a second one and she hadn't complained yet), the easiest way to get her out of a panic attack was to comfort her with gentle words and the occasional cigarette, he'd even seen her nude and ill, but he knew absolutely nothing about her family, except for the fact that her grandmother was from Norway.
"Marlene," He began, walking with her alongside of a wall-mounted plate-glass display case filled with old lab equipment. Her view was trained on a small burner.
"Yes?" She murmured quietly, keeping a decent distance from him, temporarily tearing her eyes off the . He admired her discretion.
"Where is your family?"
Well," Marlene began, walking among the columns on the exterior of the Royal Institute of Great Britain, wind tousling the top bits of her hair. She bit her lip before continuing, weaving in and out of the large marble cylinders to buy herself some time, and finally stopped behind one, Sherlock striding to a place beside her. The howl of the wind was making it near impossible to hear anything. She'd told him already that it was going to require a bit of explanation and that she'd rather talk about it after they finished looking at everything.
"My grandmother came here a while back when she was pregnant with my mum and when my uncle was three, in the sixties; she wanted to live away from my grandfather. I guess she really wanted a fresh start." Marlene stated, preoccupied, thinking on the exact reason why her grandmother left. The entire family kept it under wraps from the children, but she and her cousin were able to stitch some things together.
"He was abusive," Sherlock ventured. It was why many women just picked up and left.
"My cousin and I were never really told why, but only that they never got along. We found some letters under the floorboards of his house. He'd been having an affair." She replied, wishing like hell that she didn't have to have this conversation with him. "Our parents still don't know that we know. But anyway," He could see that she was happy to avoid the subject. "When he died- when my mom was twenty and Jorgen-"
"Jorgen?"
"Her brother. When he was twenty-three they all went to Norway for the funeral. My mum came back, since she was seeing a nice man named Michael Tate and things were getting pretty serious. Jorgen and grandma are still in Norway." She wanted a cigarette, but a sharp cough came up from her lungs and pierced her throat, ending that desire almost immediately. "Jorgen got a job with the police force over there, became an inspector. I used to visit every summer." A smile warmed her face at the memory, but evaporated quickly; a cool breeze in the summertime. "They've lived in a suburb of Oslo since I can remember."
"They?" Sherlock asked, filing the information away to later be carved onto Marlene's wall of the mind palace. He watched her intently, curious about the nostalgic look in her eyes. "I thought it was just your uncle."
"Him and his family. A wife and a daughter. Along with my grandma." She didn't offer anymore explanation, and his eyes searched for small details that her words didn't reveal.
"Why did your parents send you off to Norway during summer holidays?" He asked suddenly. Marlene looked down at her shoes, thinking of a pretty and roundabout way to answer his question.
"My mother thought it would be better for my mental and physical health." It was true, especially when Marlene started having her "fits," it seemed like her mother was a bit more eager to drop her off at the airport, that her Aunt always knew how to calm her down, that her cousin Annika always knew how to make her laugh. Her mother had worried about how Marlene was faring socially in school, and overseas, Marlene really flourished. "Uncle Jorgen would always let me take peeks at crime scene photos. I always did find them interesting." Sherlock smiled, and she looked up at him, matching his expression.
Her phone rang.
"Hello?" She asked. Silence for a beat, then pure horror and confusion twisted her brow. Sherlock's smile fell, he put a hand to her shoulder. "What? I mean, yes, of course. I'd do anything for her. I'll be there as soon as possible." She hung up the phone, closed her eyes, and leaned back on the huge, cold pillar.
"Marlene, what's happened?" He asked urgently. She was unresponsive for a moment, arm falling limply at her side, her hand releasing the phone onto the marble slab they stood on. He shook her once. "Marlene!" She opened her eyes at last, and he picked up the phone for her. Marlene held his hand and the phone, taking a breath before starting.
"Sherlock, my grandmother fell and broke a leg. I have to go back to Norway." This wasn't easy news at all. Marlene would have killed to avoid seeing the disappointment and utter loss in his eyes, although his face was a clay mask.
Neither noticed the quiet man in the London baseball cap sitting on the steps, hanging up his phone with a satisfied smirk; his Norwegian accent had been truly believable.
Surprised? c;