Chapter 9
"Sleep," John groaned, casting a bleary eye at his flatmate. Sherlock had kept him up, insisting that he help try and crack the code. "Did you know Sherlock, that people who get more sleep have on average less health problems later in life?"
"Boring," he muttered back. His eyes scanned the photographs critically. There had to be some revelation hidden in the symbols. If only he could make the connection... "We know that this is a message from the smugglers. If we find out what it says, it could lead us straight to them. We just need Soo Lin Yao." A light knocking resounded from their door. "Come in Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock called.
"Miss me?" I said, waltzing in unabashedly. "Trying to crack the code, fascinating stuff that. But you do know that it will be impossible to solve it without Soo Lin Yao, right?" I crept up behind Sherlock, peeking over his shoulder at the pictures strewn about the table.
"John and I have already established that fact, yes." He made every attempt to ignore my prying. "However, are you aware that this is in fact our flat and not yours? From your constant presence, most would assume the opposite." His eyes were focused firmly on his work. "Besides, double checking the books can't hurt our chances."
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" I prompted him. He glanced at me in disdain. "As for my presence, that will soon be rectified. Tonight however, I am commandeering the use of your bed, as I seem to have a curious lack of one." I flounced onto the sofa and settled myself in. "Don't mind me, I shan't disrupt your vital and demanding concentration on a cipher that you cannot solve. One might say however that such work, when concerning undeniable impossibility, lends itself to distraction." I smiled contentedly.
"And who's to say I should allow you to quarter yourself in my room, depriving me of its usage?" Sherlock was now turned to me, gaze unflinching.
"As your landlady, that is my decision," Mrs. Hudson said, patting him on the shoulder. "This young lady has done me an incredible service today, so sparing your bed for one night shouldn't be much of a burden, will it Sherlock?" Her tone possessed that motherly cadence of finality, signaling the futility of any further argument. "Come on Sherlock, it's only for tonight."
He looked pointedly away from the both of us, taking a deep breath while he composed his reply. I decided to not give him the satisfaction. "You know Mr. Holmes, during these times when I am so desperately in need of such basic commodities like a bed and tea, I find myself prone to a peculiar looseness of the tongue. Who knows, most likely my carelessness on this part stems from my concern elsewhere, and I may even make the mistake of indulging your curiosity if you see fit as to gently probe my mind." My voice was relaxed, but my eyes only heightened the tension that palpitated the air as he and I began the great staring match of the century.
"Mrs. Hudson," he said after a heavy pause. "Would you be so kind as to provide our honoured guest with a cup of tea?" He made a pathetic attempt at politeness, smiling painfully as he did so. I hadn't had this much fun in a long while, making someone who liked acting so superior bow and scrape while what feeble pride they had left withered in a pool of defeat.
"Just this once, but no more Sherlock. I'm not your housekeeper." She left us to our childish face off.
Indeed, it seemed as if we were dueling in a merciless battle of wits. So much did we regress into this state, I wondered if it was possible to escape. The real kicker in this match was quite simple however; I wasn't really playing. He could try and decode each raised eyebrow and smirk, the way I shifted position every few moments, but he would time
and time again fall to comprehend any deeper meaning simply because there wasn't one. My enjoyment of the situation derived from that fact. He was just wasting his time with me, concocting up some conspiracy no doubt I figured into perfectly. However, I cannot lie and say that this didn't make me a at least a little bit crestfallen. Here I was dreaming away vicariously, and there he was, too good to be real and too annoying to be fake. It made me feel guilty, because the worst thing one could do to Sherlock Holmes would be too waste his time. I sighed inwardly. I always did have the knack for being a good old fashioned spoil-sport.
"Hamish," John said suddenly. Simultaneously we both turned to look at him, momentary confusion glazing over both of our faces. "Just in case you guys needed a good baby name. Hamish might not be good for a first, but it could be a fairly decent middle name. I mean, it is my middle name, so..." he trailed off as we both gave him an unamused look.
"John, you really shouldn't make jokes. They aren't your strongest suit." I smiled after this to let him know I was no longer angry at him. "By the way, disregard anything I may have said to you today. If this habit of mine persists, please feel free to retaliate as needed." Mrs. Hudson returned, tea on a tray. "Thank you." I removed two of the cups, handing one to Sherlock. She had made enough for everyone. "Do you have any sugar?" She indicated a small dish with a spoon sticking out of it. "Most appreciated."
I mixed in no small amount of the granules, spoon clanking against the sides. There was a small pitcher of milk, which I also poured in, letting the tea turn a light brown. I took a long sip with closed eyes and smiled with satisfaction. My eyes opened and Sherlock was right in front of me, staring unashamedly. "Could you be, you know, normal for a second, and back off?" It was beginning to feel slightly more uncomfortable then before. That said, he didn't move an inch. "I will not hesitate to punch your skinny ass, so I think it in your best interest to move now."
Watson and Mrs. Hudson quietly left the room, both willing themselves into ignorance at our queer standoff. Couldn't blame them. I wouldn't want to intervene in a situation like this.
When they had both left, he began to speak. "I find myself strangely disconcerted, Ms. Richardson. It is difficult to tell who you are exactly, and I have decided that this feeling is not one I like or wish to be repeated every again. Do you understand me?" His voice was dangerously low in pitch, but I didn't really care. I could feel his douchiness about to permeate the atmosphere.
"Oh I understand completely Mr. Holmes," I assured him. "But I am amazed that you would admit to such a thing. Indeed, not being able to deduce anything about me must be terribly frightening." A smirk tugged at my lips, wanting to mock him brazenly.
"Don't think so highly of yourself," he said in disgust. My pre-emptive smirk disappeared. "I can read your family problems in your hair, your work history by your left foot, and past relationships from the way you cross your legs. That takes mere nanoseconds to conclude. But you are full of contradictions, and that is what I cannot dissect. If you truly were grieving over the death of your boyfriend, then why have you become so irritatingly invested in the affairs of this flat? When I continue to insist upon the low regard with which I hold your character, why do you not leave in defiance? And after all that, I still do not not know how you came to be in our flat, knew so much about its inner workings and occupants, and have meddled in the on goings of my life since that time, even taking the effort to ingratiate yourself with Mrs. Hudson?" His face was inches from mine, and his whole body seemed to quiver. "Why?" His locks seemed to shake with the intensity of his frustration.
His questions made sense if one considered that this was real, but I wasn't about to break the illusion. This may have been a dream to me, but the part of him that my subconscious created didn't overlook any detail of his personality. Sherlock was had an annoying knack for futile perspicacity. And while I gathered that, it didn't mean I was going to back down from this fight.
"Go on then Mr. Holmes," I said, standing up. "You feel the need to break me down and prove to yourself you can be Mr. Genius, then go right ahead." I opened up my arms in a challenge. "Lay it on me. I'm ready. And don't hold back, it's no fun that way." I eyed him expectantly. "Go on."
His lip curled. "Your hair has traces of artificial colour, a result of home treatment. You don't maintain it, as the dye is quite old and your natural hair colour is encroaching on the dyed portion by several inches, so you don't really care about how it looks, therefore, it wasn't your idea to begin with. Was it a sister? No, she would most likely force you to undergo the treatment again. Same with the mother, the most likely instigator is a cousin. However, you do keep your hair clean and well kept for, despite how little you personally value it. This means you maintain it because someone asked you to. It can't be a sister, as she would have just made you colour it again, but it can't be the cousin because you don't see cousins as often as other family members. So it's most likely your mother, who probably agreed to the
colouring because she thought it would peak your interest in other aspects of grooming. You only invest in the minimum of effort otherwise she would scold you for it, something you resent as you are a capable adult. So, it's the classic mother/daughter rivalry afoot. She, overprotective and concerned, you, rebellious and indifferent. In this, you sought comfort from your father who was far more intuned with your personality. Such as these things do, it drove a wedge
between your parents, and they eventually divorced. Must be nice, being the cause of their breakup. Now as to your job history-"
Slap!
I didn't slap him softly either. He actually stumbled to the side slightly, more likely out of shock then sheer force, but I don't hold back. My hand stung and turned red, tingling from the contact. His cheek faced me, yet he didn't dare look back at me.
"Sherlock Holmes, you can deduce the facts from me all bloody long day, but don't you dare make assumptions about me and my emotions. You don't know me, so don't pretend to." My words were snarled, and if I were a cat I'd have hissed at him. His head turned back to me slowly, eyes still cold, as cold as metal during winter, and he didn't flinch once. Neither did I. "Now, of you'd like to continue, please proceed. But if you could take a care as to do so with tact and caution, then the entire process might in fact go a bit more smoothly."
He paused for a moment, then spoke slowly. "Was I right?" His voice was soft, thinking that if he said it gently it would constitute as tactful. "About your family, I mean."
"No, I bitch slapped you because you were wrong." I picked up my tea and took a long drink. "Of course you were right you insufferable prat. I only got angry because you overstepped your bounds." My feet carried me away from his stoic form. "Now go on, I know you're dying to analyse the rest of me."
He stood still for a moment, not wanting to incur my wrath once more. "Are you sure? I wouldn't wish to offend your delicate sensibilities by my merciless dichotomy. Few people can walk away from them and still deign to be in my presence." He turned to me, arching his eyebrow.
"Do. Your. Worst." I looked at him playfully, sheathing my talons for the moment while the two of us spent the rest of the night in conversation.
FOR THE LORD GOD OMNIPOTENT REIGNETH! Good evening my dear readers. I know it has been quite some time since my last update, but I also know that you will review anyway because you love me. Nudge nudge, wink wink, know what I mean?
Dear Kierkegaard this took forever to write. I can't wait until I'm done with this episode and onto the next, because it is seriously a drag. And plus, I'm planning something extra special for the next episode. (Eyebrow wiggle) I'm so excited, you guys are gonna hate me. Muahahaha!
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.