Chapter 5

Sunlight filtered through the Windows of 221B Baker Street, the early morning just kissing the tops of the buildings in London as the day began. Sherlock had not yet returned from the hospital, no doubt still running tests and trying to find as much about me as he could. His results thus far were inconclusive. John on the other hand was just waking up, preparing for an interview so he could actually help pay the rent. He left fairly quickly, mind focused on obtaining the job and proving me wrong.

Of course I wasn't aware of this at the time, as I slept well into the morning. My brain needed to recharge as much as possible after the taxing nap I had just had. Our so I still thought. When my eyes opened blearily, I wondered where my television had gone, sure that I had most likely fallen asleep on the couch waiting for my Netflix to
buffer. I tried rubbing my eyes, but then came to the realization that my left hand was tethered to a bed post. That woke me up pretty quickly.

I pulled angrily at the cuffs, but to no avail. It was clear in a matter of seconds that no amount of jiggling our tension was liable to free me, but that sure as hell didn't stop me from trying. I twisted them, I jerked them, I even tried to squeeze my hand out of them, but they were too strong and fastened too tight. How I despised him...

"Sherlock Holmes!" I hollered, hoping he would hear me. "You better come here at once or I swear I will gnaw at your neck until the skin wears down and falls off. Then I will slice open your stomach using my fingernails and stuff your head inside, and afterwards I will sew you back up using string I have braided together from hair I shaved off your scalp." I paused. "Do you hear me Sherlock Holmes?" No answer.

This couldn't be happening. This dream was supposed to be over. It's every fan's dream to meet their favorite characters, but sometimes certain one's are better dreamt of in theory. I felt secure in knowing that my dream would end as soon as I had been thoroughly disillusioned by the ego and arrogance Sherlock possessed. But a tiny part of my brain began to doubt. Was this really a dream? I mentally slapped
myself. Of course it was. Unless I was going crazy and hallucinating this all, which seemed unlikely as I had never before exhibited signs of mental instability. Whatever was happening, it was clearly not over and my next actions needed to include extricate myself from these restraints.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! GET YOUR ASS UP HERE THIS INSTANT!" My patience had entirely run out. I still pulled fruitlessly at the chain, grazing the skin around my wrist roughly. The metal began to sting as it touched.

I heard him moving up the stairs. "About bloody time," I said as he turned the door knob. "It's not as if I was going anywhere, you could have just kept them of you know." I turned to look as he stepped in, then did a double take as I realized he was a she. "Uh," I said blankly as she looked at me in shock. "This is not what it looks like."

"Oh don't worry dearie, I won't say a thing to anyone," Mrs. Hudson reassured me. "Although I was sure..." She trailed off with a sigh. "Well, we're going to have to remove these things aren't we." She bustled over and examined them. "Ooh, and they look strong too. Goodness me."

"He has the keys," I informed her. "Is he gone?"

"Haven't seen either of them at all this morning," she said. "But that's men for you, always running off to who knows where and getting themselves into all sorts of trouble. It's our job to give 'em what for when they return. He certainly did a number on you," she commented.

I half smiled, half grimaced. "Oh believe me, I did not agree to this," I said, tugging at the chain again. I peered at the post, seeing exactly how it was assembled. "Would you happen to have a screwdriver? If I undo these screws, I might be able to slip the cuffs off the post." There were two posts at either side of the bed, and a long plank between them. He had secured the other half of the cuffs under this plank. "Better yet, just get a hammer."

"Sure thing," Mrs. Hudson answered, hurrying off to fetch it. "I'll have to speak to Sherlock about this. I'm not his house keeper, not that he pays that any mind." She came back, hammer in hand. "I won't be responsible for him. He needs to be more considerate."

"Too right you are." I offered my hand. "Helen Richardson."

She took it. "Call me Mrs. Hudson. Are you sure you want to use a hammer? You could end up breaking it."

I grinned with pre-satisfaction. "Oh, I'm counting on it." I let go of her hand and swung at the board mercilessly, delight coursing through me as hammer collided with wood, splintering the plank in a spectacularly crude manner. Mrs. Hudson helped me separate the board from the post, and I gladly slid the cuff up and off, rejoicing
momentarily in my freedom. "Thanks, it has been a pleasure destroying Sherlock's possessions with you. We should do it again sometime."

"Can I get you anything?" She offered. "Tea or coffee perhaps?" I was taken in by this woman's extraordinary tolerance to the absurd quirks of her tenants. That and she had been very kind to me so far.

I smiled gently. "Thanks, but I'm alright just now. Is there anything I can do for you, as thanks for treating me so well?" She deserved far more credit then she received in my opinion.

She stopped and looked at me in shock. "That's the first time anyone's offered to do something for me in a long while." I figured as much. "If you don't mind, I've got some boxes that need carrying inside. Usually I do it myself, but they're ever so heavy, and this hip you see," she patted it lightly. "Can be quite troublesome at times."

"It would be my pleasure," I said. She smiled and led me outside the flat where the stack of boxes was waiting. "Where do you want me to put them?"

"There's a room just down the hall and to your left," she told me, pointing in its direction through the open door. "If you could stack them there, that will save me a lot of time." She stepped back inside. "I'll prop this open. If something happens, just give us a shout. I've got some clothes to fold up." I watched as she went inside.

"Time to dig in," I said, and lifted one. She wasn't wrong, they were heavy. More so then I had assumed, but not unmanageable. The real trouble was getting it off the ground. Once that was done, it became less unwieldy. I took it inside as instructed then returned for another. But something stopped me for a moment as I crossed the
threshold. My feet pivoted to face the door, eyeing the address numbers. 221B. I let my fingers trace them, indulging in a moment of pure happiness. The duration of the job flew by quickly, as all I could think about was the fact that I was at the 221B Baker Street. It seemed surreal, that I was at the residence of an (albeit conceited and insufferable) genius.

Only one box remained, and in my transient like state I slipped and fell, clutching the package to my chest as I did so. My eyes shut tight in anticipation of the crash. Instead I found myself caught by someone. I opened one eye and inwardly groaned. Why Sherlock? Of all the people to catch me it had to be him. No doubt he was going to expect some type of compensation for assisting me.

"Thanks," I said as he took the box out of my hands. "Mrs. Hudson was having me store them in that room there." I indicated which one. "Where have you been this entire time?"

He didn't answer right away, but instead finished the job. I followed him inside and shut the door, ready to go upstairs and get some breakfast.

"How did you escape?" He inquired, climbing after me.

"I just told you I was doing a job for Mrs. Hudson and you're asking how I escaped?" I asked incredulously. "Make a deduction. She obviously found me earlier this morning. It's not like it's that big a leap." I dangled the cuffs in front of him as we entered the flat. "And it's your own fault this time that people think you've got a fetish. Oh wait, you don't know what that is." I loved patronizing him. It made him the most irritated out of anything.

Mrs. Hudson came up just then. "I thought I heard you come back Sherlock. And thanks so much Ms. Richardson for taking those inside for me." She patted him on the shoulder and said in a whisper, "I like her Sherlock. She's a keeper." It was a rather loud whisper, and carried considerably well across the room. I nearly stuffed my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing. There was no way Sherlock was "keeping" me for any longer then he absolutely had to.

He didn't say anything until she left, and closed the door behind her when she did. "Who are you?"

"You know, every time you ask that I fail to respond. They say madness is repeating the same action over and over again, expecting a different result. So you see what I am getting at Mr. Holmes?" I opened John's laptop and pointed at it. "Log on," I said.

"Why should I do that?" He asked me.

"I noticed you took the bag with my snot in it. Must have had some fun analyzing that I bet. If you had found out who I was, then you wouldn't have just asked me that, meaning whatever data you collected was inconclusive. If you log on, I will then take the computer and pull something up for you. The use of my fingers will be optimal, as the majority of the print will press down on the keys. If it amuses you, then you can have my finger prints scanned. Think of it as a gift for helping me earlier." I looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

He walked over and typed in the password. "Will that suffice?"

"For the time being, yes." I pulled the laptop closer to me and began searching. It wasn't hard to find. "I think you will find this to be of some use to you." He looked over my shoulder, eyes scanning the article pensively. "What do you think?" Instead of answering he took the laptop and read it again, knowing that it must definitely
connected to the case.

He needed to stop focusing on me. If he continued to do so, I would have to spoon feed him everything that went on. Part of me knew that if I hadn't been there, he wouldn't have been distracted and would have found this earlier. This wasn't good. That's not how it was supposed to work. But right now I was just glad he didn't ask me how I knew this was online if I didn't have access to the internet. He was back on track. At least for now.

I left him to his devices and went down to Mrs. Hudson's.

"Hello," she said warmly. "Is there something that you need?"

"Yes," I said. "Sorry to ask something of you so soon after you helped me out this morning."

"Think nothing of it, not after you carried ask those boxes in for me." She invited me in and got me cup of tea. "What is it that I can do for you?" Twenty minutes later I had a bag full of vintage clothing Mrs. Hudson had worn back in the day. "I've no need for it dear," she said. "Can't fill it out quite like I used to. Oh, and take this," she said, adding to the pile a small purse. "Dangerous for a woman to go alone without a purse. It's like a weapon," she joked.

"You have my sincerest thanks," I said, smiling gratefully. "What would Sherlock do without you here to scold him?" I carried the lot back up to their flat. "Nice to see you made it back John. How was it?" He looked at me confused. "The interview."

"Oh, right. It went well." He nodded gently. "Great."

"Was I right?" I asked him.

He didn't answer for a moment. "Of course not. Everything was utterly professional." He tried to sound convincing, but I already knew how it went down, so his attempts were lost on me.

"I wasn't asking you," I told him. "Tell me Sherlock, how was he on his return?" I could tell they had already discussed this as the laptop was in front of John. Looks like they had talked about the murder as well.

"Oh no no no," John said. "I will not have the two of you conspiring against me." He pointed at both of us vigorously. "That is not allowed here. I absolutely forbid it." His eyes were serious but it was impossible to take him so.

"I can say with certainty that he spent a good deal of his interview in the company of a woman he found to be quite attractive, and although he says their interaction was professional I think it fair to assume otherwise." Sherlock glanced at me and I grinned. John was in shambles at our brief camaraderie, as it picked to pieces his assertions and proved me correct. I could honestly say this was possibly the most fun I had had since coming here.

You know, I was considering holding this chapter hostage because of the one (!) review I received last time, but I let it pass because I am a forgiving person. Don't expect it to happen again. (Yes, I'm a review whore. You like this story? Then get used to that. It builds character.) Now make me happy damn it~!

*whacks you with a cane* FOOL!

Anyone see the Zelda reference? Ribena to whoever gets it first!

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