Sherlock

I dictated that The Woman - or "Miss Adler", the title everyone else seemed so determined to call her - was to be left in my bedroom. I hardly required sleep, and so I therefore deemed it my duty to give up my bed. She was seriously ill. And yet the thought of it made my stomach turn over a little. The last time I had found Miss Adler in my bed had been under different circumstances. I had known her then. Or rather, I had known her to be the person I wanted her to be. But I knew differently now. Her past deception had altered me. My heart had never truly been open but her lies had ensured that it would firmly remain locked forever.
She lay, seemingly sleeping; her dark hair framing her ivory skin catching the light like water. Her lips, always painted crimson, were pale - coloured only by the mottled bruise that stained them. Even in slumber, she was beautiful. I longed to prevent the ache that formed within my heart whenever I looked at her but, despite all that had happened, it had never quite faded completely.
At roughly ten o'clock, John quietly appeared. He remained behind the closed door, his head peering behind its wood, as if he was attempting to cautiously maintain a safe distance.
"It's late." He whispered. "Mia and I are turning in for the night."
"Not together, I hope." I remarked, somewhat bitterly, and I could not explain the resentment that crept into my words.
John shook his head wearily. "No, Sherlock, not together."
I said nothing and turned my gaze to The Woman, who had still not moved a single inch since we had placed her carefully beneath the sheets.
"How's she holding up?" He queried.
The mark from the injection he had given her earlier was still prominent; a small purple stain under the pale of her arm.
"She hasn't stirred." I stated, flatly. "I'm beginning to question whether she'll ever wake up again at all."
John frowned. "Of course she will, Sherlock." And then he looked at me, his eyes searching mine. It was the look he always gave me when he was attempting to understand or comfort me. "Sherlock...you know this isn't like last time, right? This is real. She...this isn't pretence. I know that last time when you thought she was -"
"Yes, well, hadn't you better be getting some sleep of your own?" I interrupted him, briskly.
He opened his mouth, as if to argue, but then promptly decided against it. He mustered a small smile but it soon faltered. "Well, if there's anything you need..."
"I doubt I will require anything from you, John. After all, I am not the one currently bed-ridden after suffering a lethal overdose of sedatives."
"Very well," He said, closing the door with a sigh. "Good night."
I listened to the sound of his footsteps across the stairs and then the sound of Mia's voice, though her words were blurred and distorted due to the distance that seperated us. I swallowed. The memory from the previous night was still imprinted in my mind so that even when I closed my eyes, I could still see the hurt in her face. She was like fog. A haze that would soon disappear completely. It was my fault. I kept pushing her away...and yet what else could I do? What other option had I ever possibly had?
"You haven't been sleeping well, Holmes."
The voice was like light breaking through a thunderstorm. But it was also like an angry sunset staining the sky with colour and fear. I turned, my heart in my mouth, to find Miss Adler sitting upright. Her lips were chapped and cracked, her voice husky from lack of water, but looking at her it was almost hard to believe she had ever been unconcious for so long. Her smile seemed so easy, so unfaltering, despite the slight wince of pain that she succeeded in masking with a raised eyebrow.
"Dare I ask how you may have deduced that?" I asked, attempting to hide my surprise by feigning nonchalance.
"Your posture." She said, matter of factly. "If you don't mind me saying, Holmes, you are slumped quite like a homeless person. Unbecoming, really, of a man of your...intelligence."
"You're awake." I stated, bluntly.
"Yes, it would appear so." Her tone was so blase, as if regaining conciousness after facing such a dramatic ordeal was really no more than a regular occurance. "It would also appear that you saved my life."
"You have John to thank for that." I muttered. "I had no participation in the matter."
"Dr. Watson, then." She substituted. "Either way, you found me when no one else would have."
"Oh, I'm perfectly sure someone would have come to your rescue at some point." I said. "Any number of your maids, perhaps. Though due to the estimated amount of time John deducted you'd been left for, I'd say it might be time to reconsider the people you so closely surround yourself with and trust so dearly."
"Perhaps." She mused. "Or perhaps I could just hire you to look after me, Mr Holmes."
I shook my head. "No amount of money in the world would interest me in that matter."
"Such a shame," The Woman said, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Such a terrible shame. I don't suppose Dr. Watson would be interested? Or perhaps even your latest accomplice...your young object of affection."
I glared at her. "Not that I deem it to be even remotely any of your business, but the girl is not even a friend of mine, let alone an 'object of affection'."
Her lips curled into a smile. "Well, if I said I wasn't glad about that I'd be lying."
I said nothing to this and instead turned my gaze to the window. The curtains had been drawn so that the room was enveloped by darkness, but a tiny fraction of the glass panes were still visible, allowing slithers of lamplight to illuminate the room. I was lying, I almost longed to say, but I would not expect you to understand.
"Hold me. Hold me. I need you to hold me."
I hadn't even realised she had risen from the bed, when the coolness of her lips pressed against my cheek. I stared at her, unable to fathom words of any kindShe stood so close and yet, unbeknownst to her, she was so far away; so far away from knowing what truly lay within my frozen heart. She could never begin to understand how I cared for Mia so much that I had to keep her at a distance, had to keep her safe. The Woman - her name alone portrayed the kind of person she was. A name. And nothing more. She did not possess feelings. She was a symbol. And I too had once been the same. Sherlock Holmes. I had never possessed a heart. I had always deemed feelings to be dangerous disadvantages. And yet now I found myself falling...
In that moment, I was so lonely. I wanted nothing more than to bask in the arms of another just to forget about the ice that distanced my heart from all those who attempted to come anywhere close to it. Without thinking, I instinctively reached out my arms and she leant her head against my shoulder. We were silent for a moment, lost to our own thoughts. I was aware of nothing but the rise and fall of our chests; our hushed breathing. And then she spoke again.
"I want to thank you, Holmes." She whispered, her hot breath in my ear. "Let me thank you..."

Mia

Through the crack in the door, I watched them.
She was a crimson blur and he held her tightly to his chest. In the pale light of the moon that filtered through the window, though her face was shadowed slightly, I could see that she was beautiful. Her head lingered on his shoulder for a moment too long, before they broke apart. I waited for him to let her go, but he didn't. His arms remained, his hands grazing her shoulder blades. She shivered. Waited. And stared into his eyes as the first star in the sky was reduced to a tremor. I stood. Waited. Frozen. His eyes on hers. His arms around her. Her hands touching his face. There was something in my heart that told myself - no, begged me - to turn and walk away...but I couldn't. He closed the distance that seperated them. He exhaled a single breath. Her fingers tangled in his hair. And then she kissed him.
No. My thoughts began to scream as my chest grew tighter. Oh God. No.
It was then that I knew it was all too late. My thoughts and feelings meant nothing. Nothing at all. I could do nothing but watch as her fingertips traced the planes of his face I once had touched myself. Her chin cupped in his hands, the hands that I had once thought belonged in my own. I forced myself to turn away. We had both once been lost but he had found his way again. And I was now lost alone. I wondered if she was the reason he had been smiling recently. Probably. I felt a familiar sickness in my heart. The misery of disappointment and betrayal that was unjustified as he had never really belonged to me in the first place...
I'm not sure what it was that made him look up suddenly. Perhaps my sudden movement caught his eye. He turned sharply in my direction with a frown. And then he saw me.
I was huddling close into my hoodie, the thin coat Mrs Hudson had given to me long ago over the top that did little to offer any sort of warmth. My hair was damp from the rain, tangled in rats tails over my shoulders. My cheeks were still damp from crying. I must have looked a wreck. As I shivered, my breath turned to smoke. I stood there for a long time, watching him watch me. His face did not resemble regret or even happiness, just speechlessness, though through the darkness I could see there were words in his eyes. The woman in the crimson dress turned to him, noticing his sudden distraction.
"What is it, Sherlock?" She asked.
Somehow the sound his name in her voice caused me to break away from his gaze and return to reality. I turned away from them both, confirming the distance that seperated us. Just as I began to walk away, I heard his voice.
"Nothing." He whispered, his words echoing through me like wind. "It's no one."