Yes y'all I'm back from quite the hiatus. Sorry I don't have any souvenirs (unless you consider a psychiatrist on speed-dial a great gift for all ages) but I do have this nifty chapter. And a renewed ambition. Hoppy Bunny Day, y'all (or Happy Passover!) I'll be updating as much as I can, but I've recently started an original fictional drama which I'm gonna get serious about (yeah, I highly doubt it getting published…ever…I'm not exactly a Dickinson or King or Doyle..I'm me..which sucks. A lot. Try 24/7……) Luv and kisses, hope ya got a bigger choco bunny than me.. (save Easter and that's all I get.. a pathetic bunny whose ass could get kicked by a Peep bunny).
Perusing an antique store, of course was not something that Olivia had on the top of her list. Especially when she had Sherlock Holmes sitting inside her mother's house, engrossed in the Discovery Channel. She looked over a shelf of items with only a slight bit of interest.
"So," her mother said, as if that explained everything.
"So, so what?"
Her mother picked up a glass vase and held it up to the light. "How is Krysten?" She flicked a strand of black hair behind her, the sun reflecting off the grays that her mother did nothing about. Olivia envied her mother for her ability to except the fine lines only starting to show.
"Well," she said, playing with a tray. "She's married, for starters-."
"Hmm, and Koo."
Olivia sighed, leaning gingerly against the side of the barn-turned-antique store. "Fine, becoming sterile little by little from sitting in front of the computer so much."
"Well, that's nice, dear," her mother said while lazily putting down the vase. She had the type of personality that would fit in perfectly if she was summering in the Hampton. At the same time, however, she had a sort of strict, disciplined personality that sported a glare that could melt steel. It was now, while she was leaning on a table overflowing with things so old they were unrecognizable, that she used it on Olivia. "You're worried about Holmes."
"What do you think, Mum?" She walked over to the other side of the table and picked up a piece of rope that her mother picked up to inspect. "Service Pull." Her mother rolled her eyes and put ot back on the table. "I just don't feel I should leave him alone too much. We were almost inseparable before the whole 'Got-Shot-Ended-Up-Here-and-Decided-to-Re-animate-You' bit. Now things are," she clenched her teeth and swallowed, refusing to allow her mother to see tears, "strained, to say the least. He doesn't say, I don't say it, he doesn't do, I don't do it, but it's there."
"Careful how you phrase things, dear." Her mother glided towards the door, her daughter, taller than her, followed like an obedient child, talking in a sing-song sort of voice.
"And why should I?" Olivia linked arms with her mother.
"You sound like you love him." Her bewildered daughter stopped dead in her tracks, watching her mother walk on a little.
Olivia stared ahead, determined. "I don't know what your talking about." She'd never noticed how hard it was to control one's voice, especially when one was talking to their mother.
"If you say so," her mother chuckled.
Shaking her head, she started up the car. "You know, Mum, I really think you should go to the doctors, that brain in that noggin of yours requires a bit of checking up on, honestly."
Taking the car out of park, she was about to put it into reverse when she realized she had left her purse inside. Without even an explanation to her mother, she bolted out of the car and into the store.
"Um, did anyone find a purse in the store?" she asked out of breath, the middle-aged woman at the counter shaking her head in response. With a sigh, Olivia turned to search the store.
"Excuse me, Miss," said a voice from above her. She turned her gaze from a clump of dust underneath a table to the man's shoe to her left. She stood up and dusted herself off. The man was on the taller side, hazel eyes. Attractive in a rugged, but defined sort of way. His mouth split into a smile as he held up her purse. "I think you're looking for this."
Originally from Ireland, but had moved to England, from there to America only a short time ago, she decided, almost automatically. Eww, smoker.
"Yeah thanks." Taking the purse, she started towards the door. She heard him clear his throat, so she slowed. "Listen," his hand went out to her forearm, and he lowered his voice. "The guy I just was here with is a little shady. If you're missing anything," he handed her a small business card, "you may want to call me."
She sighed. Pathetic line, but this was her purse, her lifeline. "Here's my number." She handed him her card. "Olivia Watson."
"Hey, Holmes, we're back! Please do not tell me you're still watching that thing on royalty or whatever it wa-"
"No," he said indignantly, then looked down at the empty popcorn bowl next to him for comfort. "It went off an hour ago."
Olivia leaned over the couch and grabbed the bowl. "You're a silly one, Holmes."
"And you're a popular one, Watson," underneath the quip was a bit of resentment. Olivia swooped down onto it.
"You talkin' ta me?"
"There's only one other person with the surname, and I'm not addressing the lovely Ms. Watson who just retired to her room."
Olivia jumped over the back of the couch, replenished popcorn bowl in hand. "Wooh, none spilled. So, what do you mean?"
"Well, I heard the phone replaying the message from a man from an antique store. Said your planner was-"
"Yeah, I was waiting for the call."
Holmes stood up, crossing his arms "He said to meet you at the Pub on Main."
Her shoulders sank, eyes heading towards the ceiling. "This is going to be a date? Crap, I need this like a hole in my head." She stood up and walked over to Holmes, who now was trying to figure out the ice dispenser. "Do you think you could come with me?"
Ice cubes sprayed across the floor. "Why?"
"Because I don't really like this guy…please? Act like you're my brother or something."
"Fine," he let out an exasperated sigh.
"Olivia!"
"Coming!" Olivia padded across the room. "What's the matter?"
"I don't know what to we-"
Olivia looked past him at an explosion of clothing, then back at him. He cleared his throat.
"Could you assist me in selecting clothing for tonight's endeavor?"
She raised an eyebrow and slowly said 'Yes'. "Wear this," she threw some clothing at him.
"Why?"
"It looks nice on you."
"You've never seen it on me."
"Just shut up and throw this stuff on, kay?"
"So," Olivia said slowly, tapping her fingers on the table, thanking the Lord and Powers That Be for having the bar to stuffed. The smoky, dim bar atmosphere gave her many distractions. She glanced over at her 'date', and then back at Holmes.
"You know, I didn't quite catch a name." Holmes looked over at the man over steepled fingers.
"I didn't give one. Jason McKinney"
"Well, everyone can tell at this table your Irish. Went to England when you were about 12? Correct?" Olivia asked while playing with the wrapper from her straw.
Holmes didn't even react, but Jason did. "Yeah, I did."
She glanced back down. "You can smoke, ya know."
Jason looked up, startled. "What?"
"Your twitching and you keep putting your hand in your inside pocket. If you need to smoke just do, you're driving me crazy."
Holmes raised his glass to his mouth and took a sip, hiding a smirk.
She turned and poked him. "Oh, shut up, bud. You've had days where you've needed one." She meant his opium days, and her angered, cryptic gaze hinted at that.
Holmes raised his hands in protest. "Now, if I recall, I quit at your request."
"That-that's beside the point. The house stunk."
"Well, here's your planner," he leaned forward and handed it to Olivia. "Do you think we can do this again ..without your…" he looked over at Holmes, who's analytical glare was presently hovering on him.
"Friend. My friend," she laughed, leaning back. "I feel like I've known him for what seems centuries."
Holmes' poker face twitched a little, a sign of amusement.
"Well, I have to go." Jason stood up and grabbed his jacket. "I'll call you, Olivia." Turning he opened him mouth to address Holmes, and then stopped. "Nice meeting you.."
"John."
"Um, right, John."
"Why do you keep staring at me like that?"
"'Cause I am. Thank you." She paused to nurse her drink. "I know it was torture for you."
"Pour quoi?"
"Because I know you're very protective of me," she smiled. "Like a brother."
He smiled, distractedly.
They walked along the boardwalk, each wrapped in their own thoughts for a while. Holmes would ask a question and Olivia would answer, not really paying attention. Something just felt wrong, at the pit of her stomach. It wasn't quite clear who or what, but it was there.
It took a moment for her to realize Holmes had been looking to his right side for a while, and she turned to look at whatever he was looking at.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm averting my gaze."
She turned and looked to
their left. "Oh, it's just some kids on
the beach, Holmes."
"Naked."
"Noo, wearing bathing suits."
"Excuse me, close to nothing… now what is your problem?"
She looked at her watch. It was still early, but… "I think we need to go home."
"Why?"
She grabbed his hand, and started bounding towards the car. "I just need to, please, we need to hurry."
Olivia fumbled for the right keys, finding the door locked and her mother's car in garage and no answer, she started to panic even more.
"She's probably asleep."
"No, not Mum, she has ears of…God, I don't really know what." The door finally opened and Olivia ran in.
"Mum!" she ran into the parlor, and saw no sign; she glanced in the kitchen and then flew up the stairs, checking every room. Nothing was out of place. She finally got to her room, which was on the front of the house. Her window, which she kept habitually shut tight and knew she had before she left, was wide open.
"Shit," Holmes said under his breath as he saw it, knowing her strange obsession with the windows when they lived on Baker Street.
"Mum?" She ran back through all the rooms. "Holmes I can't find her."
"So maybe she's out."
"Holmes, my mother's car is in the fucking garage!" She ran down the stairs and slid into the kitchen, falling to the floor as she grabbed the cordless to try her mother's cell phone.
She never got to dial it, however, because she noticed the smell of something coppery in the air…and then she spotted the hand…and the rest of the body…
"Sh-Sher-" she croaked, crawling into the corner, the phone forgotten as the image of her mother's crumpled body blank eyes staring up into space in a pool of blood was burned into her mind.
"Oh my God." Holmes scooped up Olivia in one large swoop, grabbing the phone and dialing 911.
Olivia didn't remember much after that, just being taken outside and waiting in the car until the police and ambulance arrived…sirens…lights.
"Olivia?"
She turned, Holmes shook her.
"Is she-" she couldn't say it. Even saying the word would condemn her mother's fate.
"I'm so sorry," his voice broke and all he could do was hold her. Olivia buried herself against his blazer and wept.
"I'm taking you home," he said finally, regaining control of his voice.
"I can't. I have to stay wi-" her shoulders sank and she knew that trying to fight with him was useless.
"Come on. Let them handle it."
Nodding, she started to walk towards the car, but then realized the numbness she felt had spread to her legs. Olivia started to plummet and Holmes caught her for a second time, holding her with both his arms, he asked a police officer to drive them home.
Olivia really didn't know about much else that night, she couldn't feel a thing, save for the cold hard feeling she'd later recognize as a need for revenge.
Olivia woke the next morning, wrapped in a blanket on the couch with Holmes cradling her. Logic kicked in before memory and she realized they must have fallen asleep watching a movie. Then, looking down at the clear glass of the coffee table, she saw the haunted tired look on her face, punctuated by her mascara, smeared and runny, and it hit her.
The sobs came before she could stop herself, causing Holmes to wake up.
"She's dead." It came out strangely, monotone and lifeless.
He shifted, sat up, and put an arm around her shoulder. "Yes."
She didn't respond, but went over to the yellow book. "Gotta take care of things."
"Olivia, please."
"No, I-I have to do this. Did the police call yet?"
As if answering her question, the phone rang. She stared at it for a second, and then went to answer it, but Holmes grabbed her hand. "Don't. I'll answer."
She continued to stare at the phone.
"Please."
Her arm recoiled, and his slowly reached out to pick up the phone. Still holding her hand, he sat down on the couch. Olivia sat numbly on the couch as she listened to the one side of the conversation. This was the side of Sherlock that she barely seen. This was a kinder, caring Sherlock.. This was the Sherlock she loved.
He put down the phone tiredly and patted the seat next to him. Sliding over, Olivia rested her head against his shoulder.
"It seems your mother has everything taken care of. They already notified all the proper businesses and we won't have to worry about a thing."
We, huh. "You don't have to do that."
"But I am."
She tugged the coat closer around her frame, shivering from the gray, somber weather that fit the days mood.
Holmes never left her side the entire length of the funeral. As dozens of people milled past, Sherlock kept her standing. The only time he had to let go of her hand was when she went for the eulogy.
Standing in front of all the people, she suddenly realized there was a flag draped across the casket, and that the back row was made up of men and women dressed in government-like attire. They were all a large spectrum of ages, but they all looked like they were on the verge of tears.
Finishing, she stepped back down and stood with Holmes. People milled by and shook their hands, but the entire time, a handful of the back row people still kept watching them.
"Olivia!" Olivia turned and watched as Krysten bounded towards her, eyes full of tears and a Koo behind. She pecked Olivia on both her cheeks and gave Holmes a quick hug before he could protest. "Oh, God, Honey, I tried to get down here as quickly as I could!"
"Thank you," Olivia whispered, and then let out a little laugh. "Did she drag you along, Koo?"
Koo didn't say anything, but ran forward and gave Olivia a hug.
"I'm so sorry, Liv! Whe-when I hear, I just…"
"It's okay, bud."
Krysten bit her lip. "Do they have any leads?"
"I don't know yet, I haven't been able to talk with them. I've been finishing everything for the-" her voice cracked and she bit her lip. Sherlock put a protective arm around her shoulder. Taking a deep breathe, she went on. "I'm gonna get the bastard, I swear."
"Count me in. I loved your mother, she was so full of life. Anyone who does that deserves to die."
"Ms. Watson?"
She looked up at the man now standing in front of her. She recognized him as one of back row people.
"Yes?"
"May I speak to you alone?"
She nodded silently and walked over to a large bush. "Yes?"
"I'm Agent Sprawling. I worked with your mother."
"Excuse me? My mother was an art restorer."
The man took off his sunglasses, revealing a man in his forties, who probably was a football player when he was in school. He gave her a worried look. "You mean she never told you?"
"No…you're not telling me my mother worked for the government, are you?"
"So it seems. Ms. Watson, your mother worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. We all-" he gestured towards the others, "-work for the CIA."
Olivia leaned against the tree for support. "This is news for me. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Actually yes." He raised his eyebrow. "You see, we set up support systems for our de-activated agents in our section and your mother knew the entire list. Did you ever give anyone that address?"
"No, Mum was always particular about it-now I know why-so I always gave my apartment address." Then it hit her. "Oh my God, the planner, I left it for three seconds and when I got my purse back…Shit, her address was in my planner."
He paled. "Did somebody take your purse?"
She closed her eyes, going over the day in her head. "Actually, I think it was taken. They must've moved it from me and took the planner. I can't believe I didn't rea-"
"Did you catch a name?"
"Yes. The man's name was Jason McKinney."
"Holy shit. Ms. Watson, I believe the man who took your planner was the Doggs' leader's right hand man. We haven't leaked out any information on any of them yet really, so you wouldn't know."
"So that's why Mum didn't want me to transfer. I'd figure it out."
"I forgot, you're a Feeb."
"You know, we really hate being called that. And Suits. And, well, we just don't like being called anything. We're more like fly-on-wall people."
He chuckled softly. "No where as much as us." He suddenly became serious, "Listen, if you ever need anything, just contact me." He pressed a business card into her hand, and squeezed her other hand. "I'm so sorry."
She smiled slightly. "We all are."
"What was that all about?" Holmes asked as they walked through the cemetery.
"Just an old colleague of my mother's," she sighed. "You know, you can just tell me to sod off and suck it up at any time."
"Why, you deserve to mourn, Olivia, and I promise to be a shoulder to cry on."
"You're to good to be true, Holmes." She sighed, and he stopped, holding her hand.
"Olivia, I must tell you something."
"You're cells are deteriorating and you've become a woman?"
"What! No! Be serious, Olivia."
"Why? My mother just died, Holmes, it's how I cope. I laugh things off."
"But what I'm about to say isn't a laughing matter," he said in a clipped voice.
"What could you tell me that's more serious than what's just happened? What, Sherlock, tell me that!" she turned on her heel.
"Maybe-maybe the fact that I love you is a little more serious."
Olivia stopped, and turned, finding Sherlock behind her. Her lip trembled, and her gaze was cast downward. "I'd saw maybe you're right."
"And?"
"And maybe," she looked up, the tears she had been crying silently stopping, "maybe the fact that I love you helps that a bit."
Before she could say anything else, his lips were on hers. And in that moment, she knew that they would never be another person who could make her feel that way. That this was what finding that special person felt like.
Her eyes fluttered open and looked up at him. He was breathless, and smiling. "I do believe it helps just a tad." He glanced over at the new Headstone that had the Watson surname on it. "You don't think she'll come back and haunt me for what I did?"
"Nah," he put a protective arm on her waist and they continued to walk. As if as an answer, the clouds parted a little bit of sunshine shone through. "I think she's smiling down on us."