Chapter 6

I left the sitting room and into the bathroom, choosing a skirt and shirt combo that Mrs. Hudson had provided. Thought it was about time I ditched the dead people clothes. Retro seemed a major improvement. When I returned I found them ready to leave, Sherlock already in his coat and John one foot out the door.

"Hey, don't you leave without me," I said, pulling out a jacket from the bag. "I wanna come too."

"Wait, you actually want to come with us?" John asked. No doubt he thought I despised both of them equally. "And where did those clothes come from?"

"As surprising as it seems, yes I wish to accompany you. I do have my own interest in these sorts of things. And the clothes are from Mrs. Hudson." The skirt hit right at my knee, and was a gorgeous tweed. The shirt was a frilly button-up style similar to the one Sherlock had given me, except it was tailored more for a woman. My hands reached out to Sherlock. "The key please." He didn't move for a moment. "Oh come on, I know you still have it. Hand it over so I can remove these suggestive things." I shook the handcuffs, one still attached to my wrist. "Or would you rather everyone at Scotland Yard make their own assumptions as to why I am wearing them?"

He took out the key but held it just out of my reach. "Do I have your word you will not disappear?" His eyes held some sort of intention that I could not quite identify as being one emotion or another.

"I just said I wanted to come with you. Not many people would say that unless they were willing to put up with your pigheadedness. Besides, if it was just the cuffs stopping me I could have those removed by anybody." My fingers wiggled playfully. "Now fork them over. We haven't got all day." He obliged me, and I freed myself from the bonds
triumphantly. "That's that done, now, shall we?"

Sherlock gave a mock bow and gestured with his arm to the exit. "After you, your highness."

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. "Ass," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?" He asked me. God I hated that. He knew what I said, but just couldn't leave well enough alone.

"I called you an ass Mr. Holmes," I said, reiterating myself. "Dear me, couldn't you hear? You should get that checked out. Lots of hearing is potentially problematic. Might need a hearing aid if that keeps up."

"What a loss indeed it would be to hear your voice," he said. "How ever would I cope with the knowledge that every word you spoke would fall on deaf ears?" He leaned in and whispered the next sentence. "But I think you might find that to be more disturbing then I. Part of me would relish that you could never bother me with your trivialities." I could practically hear him smirking behind me.

When we arrived at Scotland Yard, I detached myself from them and sought refuge at a water cooler, taking a long drink from one of the little plastic cups. My head leaned against the jug as I watched Sherlock and John talking with Dimmock.

"Are you with Sherlock Holmes?" I looked around to see a woman standing behind me, clip board at her waist.

"I guess you could say that," I said. It was Sally Donovan, the woman who openly despised Sherlock. Although I wasn't entirely sure why she was talking to me. I did like her hair though. It was big and curly. Why couldn't I get my hair to do that?

"Is it true that you were at a crime scene with him yesterday?" She asked. At least she didn't beat around the bush. I guessed she wanted an explanation for why any woman would be with him.

"That's right," I answered. "I asked him if it was okay, you know, seeing him do his thing. Be in his element. Bit of a turn on." I had to suppress a smile.

She paused, chewing on the side of her cheek in disbelief. "So you were handcuffed to him." She folded her arms, liking at me expectantly. Would I give her something to think about...

I rolled up my sleeve and looked at the mark there. "Yeah, although that's really my thing." Now I smiled at her, a huge one from ear to ear. "Though I must say, I've never experienced anything like being with him before. I mean, hot damn." My eyes flickered over to him, getting all up in Dimmock's face. "That is something I will never forget. Knows exactly how to get my blood flowing." It's not like what I was saying was untrue, it all just had a double meaning. It wasn't my fault if she let her imagination run wild. "See you around," I said, taking one last sip of the cup and throwing it away.

Sherlock had begun moving, so I rejoined him.

"Saw you getting cozy with Sergeant Donovan," he observed as I walked alongside him. "Did she warn you to stay away from me because I'm a psychopath? Perhaps tell you I'm a freak who gets of on this sort of thing?"

I felt briefly insulted that he would think me as shallow as to listen to office gossip. "Even if she did, that would be idiotic as you're a sociopath. They are two completely different things. No, I spent most of my conversation with her insinuating that our foreplay yesterday led to a spectacular lie the likes of which I'd hitherto been fortunate enough to encounter." I put my hands in my pockets. "Figured she'd leave me alone if I said that."

There was a moment of silence, then we both began laughing. It was surprising, as we both thought that there was not a gram of commonality between us. Nice to know there was at least something we could discuss civilly.

"I'm glad you're not bothered," I said, trying to stifle my giggles. "Part of me worried you'd be insulted by such a declaration, especially to a co-worker who clearly despised you."

"No," he said. "Indeed I am not. I'm pleasantly amused at the image of her trying to comprehend me in such a position. Her argument that I am a freak is all but destroyed." We broke out in another fit of laughter. People stared at us as we passed, most likely wondering who the hell I was and why was I laughing with the freak in question, Sherlock Holmes.

My good mood persisted for quite sometime, and I didn't even try to argue with him or annoy him the entire time we were at the crime scene. Dimmock didn't want to let me in, but he insisted, claiming I was essential. That was a nice feeling, being needed. Even if he might not totally mean what he said, it was the thought that counts. I didn't comment nearly the whole time, just let Sherlock do his thing. On the way up however, I did grab the book from the library.

"We have to find out what connects these two men," he said.

"Hey, I found this," I told him, handing him the book. "Looked a bit out of place." My eyebrows moved up on my forehead. "Think it'll be useful?" It was a silly question and we both knew it. Of course it was useful. If it wasn't I wouldn't have mentioned it.

None of us spoke a word as we drove in the back of a taxi, yet again, over to the West Kensington Library. I liked this, cooperating peacefully with him. It was a considerable improvement over the handcuffs, I can tell you that. Still I didn't say anything, just watching as the progress was made on the case just like it should have been. It was almost as if I want there. Which I shouldn't be. As they walked through the library with me blindly following, I felt distinctly out of place. Well, I had felt like this since the beginning, but it was more so then ever. I didn't belong here. Why couldn't I just wake up? Was something wrong with me? Did I fall into a coma and this was simply an extension of my brain trying to keep me functioning? What if...

"Helen, are you even listening?"

I was pulled out of my trance and realized we had made it all the way back to Baker Street and it hadn't even registered with me. "What, sorry?" I blinked profusely. They were ready to leave, and they looked back at me, Sherlock impatient. "Oh, don't mind me. I think I'll sit this trip out. Have fun." I curled up on the sofa. They paused,
waiting for me to change my mind. "Go on, I have a bit of a headache. I'd just hold you back." I waved them off. "Mr. Holmes, good luck with that advice. John, don't hold onto the paint."

"Don't wait up for her, she's obviously no use to us right now." Sherlock said. My eyes closed when I heard them walking out.

"What do you think she meant, don't hold onto the paint?" John said, his voice growing fainter. I didn't hear his response, both out of hearing range.

I rubbed my forehead, unsure of what was going on. Was it possible to have dreams this realistic or last this long? Perhaps it could happen, but I want sure. I thought I heard somewhere that you have several dreams each time you go to sleep, but only remember the last one. Additionally each dream only lasted about ten seconds, even if duration you recall did not coincide with this. If I could just wake up, that would be really awesome. I pinched myself. Nothing happened. I did it again. Nada. Just a slight pain in my arm. But there wasn't supposed to be pain in dreams. Ugh! My head couldn't wrap itself around the problem and devour it, so instead my head was devoured by the problem. I want entirely sure how long I laid there, but I was painfully aware of when I no longer could after Sherlock returned and sat me upright against my will.

"Take these," he said, shoving books into my arms. He had his own assortment that he began flipping through, pictures of symbols and choppers on every page. "Look through and see if you can find where this code comes from. If we can break the code, we can solve the case."

My lip curled in distaste. "Screw that. I'm not looking through these books to find out the origin of the messages like I'm some student finding sources for their research paper. Plus do you think that the symbols were chosen from a book called 'An Illustrated Encyclopedia of Traditional Symbols'?" I placed the books on the coffee table. "Please. You can do this yourself."

"If you aren't going to be useful then you can excuse yourself from my presence," he said contemptuously. "It's incredibly distracting when the laziness in the room reaches tangible levels. So please," he waved me off. "You're just holding me back." I felt the bitterness in his words, a cruel and twisted echo of a phrase I gave earlier.

"Mr. Holmes, I will leave, but not because you wish it." I walked over to him and stared him down. His eyes never left the pages. "I am leaving because the less time I am required to remain in your presence the less clogged my brain will become from the accursed and toxic fumes you radiate simply by being." I gathered up the bag Mrs. Hudson had given me. "If you need me, I will be downstairs gossiping about you with Mrs. Hudson."

"I can't imagine why I would need you," he said, taking notes from the books that lay strewn about him. "Will your tantrum suffice for now, or is there something else you wish to whine and prattle on about?"

I scowled at him and left, not saying another word. My anger was paramount to his arrogance, something I had considered unfeasible by any stretch of the imagination. If I could give him just one really good wallop in the jaw, it might be able to offset the current buildup of odious frustration towards his character. Might. A teeny bit. A tiny little scrap. Just barely. Maybe. Probably not.

I knocked on her door lightly, ready to give her a huge hug for being so nice. She didn't answer so I knocked again, figuring she couldn't hear me the first. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson? It's Helen from earlier. Are you home?" All I heard was a soft thunk, muffled by the door. "Mrs. Hudson?" No answer. I opened the door and went inside, treading
carefully. "Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?" I moved into the kitchen, and all I could see was a short man dressed all in black, digging through some of her possessions.

"Who the hell are you?" He dropped a bag he was holding and ran for it, but I threw myself at him savagely and we feel to the floor. We rolled around for a bit while I attempted to punch him, falling miserably at the task. He on the other hand was having unfair luck and landed a good one right on my jaw bone, and I could feel the
reverberation throughout my mouth and teeth. Clutching at my jaw like a sissy, he scampered away. My skin bled a little, but I didn't feel anything too serious inside

Just then Mrs. Hudson returned with a grocery bag. "What happened here?" She hurried over and took a look at me. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Do you think I'd do this on purpose?" I asked. My muscles were already sore. "There was a burglar. I had come by to visit and heard something inside bump. I thought you might have fallen." My mouth twitched in pain. "It looked like the bastard had some of your stuff." I gestured at the bag he left behind. "You could say we got into a disagreement."

I massaged my jaw as she looked through the bag. "He was going to take all of my jewelry," she exclaimed, holding up a long gold chain. "And these are some of my best pieces. Oh dear, thank you so much." She threw her arms around me. "Some of these are irreplaceable heirlooms." She pulled back and looked at me seriously. "If you need anything, just ask me. I will get you all sorted out."

I thought for a moment. "Well, there is one thing..."

Any guesses? That's more like it! I got a nice few reviews from the last chapter, let's see if we can keep that going, okay?

Btw, what do you guys like more: The at each other's throats attitude, or the begrudging cooperation with occasional happy moment? Let me know, will you. I'm trying to stay these chapters out as much as possible, because that way you're not waiting after the Reichenbach Fall episode is over for an update that won't happen in months. Granted there will be some filler chapters, but not too many.

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.

PS: The symbols book I mentioned is real. It's on amazon.