Chapter 13

"Neither Shakespeare nor Tennyson could illustrate and depict the perfect ruckus you have caused since your most ill-timed arrival."

"Sherlock Holmes, I do believe that is the nicest compliment you have ever given me. To say that I could puzzle the great literary giants themselves, whose very name inspires awe and the deepest respect, well, I've never heard of the like in my entire life."

"You mistake me madam. What joy is to be gained from horrifying their constitutions? I find such a statement perverse and highly insupportable. I must reiterate that your distinct brand of sarcasm and vitriol has caused the deepest frustration and unwanted ruckus I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing and enduring in my life."

"A ruckus? Me? I cannot comprehend such a statement. Could you perhaps exactly describe what qualifies as a 'ruckus' in your eyes? I find your declaration beguiling as to the nature of my so-called riotous descent into your dwelling. Indeed, I'm hard pressed to find an occasion when I have undergone such befuddlement before."

"You are the single most irritating and insufferable person I have ever met."

"Are we resorting to petty exchanges of the barest insults now? Fine, then you are the hugest disappointment it has been my misfortune to know."

"Grating, puerile woman."

"Bombastic, cruel man."

"Guttersnipe."

"Virgin."

Cue fits of laughter from both sides.

My head was splitting. And reeling. And pounding. Shit, what did I do? Oh. Yeah. I remember now.

Universe, may I entreat you to carry me back into my restful state of slumber?

No? Well, okay then. I guess I should have expected that.

I opened my eyes. Somehow I had made it back into Sherlock's room and was carefully wrapped in his duvet. Great, didn't take too long for me to figure out what happened there. Geez, I can't believe he deigned to carry me all the way back to his flat with my gross mucus and tears ruining his perfectly clean coat. Must've taken all his willpower not to drop me on the way back. Or maybe he made John carry me.

I sat up, wincing as my head pounded even harder. What time was it? It was still dark outside, that much I could tell from his window. I squinted around the room and spied a clock on the bedside table, flashing the numbers '3:48' at me in big red font. Next to it was a glass of water, and mercifully a bottle of ibuprofen. With shaking hands I uncorked it and poured two in my hand, then swallowed them instantly. I drained the glass quickly and sighed. There was no way I was leaving this room. I didn't want to face either of them. I snuggled back down into the blankets, pulling my head underneath.

A little while later I heard someone open the door, and my eyes opened from underneath the covering. "Helen?" It was John. I tried not to move, so maybe he'd think I was still asleep. "You awake?" Try not to move, try not to move... Footsteps back tracked and shut the door behind them. I closed my eyes in relief.

Seconds later I heard the door open once again. "Helen, get up." Of course it was Sherlock. He couldn't wait just a few more hours to be an ass. Nope, he had to do it now. "Helen, the water is gone, the bottle open, and you have changed sleeping position. That, and the fact that your breathing pattern has differentiated from previously, must mean that you are therefore awake. Now, get up." When I still didn't move, he ripped the sheets off the bed, and I cringed from the shock.

"You know, if you gave me some sort of motivation to get up, like say a pastry or a more pleasing manner, then perhaps I would be more inclined to comply with your order. Until that time however, I would prefer to remain as I am. As it is, even if you adopted such an attitude adjustment, orders on your part would most likely be ignored simply because they are indeed orders and not requests. Now go back to your books, you'll make no headway with me." I grabbed one of his pillows and hugged it tight to my chest.

"You do realise precisely how petulant you come across by acting this way, don't you?"

"Yes, I am acting petulant. But I'm also in a state of emotional distress and moderate physical harm. So if you'll kindly let me be, it would be most appreciated." I flipped over so my back was facing him. He sat down next to me on the bed. My heart began to beat wildly. Part of me was excited, but the other part was angry I was excited. My fangirl side was peeking out. I was on the same bed as Sherlock Holmes, albeit the implications were utterly platonic.

"Helen, I understand that for women, there are times of the month that emotions are intensified, but-"

"JOHN!" I yelled suddenly. "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE THIS BLOODY INSTANT OR I SWEAR I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" I turned around and kicked Sherlock off of the bed.

John was there in seconds. "What, what is it?"

"Tell him Sherlock," I said, my voice wild with rage. "Tell him what you just said to me." He deadpanned. "Tell him now," I growled.

"I merely explained to Helen that heightened emotions are natural during certain times of the month, and-"

"Merely?" I said. "You merely told me? You know what Sherlock, you know what you are? You're a dick. The world's biggest dick who's insensitivity and complete lack of tact knows no bounds. It amazes me that you are conceited enough to assume that my angst stems from my menstrual cycle and not from the fact that I was recently witness to a murder. I never thought that you would be privy to the male fallacy of disrespecting a woman's right to be furious for reasons other then a period! Or do you think me incapable of true anger? Because believe you me Sherlock, right now, I'M VERY ANGRY!"

The two of them blanched, looking at each other. I raised my eyebrows, looking at Sherlock expectantly. He said nothing.

"Alright, well if either of you need me I'm going to finish furnishing my apartment." I walked out, not looking back once as I did. Rude awakenings never thrilled me. Do they ever thrill anyone?

Damn him! Damn that pompous, pansy ass, scarf wearing, perfectly curled head of his. Screw him and his damned pride! Next time he acted like that, I would open up a can of condemnation-whoop-ass on that slender figure of his. Godamn shit I was angry. I was furious. I was fuming. I wouldn't mind getting along with Sherlock if he would just bloody give me a chance to, but most times he was too busy being an ass. My arms flailed in frustration.

"Sherlock, you do realise she's right don't you?" John crossed his arms and looked at his flatmate. His friend refrained from responding, and replaced the sheets on his bed instead. "Look, you acted like a dick. It was idiotic of you to play on her emotions like that. You can't treat her like an experiment. Now own up to it and apologize."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And why should I do that? I made a wrong assumption, anyone could have committed the same mistake. She should realise that and move on."

John sighed. "You're going to apologise because that's what we men do." John gestured to himself. "If men act like prats, something you are constantly guilty of, then they have to take responsibility for these sorts of things."

"Dull," Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"What? Oh never mind," his friend said, giving up on the consulting detective. "Fine, if you want to alienate one of your very few friends then be my guest. Just don't expect me to stick around to watch you screw up." He left, leaving Sherlock to his own devices.

Meanwhile I was tearing into Mrs. Hudson's store room, absolutely determined to get that couch if my life depended on it. Which it didn't, but I was certain that my sanity in fact did. Besides, this was a much more constructive use of my time then competing with Sherlock. He was right, I was acting like a child, but I had a good reason so there was nothing he could do about it, so neener, neener, neener, and I'll be damned of he says otherwise!

"Helen," a voice called from the doorway.

"I don't have time for your shit Sherlock, so go shove it back up your ass." My fingers ached from the work, and I cracked them slowly. The process of reclaiming the couch had proved incredibly therapeutic. My efforts were rewarded. The sofa was now free from the thicket of clutter and junk. I began to drag one end of it out of the room. "Move," I said, backing into him. He obliged, and I pulled it out, relishing in my achievement, small though it may have been. I closed the door to the storeroom, having no further need of it. When I looked back, Sherlock had a hold on one end, waiting for me. "I don't need your help," I said spitefully.

"I wasn't offering you a choice in the matter." He smiled maddeningly. "Shall we begin?"

Slowly I walked over and took the other end, lifting up and walking with him in tandem to my flat. "What's this about Sherlock? Your scheming something, I know it." My eyes narrowed at him. "Tell me, or I swear on all the experiments in your flat that if you don't tell me, they will see a very swift and merciless demise from a quick and cutting clever."

"I assure you, my ulterior motives are non-existent." He was putting on the front of good-natured neighbour, but I didn't buy it, not for a second. "Really, I have no agenda whatsoever." Evidently he sensed my distrust. Not that I was trying to hide it anyway.

"You're the most loathsome liar this world has ever created," I hissed.

"So you believe the world made me this way?" He replied. "Did it not ever cross your mind that perhaps I chose to distort the truth, instead of it being a product of my environment and utilised due to necessity?"

"No, I don't think that at all," I answered. "Being a liar is to always be alone. Nobody chooses that if they don't have to." We arrived at my door. I gently released my end and opened it, then returned to the sofa. "I want this on that wall over there," I said, flicking my head in the direction. We manoeuvred it inside, placing it right where I had indicated. "There," I said, dusting off my hands. "That was easy." I sat down, letting myself relax. I felt the pillows sink next to me as he joined in. "Thanks for helping," I said with a yawn. "I really appreciate it."

"It was nothing," he said quietly. We sat in silence for a minute, neither of us sure what to say.

"You're never going to apologise are you?" I said nonchalantly.

"Decidedly not," he informed me.

I sighed. "Of course not." My eyes closed. "What else could I expect, coming from the Sherlock Holmes himself?" I chuckled.

"I was wrong though," he said.

I did the fastest double take you had ever seen. "What did you say?"

"Hmm?" He said, looking at me innocently.

"You said something I didn't quite catch, could you possibly repeat it?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to."

I could have gotten angry with him again for being a dick, but I knew what he said. He may not apologise, he may not be sorry, but at least he admitted when he was wrong, he just didn't like to dwell on it. And let's be honest, who does like to think about being wrong?

So this time, just this once, I laughed. "You're a right git you know that?" I said, a smile fixing itself unwillingly on my face. My body drooped and I leaned over, my head landing in his lap. "Sorry, but I'm tired and your lap is right here."

"Not at all," he responded. "But perhaps you would not be as willing to rest your head on my legs if you remembered a small detail." I sat up and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "It's nothing really, inconsequential of course, but I did not forget about it's existence." He had been looking forward, and turned his face slowly to me. "I assume by your silence that it has escaped your remembrance. We had a bet."

It dawned on me what he was talking about. "That's right! Well then, where is my credit card?" I held out my fingers. "Well go on, give it up. I won fair and square, let me see that glorious piece of plastic." He kept looking at me, not changing expression all the while. "What? Oh that's right, John still has it. Alright, let's go fetch it." I began to get up but he held me back. "What now?"

"Soo Lin Yao possessed a small tattoo on the underside of her foot," he said. I was about to speak again, but he stopped me. "You bet me my credit card that she had a tattoo, and if you were wrong I was to receive five questions and a favour."

"Yeah, I was right. Now let's go get my prize."

"Except she had two tattoos. Therefore, the win is mine to claim, as you bet against me that she only had a tattoo, not multiple." We both stared at each other for a minute, him patiently waiting for my reaction.

"Don't you lie to me. If she did have two I want proof."

"Right here," he said, pulling out his phone. He showed me a picture of a wing tattooed behind an ear. "That is Soo Lin Yao after her autopsy. We went down to St. Barts after I brought you back here. A girl there let me examine the bodies, and on Soo Lin we found this." My eyes scanned the photograph, looking for some indication of farce. I could find none.

This was bad. This was extremely very not good.

HAPPY 100 REVIEWS!

Thanks for all the support guys, I really appreciate it. I had this chapter written when I realised how close I was to 100, so I said I'd update when it got there. And it did. Thank you zelda fan, whoever you are! And you'll get your wish, to see Sherlock winning the bet. Funny how things like that with out. Must be reviewer karma.

Anyway, I love you all and hope you liked this. Friend me on Facebook or follow me on tumblr, or both, and you can have ample access to pester me for updates. Links are in the profile.

Also, Frostivy suggested a pairing name in her review. I liked Shelen, but there was Herlock and Helock too. What do you guys think?