Chapter 2

"John," Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off of me. "Go take care of the shopping. I still have a few more questions for Helen." He cocked his head to the side an imperceptible amount.

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," his friend responded. "We should call Lestrade and have him talk to her. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all of this and we should consult Scotland yard before we take any further action." His words fell on deaf ears as we continued our staring match, both of us trying to piss off the other.

"What a preposterous thing to say," I piped up, not breaking off the game. "There is no logical explanation for this. Weren't you listening to what I said earlier?" Out of the corner of my eye I saw his confusion, causing me to sigh a little. "I told you that I walked out of my bathroom and into your apartment. Unless you've had a tenant
that happened to have an adjoining bathroom to yours and never noticed they were there before, then something must be distinctly off."

"Alright, whatever." John put his hand up in frustration. "Just don't do any experiments on her Sherlock. I'll be back in bit. Maybe with her here you'll actually do something besides sit there and read your book. Why don't you do the shopping anyway?"

"Right now it's because something more interesting has come up." Sherlock broke off the game momentarily and glanced at his friend.

"That reminds me, what did happen with that case you were offered, the diamond one?" He bustled around the kitchen in search of the card, tracing a scratch on the table made from the sword that was currently under Sherlock's chair. The one he didn't know about. I glanced at it briefly. It was still sticking out, as my "arrival" seemed to have distracted Sherlock from pushing it out of sight.

"Not interested." His voice made me look around and as I turned my head I saw he was staring at me once more. Damn. I hoped he didn't notice that I had seen it. But that was a pipe dream; he noticed everything. I really needed to keep a low profile around him. "I sent them a message." The inflection on his words seemed indirectly
directed at me. Shit. He had noticed.

John collected the card and left promptly, unaware of the atmosphere in the room. I suppressed a shudder, having never felt so scrutinized in all my life. Well, that and because I was cold.

"Can I have a blanket?" I asked innocently. His eyes raked me over and probably noted the goose bumps on my skin.

"I've never made a habit out of treating the people I interrogate with kindness. I find such behaviour diminishes the likelihood of success in discovering the motives of the interrogated person in question." He backed up from me and pulled the sword out from under his chair. When I said nothing, he held it up and gave it an appraising look. "This is very ineffective sword." He balanced it near the hilt, demonstrating
what I guess was it's actual lack thereof.

"Well I already knew it was ineffective," I said.

"And how would you know something like that," he asked, a look of smug disbelief across his face.

"Well, because it failed to kill you." I felt rather impressed with myself for making that conclusion. Although knowing what happened beforehand didn't exactly hinder me from making that conclusion earlier.

"Whether or not it succeeded in killing me does not determine it's effectiveness," he shot back, fingering the blade lightly. "That task falls upon the executioner. He should be able to kill me with anything. The fact that he failed with a blade only means he was ineffective, not necessarily his weapon." The corner of his mouth curled into a smile. "The real question is, how did you know it was there." He phrased it not as an actual question, but more like a quandary.

"I didn't," I responded quickly. Perhaps too quickly. Either way he ignored it.

He began pacing at which I rolled my eyes. Here he was, trying to pick me apart like I was some complicated puzzle when all I really was, was dreaming. That's right. This was a dream. I could do whatever I bloody well pleased. Right now, I was after a blanket. My eyes traveled over the room and spotted one hanging over a chair. I went to retrieve it when my path suddenly became blocked by the sword.

I sighed. "You know, all I wanted was to get this blanket here and shove it down my mouth. How dare you ruin my oh so elegant attempt at suicide." I tried to reach for it again but he flipped the sword around and smacked my hand with the hilt.

"As I have already explained, I do not see reason in catering to those I am interrogating."

"That would make sense, except I was catering myself. Also, you were not interrogating me in the slightest, unless you call unsociable and taciturn behaviour a rather poor imitation of the meaner half of the good-cop, bad-cop routine." I glared at him, and he eventually drew the sword away. "Thank you." I seized the blanket and flopped into the chair, wrapping the covering around my body.

He resumed pacing and shot me a glance every now and again. I thought about being self-conscious, but dismissed it as silly. No need to act nervous when none of it mattered anyway. What a waste of a good dream.

"How did you do it?" He threw his hands up in frustration. "There is only one window you could have entered from and your waist is far too large to have fit through it." I threw him a dirty look which he disregarded. He ran his fingers through his hair. "There must be something I'm missing!"

"Whatever," I muttered. I thought back to what happened in the episode. "You should check your email. Something important might have happened." I twiddled my thumbs absentmindedly. "Always clears my head, checking up on my correspondence with various individuals." I glanced at Sherlock lazily. He seemed to be ignoring me. Can't have that. "I find delaying my response rude. Inconsiderate even. Sometimes it even gives off an unmistakable air of being an complete and utter ass."

"COULD YOU BE QUIET!" He shouted suddenly. I finally cracked his focus and smirked contentedly. "I am trying to work out how you appeared into our flat without our knowledge. Some silence would be lovely."

There was no way I was going to abide by his request. "You know what is really good for thinking?" I stood up and shrugged off the blanket. "Coffee. Black, two sugars, right?" I moved into the kitchen and began making a pot. I filled up a pitcher of water and turned around to fill up the coffee maker only to find him standing in my way.

"How did you know?" His voice was demanding as he gripped my arm like a vice, digging his nails into my arm. "There are many ways people take their coffee, yet you knew which one I preferred. How?"

"Dude, let go of me right now." My nostrils flared in anger. "It was a lucky guess, and I'm really starting to get annoyed at you're unwelcoming nature. You should be happy I even offered to make you coffee in the first place after how crappily you've treated me." He let go and flexed his hand. "That's better. Now calm down and check your email. Go on then." I brandished the pitcher at him and he retreated back into the sitting room, taking my suggestion and opening John's laptop.

Returning to the kitchen I resumed making coffee, only pausing to glance back at him every now and then to make sure everything was alright. I did want to see how this episode played out because everything would be so much different in person.

After the beverage brewed itself I brought a cup to Sherlock as he read though his emails. I retreated to the chair with my own cup, sipping it slowly.

"So, Helen," he said after a few seconds. "Is there a last name to go with that?" He drank from his own cup, not bothering to look at me while he spoke.

"Nah, that's just my CIA code name. My real name is classified information. Top secret stuff. If you knew I'd have to kill you." I took another drink of my coffee and found him staring at me seriously. "It was a joke," I clarified, not liking how literally he was taking
everything I had said thus far. "Do they not have those on the planet you're from?Must be dreadfully dull."

"I was well aware of the humorous intention of your words however I chose to ignore them as a sign of my disapproval." He really didn't know when to admit defeat did he?

"You are the single most stale and flat kill-joy it has been my very ill-timed misfortune to meet, Sherlock Holmes. I hope you find yourself hopelessly bored in the near future." This was the worst insult I could think of, as I well as too aware of his hatred of
boredom.

"That would be mightily inconvenient to my person to find myself reduced to such a state," he retorted. "For indeed, I've been known to do strange and terrible things in pursuit of the end of such an occurrence and I would not hope such pursuits could potentially harm your person, but then again one can never be certain about those sorts of things." He smirked again, only flaring my temper even more. I would not let him have the last word.

"What a travesty that could be to my health Mr. Holmes, but more importantly it does quite illuminate the faults in your character." I smirked back at him impetuously. "You see, my grandparents always used to have a saying." I got to my feet and whispered in his ear. "They used to say 'an intelligent mind is never bored.' What say you to that, Mr. Holmes?" He looked like he was about to speak when I heard John clambering up the stairs. "Hold that thought," I said, returning to my chair.

"Don't worry about me, I can manage," he said, slightly out of breath. Sherlock was at the computer, resting his head on his clasped hands as I sipped my drink silently. "Is that my computer?"

"Of course," he replied, typing away a response to his friend.

"Why would he get his doctor Watson, when it is probably in his bedroom and yours is so conveniently located right there." John looked at me in puzzlement. "Yes I'm still here, no he didn't hurt me. Only acted like an ass."

"But it's password protected." John removed his coat.

"In a manner of speaking. Took me less then a minute to guess yours. Not exactly Fort Knox." In the show he seemed so cool with his detached demeanor, but in person I just wanted to punch him like everybody else. God what a perspective. For the remainder of the dream I resolved myself to ticking him off whenever I thought the situation called for it.

"Right, thank you," he said in irritation, reclaiming his laptop back from Sherlock. I giggled as Sherlock seemed irritated himself, not finished with his business on the computer. At least that was my guess.

"So is it to the bank then?" I asked him, draining the remainder of the contents from my cup. "This brand is quite good," I said thoughtfully. The flavor was nice and strong, powerful enough to really wake someone up in the morning. "Well?" My eyes looked at him expectantly. "Are we soon off to the bank?"

"How did you know?" He asked, this time less forcefully then the others. It seemed faked though, like he was just feigning polite behaviour in case that approach yielded more success in discovering more information about me.

"Ah, tut tut Mr. Holmes. Don't you know I can read minds?" I wiggled my eyebrows patronizingly and used a babyish tone to my voice.

"Such a thing is impossible," he asserted getting to his feet. "Now I would it appreciate if you would apply a serious affectation to every word that leaves your mouth. It can only help you in the future to be as somber and honest as humanly possible while associated with me."

"Sherlock, if I may interrupt, but what exactly do you plan on doing with her?" John stepped between Sherlock and I, holding out a hand to stop him from moving closer. "I mean, are we going to call the police or just let her go?"

"No," he replied in a drawling tone. "Both of those suggestions are idiotic. Calling the police would mean a short inquiry most likely followed by her eventual release due to the fact that she is both unarmed and did not steal anything. Then I would be unable to question her further. The second suggestion would obviously yield the same result. Instead," he began, running back into the kitchen and shouting back to us. "Instead she will come with us." He produced a white button down shirt and a pair of pants. "Put these on," he said, throwing the articles of clothing at me.

"Sherlock, you can't be serious." John looked at him in disbelief. "We know nothing about her save her first name. She could be an assassin or something. It'd be mental to bring her along."

"You know, 'she' is right here and does not take kindly to bring spoken of as if she is not present and right on front of your eyes. So," I said, laying the clothes on the chair. "I'll be 'loose' as you so kindly described me earlier and just go ahead and change right
here." I took off my robe and balled it up, throwing it at Sherlock's feet.

"Now that," John stammered, "is unnecessary. Oh God," he said covering his eyes as my sleep clothes feel to the floor.

I stared at Sherlock the entire time, practically daring him to look away. He held up very well as I buttoned up the short he gave me. "No bra then?" I asked. "Or do your girlfriends make sure to take their lingerie when they leave in the morning?" My eyes accused him playfully while I fastened the pants on.

"Well since these clothes are from a previous experiment, you should thank me for sparing you from wearing something so close to the deceased person's body." His eyes glinted evilly as he witnessed my horror and revulsion. My lip curled in disgust. Oh, he was good. But I'd be sure to pay him ten-fold for this, you mark my words. "Ready?" He asked me mockingly.

"You bastard," I muttered, following him as he left.

I heard John trailing behind us, thoroughly bewildered by our exchange. "Yeah, I think I probably missed it but, where are we going exactly?"

You guys are responsible for the TWELVE (!) BEAUTIFUL emails I have receive thus far since I uploaded the first chapter. Things like this make me so happy it's unreal. I was super worried about putting this story up because I didn't want my OC to be all Mary Sueish (even though she is going toe to toe with Sherlock, it's only because she knows what's going on, so it's not really her) plus the dialogue in this show is so delicately worded and I really wanted to emulate that feeling as accurately as possible. So tell me, how did I do? (crosses fingers)

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.

BYEEEEE~!