Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or Mary Russell.
A/N: the ~~~ represents a change in the P.O.V. This chappie is a bit more serious. Apologies, and I promise next time will be lighthearted as always.
For Lack of a Better Title
By: Kirby Russell
She sat writing furiously, as though the words in her mind would burn her if they stayed there a minute longer.
~~~
He stood in the doorway, watching the lanky gir- no, woman now. She had matured into a woman, one with poise and intelligence no less. And even as he denied it, it loomed in the back of his mind. He wondered if she had even noticed his discomfort. 'No.' he thought. 'Her weakness always was reading a blank face.' And in times of great self doubt, he would add: 'But this is not a blank face; this is mine.' Yet for all that, he still trusted her; times were she would surprise him and even best him. He had the casebooks and she the scars to prove it.
Smiling in memory, he remembered one of the cases they had worked on. It was during their journey in France. The adrenaline had been pumping through their veins so rapidly that when they finally caught the fiend, he turned to her and said, "Well Russell, a night of dancing and drinking would be fitting, would it not?" Both still high off the adrenaline, the nearest tavern seemed very welcoming. He remembered that night perfectly; sometimes the ability of his brilliant psyche to remember every last detail was not so much of a curse.
He shook himself to rid his mind of his idealistic musings. He reprimanded himself for 'going soft', as she would say. He gazed at her again, a softness in his eyes that only she might have noticed. Maybe, he thought, going soft with Russell around wouldn't be so ghastly...
~~~
She was still scribbling in her unreadable shorthand, oblivious to her watcher. He was out on another case, one that she hadn't been told about but obviously knew of. Just how daft did he really think she was? No matter. By the time he returned, she would be finished with the second chapter. She was determined to have his approval. Knowing what he thought about Watson's stories, she would have to double her effort in her writing. It had to portray the real Holmes, but the analytic side would be brilliant as well.
She straightened her back, hearing it crack with proof that she'd been bent over far too long. Grinning suddenly, she wondered what he would say when she showed him the fruits of her labor. It had been a joke at first, but after that near brush with a bullet through the side, among other things, she decided writing their adventures might be a good idea. After all, in this line of profession... The grin dead on her face but its shadow still remaining, she tried to relax. Staring at the black backs of her eyelids, she thought of their shared cases, and how intimately they knew death.
~~~
She was working on something important, he realized, and knew that he probably would not approve. Moving slightly to walk into the room and bite out another sarcastic comment, he froze suddenly. He noticed her tense, then lean back and shut her eyes almost forcefully. Being who he was, he deduced she was thinking about their last case. That dog of a man, Sonkin, had fired two warning shots, which weren't so much warning as they were severe threats. After years of dealing with such bullying of his life, he became used to the prospect of death. Yet what he had not anticipated was caring so much about the life of another. The thought of Russell hurt, or in his more macabre moments: dead, had his rooms filled with pipe smoke and a stony face or avoidance for days. He would never show how deeply he cared; weakness was his greatest fear. Yet he also feared that by the time he finally let his true emotions show, it would be seconds too late... And he would be alone and betrayed again.
~~~
Her eyes snapped open. Turning to face the direction from which the noise came, the Holmes she saw staring at her was far from the one whom was her familiar. His face was wrought with a peculiar emotion; if it was anyone besides him she would have sworn it was torment. Instead she decided on guilt for not telling her about the case.
"Back so soon? I would have expected at least another day. Or did you find out about Ms. Heffinger before you saw the body?"
Expecting some comment of that sort from her, he did not respond. Instead he continued to stare at her thoughtfully. Used to this, she merely turned back to shove her papers into their rucksack.
"Walk with me, Russell." He said suddenly. She smiled, and then wiped the silly expression off her face as she replied:
"Alright, Holmes. I have something to show you anyhow."
He proffered an arm, and together they ambled out to check on the bees, bickering all the way.
Kirby: If you want to see more stories, please tell me. Otherwise I'll just keep them in my head. I have no idea how I'm doing, and I need advice. Thanks to Anna who keeps reviewing!