Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or Mary Russell.
A/N: When you read this, remember that Mary has to PMS sometimes. It's just one of those days for her (and me!! :-X). Plus, I wanted to show the side of Holmes that understands neither women nor the finer points of empathy. Sorry for the cat fighting. Hiss!
For Lack of a Better Title
By: Kirby Russell
He sat idly, pretending to edit his new pamphlet, "Spirit Gum: Uses in Modern Detective Work." Glancing at the clock for the fifth time within the minute, he wondered where she was. "Late again," he thought aloud. "Humph. Not surprising. Women."
"What about them? Have you finally realized that we are the superior race?" A voice from behind him asked merrily. He smiled at the most welcome voice, then quickly hid it with his usual sarcastic smirk.
"No, just musing about their habits of being utterly unable to read the time." She grinned at him as he stood to face her.
"Our clocks are the ones at fault; they give us the wrong time and cannot be fixed. And," she added, "Our clocks were made by males. So really, it's not women who are late; it is men who are incompetent." He shook his head, letting her win the round of wits. He watched as her favourite chair sagged, and her eyes shut with weary resignation. Remembering the absence of his housekeeper, he asked: "Tea, Russell? Or something stronger perhaps?" He could sense she was leaning towards the latter, so he raised an eyebrow when she replied,
"Just tea thanks Holmes." He opened his mouth to question her, but when she opened her eyes to hear what he had to say, he was gone.
When he returned, tray balanced in hand, she was sitting and skimming his booklet. He set the tea in front of her and stood over her shoulder, and in silent pride read with her while she finished. Once she set it down, she picked up her tea calmly. He, equally calm, waited for her to comment. Finally, she looked at him and said quite bluntly:
"Well Holmes I have to say, not your best booklet by far. The connections between paragraphs are arduous at best, and your tendency for alliteration is much overdone. And that bit about dressing as an Italian, with your urgent need for a mustache? Not necessary, and I must admit your storytelling nearly bored me to sleep. But," she paused to observe his countenance almost under control, "It certainly does rival your other pamphlet about different tire tracks. In my opinion, this piece is much more helpful, not to mention understandable." His left eye twitched a few more times before he finally responded with such calm that only a fool would not be concerned.
"Russell, you-" He stopped himself abruptly, remembering something, then started over, stumbling through his clenched jaw. "Well, Russell, that's- That is certainly your opinion. I- I thank you for your honest point of view."
She couldn't help herself. "Holmes, you sound like you just swallowed a glass of petrol." He scowled at her, more hurt than angry, which upset her more than his eaten words would have.
"Holmes, I apologize. I was too harsh. I merely-" He cut her off mid sentence with the sharp flourish of a hand. "Russell, if I really cared, you would be informed. However," he added as he sat once again, rigid and upright as though he was physically irritated by this topic of conversation, "I would like to know why you think you are a novelist now."
"Oh, no cheap romantic novelist, Holmes. Biographer." She said with pleasure evident in her voice. "Your biographer." His eyes widened only the smallest increment, but she noticed.
"It will be a bestseller, Holmes, I know it! Why, with a title like "The Beekeepers Apprentice," and Sherlock Holmes' partner, not lackey, writing it, how could it not be one? I even thought of a sub-title for you, in case-" she stopped, realizing she might've gone too far this time. Not only was his left eye twitching, but his knuckles were a very unpleasant colour, as were his cheeks.
"Russell." His voice was deadly calm, more frightening than ever before. "What sub-title could you possibly think of to lessen the blow of this preposterous intention? Not only do you insist on studying that mind-numbing religious slosh, but now of all insults you decide to follow in Watson's path, why it's... it's... Russell, of all the tremendously stupid things I've seen or heard this has to exceed them all!" He paused only to catch his breath. The venom in his words had heightened them, and now he stood above her, shouting in one of his rare bursts of passion. She would be secretly glad, later, to know that even now she could get a rise out of him, and that he cared enough about her to show some emotion besides indifference. But just now, she sat shrinking from the impassioned figure above her.
"Do you know, Russell, that I actually held hope for you? That you would not turn out a bumbling fool like the others in your generation, wishy-washy and wasting your talent. Well, hope springs eternal, I suppose. Let us hope this is just a phase." His voice had evened out, but he grew as she shrank, trying to convince the chair to envelope her. "Ho," He laughed out as a thought struck him, "To think that you were going to write of our 'adventures' as if you thought the ignoramus public would actually enjoy let alone understand them! It's pure comedy." Finally done, he scooped up his pamphlet and sat at his desk, glaring at it.
"Drink your tea, Russell." He demanded over his shoulder. "And when you've finally come to your senses, alert me."
She looked at her cold tea, not in the least what she needed at the moment, so she stood. Making sure to make noise enough for even the ever-ignoring Sherlock Holmes to turn, she made towards the kitchen. Then, turning back to look at the back of him whom she didn't care to disappoint, murmured:
"With Some Observations on the Queen. That's the sub-title, if it makes the difference." And slipped through the door.
Holmes, watching her till the last, smiled slightly and sighed when she was just out of earshot: "It makes all the difference, Russ."
And when she returned with their brandy, she noticed the acceptance and, dare she say, encouragement in his eyes, and she did not bring up her newly appointed position again.