23:58 pm
Florence: You can have it, if you like.
Arthur: You said you weren't going to give it to me.
Florence: I changed my mind.
Arthur: Why?
Florence: because I'm better now.
Arthur: He knows, doesn't he?
Florence: Yes. He had it.
Arthur: What? How?
Florence: the man in the pool.
Arthur: Somehow, we should have seen that coming.
Florence: but now he can use that against us. All of us.
Arthur: That's something to worry about another day. Get some sleep, Flo. It's late.
Florence: Goodnight.
Arthur: Goodnight.
Florence was, in fact, unsurprised to find the Woman sitting in the same place she had been the morning before. This time, however, she was alone.
'Morning.' she said kindly, offering the girl sat up on the couch a weak smile.
'Hey.'
'You alright? Heard you and Sherlock had a little...'
'I'm fine, thank you.' Florence said, agitated. How did she know about that? 'Uh, Miss Adler-'
'Irene, please.'
'Irene. Please tell me, I'm desperate to know...' she didn't have to finish her sentence.
'Ah, yes, the anonymous donor, if you like. Goes by the name of Lucian Jackson.'
Florence frowned. 'Lucian?'
'Yes. Tall, blue eyes, dark hair. Quite good looking, if you ask me. Of course, though, I don't tend to enjoy them as much.'
'What, the good looking men?'
'No, the men.' Irene smiled, and Florence couldn't help but smile back, despite herself. She couldn't believe Lucian was the man who told Irene everything. Mainly because he didn't even know everything.
But then again, Florence didn't know just quite how much Irene knew. She might just have meant she knew about her relationships with Arthur and James, or her "errands". She didn't necessarily know about the murders.
This thought put her mind slightly more at rest, and she relaxed a little, pulling the blankets around her exposed shoulders.
'What about you?' she asked, and as Irene fixed her with a puzzled look she was quick to add, 'how are you? It can't be easy hiding.'
'You should know.' Irene grinned. She said it so casually, Florence didn't quite understand the severity of what she did say until a few seconds later. She frowned. 'Oh, don't worry. Honestly, your secret's safe with me. I think I've got enough to go on, with these pictures. I don't need anything else to protect me.'
Florence decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. This was immensely unlike her, to trust someone so easily, but it was something about the Woman's eyes that made her different. Maybe in a bad way, maybe in a good way, she hadn't quite decided.
'I do want to ask, however,' Irene continued, and Florence tilted her head to listen. 'what your deal is with Sherlock.'
'Thought you didn't like the men?' Florence offered with a smirk.
'He's an exception.'
'I'm warning you now, he's not the kind of person you want to... pursue. He is devoid of emotion. Completely gone. It's painful sometimes, to see just how dead he is inside, because it was the opposite when we were younger. But if you really want to take yourself down that route, the road to Hell, there's nothing between us, and I can say that with complete confidence because I have tried and failed.'
Irene nodded in understanding. They heard the door to Sherlock's bedroom open, and Irene placed a finger on her lips. Florence nodded in acknowledgement.
Florence knew something was up. Sherlock had told her to go out. Not harshly, but from some sort of understanding between the two of them, she asked no questions.
She left the flat, into the warm evening air. A taxi drove past, and she thought quickly about flagging it – then decided against it. She took out her phone, and called Arthur. He didn't pick up, and she texted him quickly, before calling James.
'Hello?'
'Hi.' she said. Her voice cracked hesitantly. 'Uh, Sherlock kicked me out for a bit-'
'You okay?!' James asked, his voice frantic.
'Oh!' she exclaimed, laughing slightly. She didn't quite hear how that sounded. 'Yes. He just needs to do something alone.'
'Oh. Good. Okay. What you up to, then?'
'I don't know.' she tucked her hair behind her ear.
'You want to come 'round?'
'Only if you want me to.'
James laughed. 'Sure. 'Course I do. I'm, uh, not with Arthur or Michael.'
'I know. I've seen Arthur.'
James fell silent on the other end. 'He okay?' he said eventually.
'Yes. He's lonely.'
'Okay. I'm in a flat in Kensington. Is that okay?'
'Mmm... bit far for a Friday night. It's dark, and all that...' Florence muttered, looking down. She was still stood outside Baker Street, and didn't want to go back inside.
'Oh God, yeah, I'm sorry. Meet in the middle?'
Florence's heart skipped a beat when she saw her friend on the opposite end of the coffee shop. She hadn't seen him in a very long time, not since the day of the pool. She shuddered, remembering the night, before walking slowly to sit on the chair opposite him.
His smile was familiar, and it made her feel warmer. She smiled back, placing her phone on the table.
'It's been an awful long time.' he said, and she nodded. 'How are you?'
'Better. Much better.' Florence replied quickly. 'You?'
'I'm good.' he said, laughing. 'You saw Arthur, then? Was he okay?'
'He was surprisingly okay. He sort of cornered me in alleyway, tried to intimidate me, but then I started laughing so he decided on a different approach. It was a much needed conversation, but when I got back from meeting him – Sherlock confronted me about the memory stick-'
'Wait, what? Sherlock knows about the stick?' James frowned, leaning forward in his chair, his arms on the table. Florence put her head in her hands.
'Mhm. Moriarty sent it to him, ages ago. It was only the other day he downloaded it. We had a bit of an argument, but it's okay now – he understands what happened and why.'
'Mm. Okay.' James said, disapprovingly. Florence hated it when he did that. He then gestured in a sort of "carry on" kind of way, so she did.
'It became okay very, very quickly. It didn't even take much explaining. He got the picture fast. John doesn't know.'
'Is that the doctor with the weird jumper?'
Florence laughed, but it was a bit more breathy than she expected. She realised she was still feeling very, very anxious, and she told herself to calm down. 'Yeah. His wardrobe mainly consists of those cardigans and jumpers. It's not much of a look.'
'Makes sense.'
'How have you been?'
'Pretty much the same. Michael and I went separate ways after we left Arthur, but we keep in contact constantly. I've missed living with him, to be honest – going from living with three other people, to two, to zero was quite hard... but I have a mate who had a spare place for me to crash.' As he said that, the last word, his voice slipped into an American accent. It was very slight, but it was enough to make Florence's heart drop, and her hands to start shaking. She put those thoughts aside, and decided she'd tell Sherlock once she got home. She clasped her hands together.
'Lucky.'
'Yeah.'
Florence's eyes fell down to her fumbling hands. She was growing more and more concerned.
'Why are you so jittery?' her heart skipped a beat.
'I don't know. Worried.'
'About?' Quick, Florence. Lie.
'Sherlock. I'm not quite sure what he's doing. The Woman is living with-'
'The Woman?'
'Long, long story. She's been with us for three days, and it's been a bit much, and Sherlock doesn't know how to deal with it, and then there was the whole thing with the memory stick...' Florence closed her eyes in frustration as she spiraled. 'I'm worried. He isn't himself, and I'm worried he'll do something stupid, that'll hurt him.'
'He needs to be able to take care of himself – and you.' James said sullenly.
'He does.'
'Are you sure? I know the past you two have, but I still don't trust him, Flo.'
'Je sais, James. Neither does Arthur. I'm choosing to ignore your antics.'
'Je sais, Flo.' James said, mocking her. She grinned. He was the one that grew up in France, he was the one who could speak it fluently. 'But I'm just not sure, is all. He doesn't seem like the kind of person who'd be entirely trustworthy-'
'Why? Because of his line of work? He's working with Scotland Yard, who I'm pretty sure want your heads on silver plated plates?' Florence hissed, keeping her voice hushed. She was aware that she was in a public place.
'Partly.'
'What else, then? I'm intrigued.'
'Because, darling, he didn't try hard enough to find you. You were only in London, for Christ's sake. We didn't leave. You could've easily been found, by anyone looking hard enough. Think about it.'
Florence's eyes widened for a split second, as his words hit her. 'But we tried not to be-' she whimpered, before James cut her off.
'I've heard what he can do. I've heard what he's done. Who he's found, the cases he's solved. The only way someone like him, with his extraordinary abilities, couldn't have found you, was if he wasn't looking hard enough.'
'Can we change the fucking subject? I've been found now. It's better.'
'It's as better as you think it is. I know you, Florence. I know you more than you think I know you. You wouldn't stand for this kind of treatment if you didn't love him. Remember that.'
'What kind of treatment? He's been a literal lifesaver.'
'Confronting you about the memory stick – it's none of his business. Telling you to get out of the house, into the evening, knowing that you can't deal with the dark. Taking you on dangerous outings, the last of which nearly got you killed, Flo.'
'None of this seems too bad to me, because I know the reasons behind it! And, if I'm not mistaken, that's exactly what you did with me. You can't expect me to take your word for all this. It makes no sense that you care so much.'
'It puzzles you that I care about you?'
Florence stared. She hadn't noticed that's what he was doing. James laughed, but it wasn't a friendly laugh. It was his "fuck you" laugh. 'Yeah. Okay. You've spent too much time with him. You're turning into him now.'
Then he was gone before she could reply.
Hm. If you've got it, very, very well done. that's some real Sherlock Holmes worthy deduction there. if you remember that far back...
