Danielle did not do well with running. She was never a fast child, never saw much point to be fast really. She learned to accept a long time ago that some people were born to be runners, and others were walkers.
She thought that meant she'd never have to run again. How wrong she had been, how foolish. She'd chased Sherlock for blocks. The madman paused at the ends of many alleyways, before running off to the next one. A few times, Sherlock started rushing up fire escapes.
Yeah Danielle gave up when Sherlock went up the fire escapes.
When he came back down to Earth, Sherlock dragged Danielle to another alleyway.
"What're we doin' again?" Danielle asked, after deciding that to swear at Sherlock for dragging her around was useless right now. Better she save it for later. They'd been searching for nearly an hour, this was getting them nowhere.
He pointed at one of the nearby rubbish bins. Danielle thought it smelled like the rear end of a megabus.
"Search that bin." Sherlock ordered.
"...what?"
Sherlock have her a look that said he did not want to repeat himself.
"You are so lucky I didn't take off the scrubs!" Danielle snapped at him.
Sherlock only made an impatient face.
She marched over to the bin. She was grateful for her none sandals as she climbed along the side opposite from Sherlock, using support from a tossed away case and the metal bin.
She had a leg inside the trash when she glanced at Sherlock. The man hadn't moved, still watching the trash as if it would run away and ruin his night. She could understand why he wasn't coming over, he had on much nicer clothes than Danielle. Didn't stop her from being annoyed.
"Really? You're not even gonna pretend to help?" Danielle couldn't help but snap. She was about to step in garbage alone. She had the right!
"Why would I?" Sherlock asked. And Danielle knew he genuinely meant it.
"So I don't feel like a complete idiot digging through the rubbish!" Danielle argued.
Sherlock tilted his head curiously.
Danielle huffed. She went back to digging. "Whatever. What am I lookin' for, anyway?"
"You'll know it when you see it."
And he kept repeating that, every time Danielle asked him.
It was thirty or something minutes later that Danielle was nearing the end of her rope. She'd searched through five giant rubbish bins- none of them having anything Sherlock would take in interest. She was pretty sure she'd stepped in someone's upturned lunch. If not for the scrubs, she'd have ruined her shoes.
She was half convinced Sherlock was doing this as some obscure test. Would she be able to follow on other cases? Could she investigate like he could? Danielle doubted anyone -minus Umbrella Man- could think like Sherlock. What if it was just to test Danielle's limit? How much garbage can a woman shift through before she gives up?
Well she wasn't giving up. She asked Sherlock again what she was looking for, after he said no about someone's lost shoe.
"I told you, and I abhor repetition. You will know-"
"Sherlock! I could use a bit more clues than 'I'll know it when I see it'!" She snapped.
"You're looking for her case." Sherlock explained snippy, thinking Danielle were stupid for not understanding.
"Like, clues for her case?"
"No. I mean her literal case. The suitcase. The killer would have disposed of it once realizing it was in his possession."
A horrible idea popped up in Danielle's mind. What made it worse was that she knew she'd be right. "You mean, like the pink one?"
Sherlock snapped his head towards her. "What 'pink one'?"
"The one from the first bin." Danielle explained. She started climbing her way out. It was slippery in this bin, more than the others. Danielle wouldn't let herself think of why. "It was kinda beside the bin, I used it as a step-up."
"And you didn't say anything?" Sherlock was already starting to run towards that bin.
"I didn't know what I was looking for!" Danielle called out. "Oi! Help me out of this!"
==NKMHLY==
Danielle hated being right.
They'd taken the suitcase from where it'd been hidden. It had one of Danielle's messy footprints on the top (well she'd had to climb out of the bin!). Otherwise it was good evidence.
She'd come back to 221b after showering at her place. She had outright refused to shower in Sherlock's flat after what happened earlier.
She changed her clothes while she was at home. Danielle was wearing a long sleeved black sweater shirt, and blue jeans. She was washing the previous outfit.
As she came up the stairs to Sherlock's flat, she was still drying her hair with one of her old t-shirts. Sherlock was lying out on the sofa, his right arm crossed over his chest. He didn't react to her arrival. Danielle was fine with that. She walked over to the desk chair, sitting to face the fireplace.
Danielle curled her arms around her chest. She liked the material of the sweater.
She heard Sherlock let out a loud breath groan. Danielle tilted her head, squinting her eyes, confused about the noise.
She didn't get long to think about it. John came in.
He stopped at seeing Sherlock on the couch. "What is he doing?" John asked her, confused about his new flatmate's behavior.
Danielle turned in her chair, staring at Sherlock. "No idea...he just started makin' it."
"What are you doing?" John asked Sherlock.
"Nicotine patch. Helps me think." Sherlock answered. He showed off the three patches on his arm. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work."
"It's good news for breathing." John remarked.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, thinking them dull. "Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring." He showed off more of the patches. He took deep breaths, the way the big bad wolf did before blowing down the straw house.
Danielle turned to John. "Okay I don't know much but three patches is a lot, right?"
All he did was give her a look that said he agreed. It was equal parts sarcastic and disbelief towards Sherlock.
"It's a three-patch problem." Sherlock clarified. He shut his eyes, leaning further into the couch.
"Well?" John asked them after a pause. Danielle looked at him in confusion. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important."
"Oh my god we left you there!" Danielle suddenly shouted. She shot up from her chair, walking up to John's side. "I am so sorry! We didn't mean it!"
John blinked, reeling back in surprise. He knew they hadn't noticed. He certainly hadn't expected an apology from Sherlock. Danielle, that he should've guessed. "No, it's alright. I don't think you could've said no to him."
Danielle giggled. She still felt terrible. Her mind was already coming up with ways to make it up to the doctor.
"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock spoke up, finally alert to the rest of the room.
"My phone?" John asked.
"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website." Sherlock explained.
"Danielle's got a phone." John pointed out.
"I was changing my clothes because he made me dig through garbage." Danielle glared annoyed at Sherlock. The detective merely rolled his eyes.
"Why did he make you dig through rubbish?" John asked, knowing he wasn't gonna like the answer.
Danielle huffed angrily. She threw her arms up in the air, marching over to the kitchen. She couldn't explain it to herself, much less to John. She started making herself a cuppa.
"Mrs Hudson?" John prompted.
"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear." Sherlock explained away. He sounded confused at the idea of someone not hearing his voice.
John huffed angrily. "I was the other side of London."
"There was no hurry." Sherlock excused.
John was glaring.
Danielle was wondering why there's been rat feet near the tea boxes. She should've brought over tea bags from her flat. She wasn't interested in tea that'd been near a rat's foot (especially when the rat foot had been in the flat of Sherlock Holmes, meaning it was used for a Science thing).
"Here." John handed Sherlock his phone.
While Sherlock was doing...whatever he was doing, Danielle came back empty handed.
John turned to her. "Are you alright?" He asked.
She put on a small smile. "You live here now, right?"
John nearly replied 'yes'. His encounter just a few minutes ago gave him a small pause (and also that weird man with the umbrella). "...maybe." John conceded.
"So you know you're moving into a flat that puts rats feet next to the tea?" Danielle asked. John turned to her. His face saying that no, he did not know that. "Good! So I'm not the only one who thought it was odd!"
"That's because it is." John remarked. He wondered how he'd been roped into having a conversation about why rat feet in the kitchen were odd.
Danielle nervously fidgeted with her hands. "Yeah...I'm not the best judge for what's odd and what's not."
"Really?" John asked. "You seem decent enough."
"I live next to him, you live with him. You're not the best judge either." Danielle pointed out.
John laughed. He had to give her that.
After the quick laugh, Danielle looked back to Sherlock. He was still holding the phone. His eyes were shut. To her, it looked like he'd fallen asleep when John put the phone in his hand.
"Why do you need John's phone?" Danielle asked. "Or, any phone that can't be traced back to you? It's about the case, right?"
(That's right. She knew about phone traces. She paid attention on those cop programs, thank you.)
"Her case." Sherlock replied, in a way that Danielle thought of as sleepily.
"Her case?" John asked.
"Her suitcase, yes, obviously." Sherlock replied. Because obviously, that's what this was about. "The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."
"Okay, he took her case. So?" John asked.
"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." Sherlock spoke, mainly to himself.
"On no, this is gonna be sad, isn't it?" Danielle asked, also to herself.
"On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text." Sherlock instructed. He didn't specify who would text. It was inconsequential.
"You brought me here...to send a text." John spoke with clenched teeth.
"Text, yes. The number on my desk." Sherlock replied. It made sense that John would send it. Danielle was still in a fit about searching for the case.
Meanwhile, Danielle sat down in the comfy red chair. She watched as John snatched the phone from Sherlock's hand. John didn't go up to the table. Instead, he stared out the window.
"What's wrong?" Sherlock
"Just met a friend of yours." John casually mentioned.
"A friend?" Sherlock and Danielle asked in surprise and confusion. The redhead instantly went red as her hair. "Sorry. Didn't mean it like that."
"An enemy." John corrected.
Danielle felt a glimmer of recognition.
"Oh. Which one?" Sherlock asked.
"Your arch-enemy, according to him." John replied. "Do people have arch-enemies?"
"Oh my god. You met Mister Poppins and I was not supposed to call him that out loud!" Danielle gasped. "I called him that because of the umbrella!"
Sherlock and John turned to her in surprise. John, he was surprised that someone else had seen him, which meant there was something seriously wrong with this bloke. Sherlock was more surprised that the man thought Danielle was worth speaking with.
"You saw him?" John asked.
"Yeah!" Danielle leaned forward in her chair. "He said I was a- you know, I'm thinking you know what he said.
"Did he offer either of you money to spy on me?" Sherlock asked, suddenly, though with no change in his tone.
"Yes." John and Danielle replied.
"Did you take it?" Sherlock asked.
"No." John and Danielle replied.
"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." Sherlock reprimanded them.
John grinned at the statement. Danielle had to admit, it would've been cute if she didn't suddenly feel angry.
"He brought me to an abandoned building and offered me money! Why would I have taken it from him?" Danielle asked, incredulous. "He made me sound like someone who would do anything for money!"
Sherlock smirked at her comment. He dropped it, not quick enough for Danielle to miss it. "He loves butting his nose into my affairs."
"Who is he?" John asked what he thought was the bigger issue.
"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now." Sherlock replied, still keeping an air of mystery.
It worried Danielle. Just how bad was the bloke if Sherlock wouldn't even say his name? Was he like some kid of non-wizard Voldemort? Danielle's eyes widened as she thought- what if he was Voldemort. She'd been propositioned by Voldemort!
"On my desk, the number." Sherlock ordered at John. Danielle was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to pay it any mind.
John looked from Danielle to Sherlock. The redhead was obviously disturbed by 'Mr Poppin's' offer of money. John remembered what that man had said to him, about the dangers of being so closely involved with Sherlock. No doubt Danielle was given a similar warning. John was used to the danger of war, of everything that came with it. He'd been trained for battle. Danielle never did. No wonder she was so rattled.
As for Sherlock, John didn't know what to think. He turned to pick up the slip of paper. Beneath it was a luggage tag. Now, being human, John couldn't help but look at it.
"Jennifer Wilson." John read off. "That was...Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"
"Yeah. I dug it out from the rubbish bin." Danielle replied, offhandedly.
John turned to her with wide eyes. "That's what he-"
"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." Sherlock interrupted them. "Are you doing it?"
"Yes." John sighed, typing away.
"Have you done it?" Sherlock asked, eternally impatient.
"Ye...hang on!" John snapped.
"These words exactly. 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.'" Sherlock instructed. He had noticed John's tone. He didn't think it was the time to point out John's rude behavior. "'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"
"You blacked out?" John asked, halfway through the text.
Danielle sat up. "He can't have! ...right?"
"What?" Sherlock sat up, wondering how'd they gotten so lost. "No. No!" Sherlock jumped up to his feet. Not in that pedestrian way, he really jumped. Over the table, in fact. He went up towards John's face, ignoring John and Danielle's worried expressions. "Type and send it. Quickly."
Danielle watched as an indignant Sherlock marched off to the kitchen. She wanted to huff at his dodging of the question. She turned to John, who was still hopelessly confused.
"He didn't pass out. I was with him the whole time. The closest he got to passing out was-" 'When I almost beat him up with that case' But Danielle didn't want to say that. It sounded too violent, and it might confuse John more. "-the stench."
Of course, it was for nothing, because John was still confused. If anything she'd made it worse.
Sherlock came back. He yanked out a chair from his cluttered desk, throwing the suitcase down on it. "Have you sent it?" Sherlock asked John.
"What's the address?" John asked. Danielle was just staring at the consulting detective.
"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Sherlock snapped.
"Don't rush him." Danielle argued weakly.
John sent the message. He looked up at Sherlock to confirm, before seeing the pink case that Sherlock had just opened.
Danielle was pretty sure she was breaking four rules of the Girl Code by letting Sherlock do that.
"That's...that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case." John remarked.
"Yes, obviously." Sherlock replied.
John glanced over to Danielle. She had only just realized how bad this looked.
Sherlock must've come to the same conclusion. No doubt faster than her. "Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her."
"I never said you did." John pointed out carefully, still staring at the case.
"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption." Sherlock asked.
"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John asked.
"Now and then, yes." Sherlock smirked up at John.
Danielle had blinked, in the time that conversation had gone on. "That's...not surprising." She commented when there was a lull in comments.
Sherlock had moved while she did that. He was perched on his chair, sitting on the back of it while his feet were holding him steady. He had his elbows resting on his knees. His hands were folded in front of his face. Danielle thought it was a cute position.
She realized John was standing. Her senses came to her, or she liked to believe that's what happened to her manners. She got up off the red chair. "Here John, you take it."
"No, I don't need-"
"Please. I insist!" Danielle took the black couch, not giving John a choice but to accept the chair.
With a resigned yet thankful huff, John took the comfy red chair. Danielle rather liked the couch now. It was a good trade.
"How did you get this?" John asked, motioning to the case with his cane.
"We dug it out from the rubbish." Danielle supplied. She laid herself down on the couch. She had to adjust her sweater when she settled, it had ridden up her back.
"The rubbish? Why was it there?" John asked.
"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens." Sherlock began.
'Good thing he's telling it, I've already forgotten where it was.' Danielle couldn't help the small giggle that came out. 'I blame the rubbish.'
"He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention-particularly a man, which is statistically more likely-so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every backstreet wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens, and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip." Sherlock finished with a proud smirk.
"No, it took you twenty minutes to find it." Danielle corrected. Sherlock turned to her with an eyebrow raised. Danielle read it as: 'why am I being corrected by a girl who needs three calendars?' "Because I didn't know what to look for, the first time around. We searched more of the rubbish bins than we needed to. By the time I'd realized it, we'd been searching an hour. You had it right at the first bin."
Sherlock was certain she was complimenting him, praising his skills. It didn't take away from the fact it had taken an entire hour for what should have been a simple task.
"Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" John spoke up, because that's the thing that stuck out in that entire thing that had just happened.
Sherlock looked at him in surprise, complete with a head tilt. Danielle noted it made his curls bounce on his head. "Well, it had to be pink, obviously."
"Why didn't I think of that?" John murmured, snarky. Danielle giggled.
"Because you're an idiot." Sherlock replied. Danielle laughed at John's expression. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is."
"Oi!" Danielle snapped.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. There was no pleasing the public. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?" He asked them.
"From the case? How could I?" John asked, sarcastic.
"Her bra?" Danielle guessed.
"She was wearing it." Sherlock corrected.
"She could have a second one." Danielle pointed out.
"No. How does a missing second bra help us find who did this?" Sherlock asked Danielle.
She shrugged, suddenly embarrassed by her answer. "I don't know."
"It's her phone. Where's her mobile phone?" Sherlock answered his own question. He continued to speak in a rapid pace, explaining to them with a know-it-all tone. "There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one-that's her number there; you just texted it."
"Hold on, what?" Danielle asked.
"Maybe she left it at home." John reasoned, not having heard Danielle.
Sherlock adjusted himself to a more normal position in the chair. "She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home."
"No, wait go back." Danielle asked. She sat up normal on the couch. She leaned forward. "What do you mean 'John just texted it'?"
John startled. He looked down to his phone, which had been almost suspiciously silent.
"Why did John text a dead woman's phone?" Danielle asked.
"Well, the question is: where is her phone now?" Sherlock corrected.
"Oh bloody hell." Danielle sighed. She fell back on the couch, running her hand over her face. "You didn't. We didn't."
'She could cross texting a murderer off her bucket list. She'd seen it on the tell, always wanted to try it. She was regretting it now.'
"She could have lost it." John caught on to Danielle and Sherlock's train of thought.
"Yes, or...?" Sherlock dragged off.
"You think the murderer has the phone?" John replied.
"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone." Sherlock clarified.
"Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?" John asked, loudly.
"We just texted a murderer. There's not much 'good' right now." Danielle answered.
"Yeah I caught that!" John replied.
Right after, the phone rang. John and Danielle stared at it, as if the murderer would pop out of the phone like some kind of bizarro Freddy Krueger nightmare.
"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer..." Sherlock paused. He turned to the phone, dramatically. Danielle wanted to hit him with it. "...would panic."
He slapped the lid closed. Danielle jumped back. She'd always fallen for jump scares.
By the time she had calmed down, Sherlock had buttoned his jacket back up.
"Have you talked to the police?" John asked.
"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police." That meant 'no I was too busy being clever'.
"So why are you talking to us?" John asked.
"Fair question." Danielle held up her hand. "We're both idiots. What good are we?"
"Mrs Hudson took my skull." Sherlock remarked. He threw on his big coat.
"Not the skull!" Danielle let out a sigh of upset. She'd liked that skull. It tied the room together.
"So I'm basically filling in for your skull?" John asked.
"Relax, you're doing fine." Sherlock assured in a not-at-all assuring way.
"So that means I'm Skull #2?" Danielle asked. She got up to her feet, adjusting her sweater as she did.
"You're doing fine too." Sherlock turned to John, who was still in his chair. "Well?"
"Well what?" John asked.
"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly." Sherlock scrunched up his face in disgust.
"What, you want me to come with the two of you?" John asked, skeptical.
"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so..." Sherlock
"Danielle can do that just fine." John pointed out.
"He wants two people, like a bigger audience." Danielle realized with a laugh. John smiled, small. It fell too quick to have been true.
"Problem?" Sherlock asked the two of them. He was tying on his scarf.
"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan." John answered.
The consulting detective soured at the mention of her. Danielle blushed, remembering Sherlock's early remarks to the woman. "What about her?" Sherlock asked.
"She said...You get off on this. You enjoy it." John explained.
Sherlock smirked himself. "And I said 'dangerous', and here you lot are."
He turned on his toe out the door.
Danielle clicked her tongue. "Damn...that's a good point." She followed behind him.
John followed them barely ten seconds later. Danielle heard him swearing to himself the entire time he struggled to be caught up.
==NKMHLY==
They were outside. Danielle embraced the cold like an old friend. She walked alongside Sherlock, closer to the road.
"Where are we going?" John asked.
Danielle knew the answer. Sherlock just beat her to it. "Northumberland Street's a five-minute walk from here."
"You think he's stupid enough to go there?" John asked,
"No-I think he's brilliant enough." Sherlock spoke in awe. "I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught."
"Why'd they want to get caught?" Danielle asked. "Isn't the whole point of all of this cloak and dagger stuff so they don't get caught?"
"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, Danielle, it needs an audience." Sherlock explained.
Danielle and John shared a grin with each other.
"Yeah." John agreed. Danielle laughed.
"This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything." Sherlock went off on another long speech. "Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go. Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"
"Dunno. Who?" John asked.
"Haven't the faintest. Hungry?" Sherlock changed topics so fast Danielle spun on her feet.
He guided them to a nearby restaurant. Danielle perked when she saw it was Italian. She would have to come back here, someday. She loved Italian food.
The waiter showed them the table near the door. Sherlock thanked the man, before taking his seat. Danielle took the corner seat. She rather liked the corner seat, more cushion room. John sat at the end.
"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it." Sherlock instructed them.
John took off his coat. Danielle kept her sweater on. She'd not won a second layer.
"He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He'd need to be mad." John pointed out.
"He has killed four people." Sherlock reminded.
"...Okay." John couldn't argue with that.
Danielle giggled at the two of them. "So, while we wait, what do we get to eat?"
"How can you think of food right now?" John asked.
Danielle shrugged. "I'm guessing Sherlock is paying. I love Italian. I'm not letting this chance pass up. Besides, with traffic the way it is, there's a good chance he won't be here for ages."
'Great,' John realized, 'they're both insane.'
Sherlock, meanwhile, thought she had something resembling a point.
Best move on.
A man walked up to the table. Danielle liked his sweater (those her's was better, let's be fair).
"Sherlock." The man praised. Then Sherlock did something that nearly killed Danielle. Je shook the man's hand with a smile "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and for your dates." He handed out menus.
Danielle lifted her's in delight.
"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked them, nonchalant.
"Yes! I'm starved- Wait what?" Danielle blinked.
The doctor had understood faster than Danielle had. "I'm not his date." John corrected the man.
"I...Uh." Danielle swallowed nervously. She did fancy the man, that didn't mean this was a date! They were on an investigation! "Not his date either! Or John's. Neither of them. Why, why would you say?"
"This man got me off a murder charge." The man was ignoring both of them. Or, maybe he was selling Sherlock. Danielle would be wondering about it for days.
"This is Angelo." Sherlock introduced.
The man, Angelo, shook hands with John. Danielle did as well.
"Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking." Sherlock explained.
"He cleared my name." Angelo explained to them, a giddy smile on his face.
"I cleared it a bit." Sherlock argued. "Anything happening opposite?"
"Nothing." Angelo replied, as if he knew what to be looking for. 'He probably does.' Danielle thought. 'He'd probably have known to look for that pink suitcase.' "But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."
Her eyes went wide, her smile did to match. "Oh my." Danielle murmured to herself. 'Sherlock. You get the interesting ones, don't you? Lucky.'
"You did go to prison." Sherlock reminded the chef.
"I'll get a candle for the table." Angelo replied. Danielle had the sudden reminder of her grandparents, those circular conversations she'd have with them where they seemed to be having a different conversation alongside her's. "It's more romantic." He told John and Danielle.
Her cheeks went pink as her hair.
"I'm not his date! Or her's!" John called after Angelo.
"Not their date either!" Danielle mumbled into her menu.
"Danielle was right earlier. You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." Sherlock remarked.
The landlady wasn't sure why the little bit of praise had her sitting up straighter. Or why she stuck her tongue out at John, like a petulant child. It got the doctor to smile though.
Not long after that, Angelo came back with the candle.
"Thanks." John mumbled. Danielle giggled again at his pout.
==NKMHLY==
Danielle would kill for Angelo.
Honest to God. She'd kill anyone the man told her to kill. She wouldn't even questions it. Just a quick murder for Angelo, not even looking at the person's face. It could be John, or one of her relatives. They'd have to die for Angelo.
The man was a culinary genius. She was halfway through her bowl of spaghetti, which she swore was full just a minute ago.
Maybe she was rushing, falling in love so fast because the food was so close to Baker Street. Danielle didn't care. The food was too good.
'This is why I was Sorted in Hufflepuff.' Danielle mused, having another forkful of spaghetti. 'Damn. Now I'm thinking about the Hogwarts kitchen! ...and now I want a cookie.'
John was eating his own food. Sherlock hadn't ordered anything. Danielle remember he didn't eat much. That, or he could come over whenever he wanted for something. Maybe he just wasn't hungry?
'A man that thin? He's hungry.' Danielle mused to herself.
"People don't have arch-enemies." John remarked suddenly.
It had taken the other patrons at the table a moment to realize John had spoke.
"Hmm?" Danielle hummed.
"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked.
"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen." John clarified.
Danielle slurped down the spaghetti on her fork, hearing her mother's distant cry of anguish at the lack of manners.
"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull." Sherlock remarked.
'You think this is real life?' Danielle thought. She wiped at her mouth with a napkin. 'No wonder you're bonkers. There was a skull on the mantle. I saw an animal head wearing headphones. There's no way I'm not in a coma somewhere, dreaming up this whole thing.'
"So who did Danielle and I meet?" John asked
'And Umbrella Man! How was he not a creature created from my own messed up subconscious?' Danielle pondered.
"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" Sherlock asked.
Danielle leaned forward. She was curious herself.
"Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don't like...Girlfriends, boyfriends..." John looked down, embarrassed.
"Yes, well, as I was saying-dull." Sherlock replied.
"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" John asked.
Danielle blushed. She nearly cleared out her throat to get John's attention. Never mind that she could have an opinion on the subject.
"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." Sherlock shrugged.
'Molly certainly agrees with you.'
'Oh, bad Danielle. The ship's not sunk until it's too late.'
"Mm." John hummed. "Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend?"
Danielle wondered how fast a car would need to go before it could successfully kill her.
"Which is fine, by the way." John assured them both. He didn't want Danielle thinking he wasn't...yeah.
"I know it's fine." Sherlock stated, not answering the question.
"So you've got a boyfriend then?" John asked, carefully.
"No." Sherlock replied.
Danielle hated being in the corner seat.
"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me." John mused out loud.
"I don't have a girlfriend either." Danielle suddenly spoke up. "Would've, if that girl I asked in uni said yes. A boyfriend too, two at least. They never said yes. Well I never asked. That's important right?"
Neither man answered.
Danielle was doing math on the car thing. She was fairly certain that taxi outside could do it with enough time. It'd take a few tries, they'd get it right.
"John, Danielle, um...I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interests, I'm really not looking for any..." Apparently not even Sherlock could handle this line on conversation. Danielle knew that was a sign of how humiliating this whole thing was.
"No." John cleared his throat. "No, I'm not asking. No. I'm just saying, it's all fine." John stressed.
"It is fine." Danielle agreed, voice sure. She was still confused about what the last bit had been about. "You were just asking if-oh." She hated when she was smart too late. "Oh-kay. Now I get it." She took a bite of her spaghetti.
'Maybe she'd choke on it. That'd be nice.'
There was a long silence. Danielle hadn't choked on her spaghetti, unfortunately.
"Good. Thank you." Sherlock spoke up, taking away the silence. He looked out the window.
Danielle ducked down so far she could feel the heat of the noodles against her nose.
"Look across the street. Taxi." Sherlock instructed.
Danielle glanced over at it, knowing that because she was so low she'd get hair in her spaghetti.
"Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out." Sherlock reported. "Why a taxi?" Sherlock asked, though clearly to himself. "Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?"
"That's him?" John asked.
"Don't stare." Sherlock snapped. Danielle's head snapped back to where it was.
"You're staring." John excused.
"We can't all stare." Sherlock instructed. Danielle nearly threw her hands up in the air.
Then, Sherlock got up to run off.
Danielle'd had enough of running after Sherlock for the night.
What's really sad, is she believed that, even after she and John got up to their feet.
==NKMHLY==
AN: ONE. HUNDRED. FOLLOWERS!
So hey. I'm not dead. I'm just...stressed. There was two new jobs between these chapters. I volunteer one half the week, and worked at Cracker Barrel the other half. My classes have come and gone.
For news on my updates, go to: authora97writingupdates, the tumblr blog. I keep it as up-to-date as I can on how my writing is going. Plus I add writing advice for other authors out there.
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