Chapter Nine: A Screaming Match and a Surprise Visitor

I was awoken sometime later by someone gently shaking me. Forgetting where I was, I didn't open my eyes. "Mom, wait tell you near the dream I had."

"Mackenzie, what are you talking about?"

My eyes snapped open and I blinked several times. When the last bit of sleep left my eyes, I focused intently on Sherlock Holmes's lean face. "Oh, sorry Mr. Holmes," I said with a slight blush. "I forgot where I was for a moment. What's up?"

He raised his eyebrows at my 'what's up' comment.

Seeing his expression, I grinned. "It's a twenty-first century saying that means how are you, or what's new?"

"Oh," he replied, not impressed. "What did you learn at the Bellemonte's?"

"What time is it?"

He consulted his pocket watch. "Nine o'clock."

"At night?"

"Yes."

"Wow! I slept for that long? What time did you get in?"

"Several hours ago, but Watson insisted I didn't disturb you."

I kicked the covers off and sat up. "You wanna sit or do you plan on standing?"

Sherlock Holmes pulled the chair from the desk next to the desk and sat on it. "Pray begin."

"On one condition," I replied with a sweet smile.

"What?" He asked raising his eyebrows skeptically.

"You gotta tell me what you learned first."

"I'll do no such thing," he protested.

"Fine," I replied, "then you're not gonna hear about the Bellemontes." For emphasis, I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the wall in front of me.

"You cannot withhold information from me," Holmes demanded.

"Neither can you," I replied. "When you said I was your 'associate,' I expected to know everything you discovered. Until you starting sharing information with me, you will not hear anything that I learned. So you can either stay tight lipped and informationless or you can start talking. It's your choice."

Sherlock Holmes stared at me dumbfounded for several seconds. I don't think he could believe my audacity or the fact that I threatened the great consulting detective. Once he got over his shock, he, in his anger, got up from his seat and stormed out of the room. Knowing his thirst for knowledge, I began counting the seconds. In roughly half a minute, the bedroom door opened once again and the consulting detective was standing in the doorway, seething.

"I take if you've made you decision?" I asked sweetly.

"Damn you!" He growled.

"You know, you're kinda cute when you're totally pissed," I said with a smile. That would get him.

He glared at me and simultaneously raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"I meant you're kinda cute when you're angry," I amended using nineteenth century phrasing.

He grunted hotly and began pacing the room like a caged animal. "You are insufferable!"

"Well that's the pot calling the kettle black Mr. Holmes," I retorted. "That cliché saying means so are you."

"I'm insufferable?" He asked taking on the attitude of an affronted gentleman.

"And arrogant and misogynistic," I added.

"How dare you say such a thing! Am I not standing here attempting to speak with you?"

"You have one hell of a way of having a conversation," I said sarcastically.

"If I seem misogynistic, it is because of you," he roared. "You bring out all the worst possible qualities of your sex, you are conniving, extremely dense, not to mention manipulative--"

"One might say the same about you," I countered. "You're arrogant, condescending, self-centered, pigheaded, narrow-minded…roughly all the qualities in men that I despise. Henceforth the reason I'm still single."

"No man in his right mind endeavor to make love to you!"

"No woman in her right mind would allow you to court her!"

He stood in front of me, vibrating with fury. I was feeling the same anger as him but tried to hide it. After several minutes passed, I cleared my throat breaking the silence.

"We are not getting anything accomplished by screaming at each other," I said calmly. "I suggest we return our attention to the problem at hand. You tell me what you learned and I'll tell you what I learned. Truce?"

"What?"

"Truce, it means we'll stop fighting and act civilized toward one another."

"Truce," he replied.

"You go first," I said, making myself more comfortable on the bed.

"After you left the opera house," he mumbled between clenched teeth, "I demanded to speak with Madame Giry, the box keeper."

"The name is not unfamiliar to me," I replied.

He stood still for a few seconds and fixed me with an inquiring stare. "What did the Bellemontes say about her?"

"It's still your turn Mr. Holmes."

With a muttered oath, he resumed his frantic pacing. "I asked Madame Giry several questions and she gave me several interesting answers."

"What did you ask her? Come on sir; pray be precise as to the details."

"I asked her what happened last night. She told me that the ghost was upset. I asked her if she ever spoke to the ghost and she replied in the affirmative. I then asked her to describe the voice…"

"What did she say?" I asked leaning forward on the bed.

He ceased pacing and glanced at me. "Why are you so interested?"

"I wanna see if there's a match. Just keep talking."

"She said the ghost has a lovely man's voice which is soft and very hypnotic. According to her, the ghost is either a tenor or a baritone."

"Hmm…interesting," I murmured.

"I believe it is 'your turn,'" Holmes said settling down in the chair, his anger abating somewhat.

I quickly told Holmes everything that happened at the Bellemonte house. When I finished, he favored me with a quick, fleeting smile.

"You involved yourself in an altercation with an elderly woman? That is suggestive."

"So I take it I did badly?" I said utterly crestfallen. If the only thing he found interesting was the old woman, I must've done something wrong.

Sherlock Holmes removed his pipe from his dressing gown and lit it. After several long puffs, he looked at me over the stem. "No, on the contrary, you did quite well."

I was totally shocked at the offhanded compliment, especially after that huge screaming match. "You mean it?" I asked excitedly.

He nodded. "Yes, perhaps…perhaps I misjudged you."

"That's mutual," I replied. Suddenly, I was no longer angry with him. I think he felt the same way because the lines of rage in his face softened.

We were both silent for several minutes, each of us staring at one another, assessing each other's strengths and weaknesses. I think we each recognized a strong adversary and an even stronger friend in each other, but neither one of us knew how to get beyond the adversary to tap into the hidden vein of friendship. However, that was all about to change. Had either one of us been very observant, we would have realized this and recognized feelings and events which would forever change our lives and opinions of one another, but we were too preoccupied with the present to even think of the future.

He sat watching the smoke rings from his pipe chase each other up to the ceiling and I stared at him, wondering what made him tick.

Could there be something deeper to this arrogant condescending man? Why did I tolerate his harsh treatment of me? If another person even attempted to talk to me the way he did, I'd slug them, and yet here he was calling me manipulative and here I was sitting across from him and he wasn't bleeding. Perhaps it's because he reminds me of…

"Mademoiselle Sterling?"

His voice and the sudden gentleness of his tone, stirred me from my reverie. "Yeah?"

"Are you all right?"

"Sure, why?"

"Well, you've got something…" At a loss for words, he motioned for me to rub my cheeks.

This I did and much to my surprise, I found them wet with tears. I suddenly blushed. "Sorry," I murmured. "I was just thinking…"

"About your home?"

I nodded. Suddenly, for inexplicable reasons, fear wrapped its cold hand around my heart. My mind, which was so full of joy moments before was suddenly reeling with doubts and fears. What if I never get home? What will happen to my family? Will he still be there when (if), I get back? Will he still…

I shook my head in attempt to push those thoughts out of my mind. I glanced over at the detective, seeing him staring at me like I was some unknown specimen under his microscope that had to be closely observed in order to be identified.

"Ok, well now that you probably think you're in the company of a nutcase, headed straight for Bedlam--"

"What the devil are you talking about?" He asked, his tone was soft and gentle and his face was a mask of indifference. That put me on my guard slightly because I couldn't read any undertones in his voice or figure out what was going through his mind via facial expressions.

"Look, I'm friggin scared," I blurted out. "That's why I'm crying, does that satisfy your damned curiosity? No need to observe me any further, I told you what's going through my mind. You can put the dust cover back on the microscope; just don't forget to clean the lenses first! Friggin gawking idiot."

I knew that the words were unworthy of me, after they exited my mouth. Although we fought, he was extremely tolerant, allowing Becky and I to remain in his hotel room. However, I was totally tense, and on the verge of sobs and I didn't want him to see me completely loose it. Even as I spoke I could hear my voice break.

He stood and his face reddened ever so slightly. Without a word, he headed to the door. When I saw his hand on the door knob, I turned from him.

When I finally thought I was alone, I buried my face in one of the pillows, to muffle the sounds, and began to sob uncontrollably. Reality slapped me in the face at that moment, causing my body to shake with even more intense sobs. There was a very real possibility that I'd never get home and that thought scared me.

I felt a light brush of a hand on my back and then it traveled to my hair, caressing it in a hesitating, yet soothing fashion. Thinking it was Becky, I reached up and stroked the hand gently, in a sisterly fashion. Then the side of the bed sagged, caused by a person sitting on it. I was curious as to why my best friend was so hesitant to sit down next to me.

When I rolled over, intent on talking to my best friend and 'sister' I got the biggest shock in my life! Sitting next to me and comforting me was none other than Sherlock Holmes!

I gasped in surprise and he colored. He moved to get up, but I held his wrist.

"What were you doing?" I asked, wiping tears from my eyes with my free hand.

He cleared his throat, in obvious embarrassment and began to stammer. "I-I…well…I felt…re.-responsible…s-so…I didn't mean to offend…"

"No," I said interrupting him. "No, it was really sweet of you. You just caught me by surprise, that's all. Hell, you're the last person I expected to see…" I stopped talking when I realized I was making him totally uncomfortable.

We were both silent for several minutes, when suddenly I had the strangest urge to hug him. Much to his surprise and chagrin, I acted on my urge and threw my arms around this thin neck, burying my face in his shoulder and sobbing.

His body stiffened under my embrace and when I felt him completely tense up, I released my hug and stroked his hand, which was lying on the bed, clutching the bedspread with fear.

"Sorry," I murmured. "But thank you…thanks for being here for me. It means a lot knowing you care."

"Just one moment!" He said, once again taking on the attitude of an affronted gentleman. "I don't...I didn't mean…I didn't mean to imply any feelings--"

"Relax Mr. Holmes," I said, genuinely smiling for the first time that night. "I didn't mean your actions were anything but honorable, and I don't have feelings for you in that way, and I know you don't have feelings for me like that. I still think you're arrogant and misogynistic, but you do have a nice streak in you."

"And I still think you bring out the worst qualities in your sex, manipulation and density, but perhaps, you do have some redeeming qualities."

He favored me with an ironic smile, and I grinned back at him. He stood and headed to the bedroom door. "Good night, Mackenzie," he said softly. "We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Wait, what about Doctor Watson?"

"He's quite comfortable."

"And Becky?"

"She is also quite comfortable," he replied. "Good night."

"Good night Mr. Holmes," I said watching him exit.

When I was alone in the room, I attempted to look logically at the situation I found myself in. Unfortunately, I could find no solution for my time travel trauma so I said my prayers and closed my eyes. I fell into a fitful sleep.