Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or Mary Russell.
A/N: This is an amazingly short chapter. I left the world of fanfiction for a long time, and coming back I find I cannot write as much as I used to. This is but a momentary issue. Until I fix it, I hope this will suffice.
For Lack of a Better Title
By: Kirby Russell
The violin almost played itself. His fingers played while his mind drifted and thought under the stimulation of the notes. It was a lesson is detachment as well as musical enhancement. He loved every string like a child; he smiled lovingly as the notes floated through the room. The melancholy melody suited him so much that Mrs. Hudson was convinced he had composed it himself. More sardonic this time than emotional, his smile appeared and faded. The bow caressed the strings and his nimble mind played on. His only mistake came from the loud shock of the kitchen door slamming shut.
"Holmes!"
The clanging and crash of one of the kitchen pots killed his train of musical thought completely. Sighing in protest of the world, he set the instrument down and reached for his pipe. The night, though rough on his conscience, flew by at a surprising speed. Of course, knowing the disaster that awaited him, no amount of time would be enough. But Sherlock Holmes was not one to shirk away, let alone admit to defeat. He resolved early on to let her declare her standing until she was exhausted, and then attack while she was vulnerable. Yes, he had a plan and he knew—
"Holmes! Where— Oh. Hello." She came into the room and stopped abruptly. He could see the thoughts flittering, and smirked. Oh yes, he was to win this round.
"Good morning, Russell. You are well, I hope."
"Ah. Yes. I've just come to tell you-" she cleared her throat, and the first feeling of doubt made his stomach lurch.
"I'm leaving for Oxford today. Right now in fact. I need to... finish checking the sources on one of my essays." She cleared her throat again, and he knew even without his deducing abilities it was a lie.
"I won't be coming back until December." She looked at him, and for once his ability to read emotions vanished. He could only focus on his own.
"Russ, it's only June. Surely—"
"No, I need all the time. Well... good-bye." He only stared at her as she turned and walked out the door. He closed his eyes in utter confusion and defeat as he listened to her walk further away.
In retrospect, that was the first time he felt for her as more than a student. He pinpointed that moment, and resented every second of it.