A/N: Damn you guys are fast. I LOVE YOU! Warning, little bit vulgar in this chapter. Reader discretion is advised (not that any of you young readers care because I probably wouldn't if I was your age, but now nobody can fault me for not putting a caveat in).
Chapter 20
He was doing it to annoy me. He had succeeded. That annoyed me even more. And he knew that too. In fact, he went out of his way to keep me in those goddamn pieces of metal for as long as he deemed necessary. It was especially bad when John went gone to work, because then there was nobody to talk to besides him. Thankfully John returned, looking smitten. Guess I didn't cockblock his relationship with Sarah after all. It had almost been three whole days already, I hadn't been able to sleep in my own flat and was forced to share a bed with him (platonically of course), and I was about to strangle Sherlock's neck from the irritation his proximity warranted. I think he knew this too.
"Although you may desire me dead, dear Helen, I am afraid there is nothing I can do to alleviate your stress." Sherlock was reading the day's paper. "You must invest in alternative methods I'm afraid. If you want I can give you a couple of recommendations. Taking up nicotine patches could prove effective. Also admitting that a job is pointless might allay the considerable strain I'm sure is weighing on your mind at present."
"Although you may desire me explained, dear Sherlock, I am afraid there is nothing I can do to alleviate your curiosity." I tugged fruitlessly on the cuffs, hoping to annoy him. "You must spend your energy elsewhere I'm afraid. I have some suggestions if you like. Ingratiating yourself to me could help me open up more naturally. Oh, and admitting that you're the world's greatest prat might help your case as well. I never have liked those who deny their own faults."
"Denial is one thing, acknowledgment is another," he countered. "People are surprisingly aware of their faults. It is there inability to make others aware that makes them human. Our would you deny people the right to be privately shamed rather then publicly?" I grumbled out nothing particularly intelligible back at him. "What was that? Is that the sound of your logic failing?"
John was quietly typing away on his laptop, attempting to stay out of it.
"Are you writing up the case?" I asked him. He nodded. "Can you pretty please not mention me?"
"Why should he do that? It is a blog about his life so he should be able to put whatever happens to him in it." Sherlock flipped a page of the newspaper.
"Maybe he'll do it because I asked nicely. Maybe he'll do it just to annoy you. Maybe he'll do it because you don't know that the earth revolves around the sun." Sherlock and I stared at each other for a moment while John watched.
"That's preposterous!" John said. "Of course Sherlock knows that the earth revolves around the sun. How could he not? Isn't that right Sherlock? Sherlock?" He looked at his friend in disbelief. Sherlock said nothing. "Are you serious? How could you not know that?"
Suddenly Sherlock stood up. Which, by proxy, meant that I also stood up. I really hate handcuffs. "Come on Helen. I've got some experiments I wish to perform at St. Barts." He dragged me along with him, and I waved a quick goodbye to John. "See you later."
"Come on Sherlock, it's nearly sundown!" I complained. He hailed a cab, not listening. "Really? Can't you let me stay behind and sleep or something? I don't even know why you have me in these to begin with. If I didn't know any better I'd say you handcuffed us together simply because you want to be near me."
"Don't be ridiculous," he answered quickly. "I have you duly attached to me because I am hoping you will reveal more of the mystery surrounding you by an accidental slip of the tongue." I rolled my eyes as we rode along to the morgue. "And I also suspect that the more time you spend near me, willing or not, it will decrease your ability to handle a dull life, so you never consider obtaining a real job."
"And why do you care?" I asked, irritated. He didn't answer. "Whatever. So what experiments are we doing there then? If it's dangerous you should watch your back otherwise I'm going to pour acid all over your hair so it burns and shit."
"We're measuring the coagulation of saliva," he replied. "Chances to deface me will be limited."
"Right," I muttered. We finally arrived and headed straight to the morgue. "You know you could be nicer and maybe a tad more sociable of we're going to be linked like this."
"Why?" He asked with genuine ignorance.
"Oh you know, the usual." I sighed dramatically. "It's awfully lonely being the only one willing to talk in this relationship. I just feel neglected that's all. Sometimes it's like I'm talking to a wall, but then you speak and it's actually a condescending otter with a bad attitude." We walked through a pair of doors, with me still speaking. "Honestly Sherlock, do you care about us at all?"
Sherlock coughed and nudged me, none to gently, in the ribs. I elbowed him back even harder, but looked forward to see Molly Hooper with a look of shock on her face.
"Oh hello!" I said, rushing forward. Sherlock tagged along unwillingly. I stuck out my hand. "It is my pleasure!" She took my hand cautiously and I shook it vigorously. "I've heard so much about you from Sherlock. Molly Hooper, am I right, or am I right?" I beamed out a big huge cheesy grin. "An honour, an absolute honour." I let go, completely giddy.
"Hello," she said nervously. "Um, so this is..." Molly trailed off, looking at the handcuffs.
"Let me introduce you," Sherlock said. "Molly, this is my assistant Helen. Helen, as you seem to miraculously already know for some reason, this is Molly."
"Eh? Assistant?" I glared at him. "Would you care to rephrase that to something else, like perhaps your- hey!" He had elbowed me again.
"Do you have some cadavers that I can take samples from?" Sherlock said. "Preferably recent deaths, and with a head ideally. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva." He pulled me along and began looking at the body she had out on the table. "Like this one here," he said. Next he pulled me over to a cabinet and started removing equipment. "I'll only be a few seconds." With rapid speed he started to swab the insides of the mouth and placed the data into test tubes. My hand flew wherever he happened to move, and to be honest it was getting annoying. "Thank you, that will be all for now." And just as quickly as we came in we were out.
"Well that was weird," I scolded him as the doors shut behind us. "Why'd you have to be so antisocial? It's not like I was saying anything particularly stupid. Or was my eagerness to chat with Molly and sway her from her frankly ludicrous infatuation with you not part of your grand plan? Which I'm assuming you have one as all evil geniuses do."
He said nothing.
"Whatever," I said.
We made it up to the laboratory where he set up a station for his experiments. He smeared the swabs on the glass slides and then exposed them to different conditions. After that he'd observe them under a microscope. And as usual, my hands was prey to moving about wildly, suddenly, and without my consent. Which I could only stomach so much of before gagging.
"Sherlock," I whispered. "Pssst!" He didn't answer. "Sherlock. Sherlock. Sheeeerrrrrrrloock." I leaned in close to his afro. "Shhhherlock." I could see he struggled to ignore me. I needed work harder then. "Sherlock. Sherrrrr-lock! Sher-sher-sher-Sherlock!" His eyebrow twitched. Getting warmer... "Bendy dick cum on my baps, Shirley!"
"What is it?" He said, not turning away from his microscope.
Victory! "I need to go to the bathroom."
"Then hold it, like your tongue perhaps?" He continued to observe the slides under the lens.
I was not satisfied. I flexed my fingers and looked at the cuffs, and an idea formed inside my devious little head. Suddenly I let my arm grow heavy with weight, no longer holding it up at his expense. In glee I watched as he carried my arm as his own weight, thus causing him to make a severe effort to hold his own up.
"May I go to the bathroom?" I asked once more.
"May you not drag me down with your stupidity, both metaphorically and physically?" He replied.
"Fine then," I said. "Whoops!" I fake fell onto the ground face down, dragging the irritable consulting detective with me. As my body hit the floor he came crashing with me, finding home alongside my torso. "Sorry, guess I nearly fainted from the need to clear my bowels. Darn mother nature, always getting in the way of motor functions."
"FINE!" Sherlock yelled, reaching over to my wrist. He retrieved the key and unlocked me. "Go to the bathroom. You have five minutes or I'll barge in there myself, regardless of whatever you're in the process of doing."
I rubbed the skin around my wrist. "Thank you!" I skipped away gladly. He was being quite a curmudgeon today. Must be the threat of oncoming boredom that was getting him down. It took me a second or two but I found my way into a bathroom and washed my hands, not actually needing to use it at all. I looked up from the mirror to see Molly standing behind me.
"Are you really Sherlock's assistant?" She asked apprehensively.
"Oh god no, I'd never work under the likes of him," I assured her. "He's a right git. Smart, mind you, yet incredibly tactless. But I'm sure you already know that." I dried my hands and turned to her. "He's really not worth my time."
"So you aren't... together?" She fidgeted awkwardly.
Oh my god. This scene right here. This fucking scene. Can we talk about this scene for a minute? I've read this scene in a million stories by otherwise talented authors. For some reason I've never particularly liked how the handled her jealously. It's not that they did a bad job, it just comes off a little forced to me. That's a personal preference, an opinion.
"Fuck no girl, penis is not my thing." I went right for it. No questions. This girl was obviously not having sex with Sherlock Holmes. "In fact, the very idea about doing a dude is just like, ewww, no. In fact my mantra is, and pardon me for it's vulgarity, no boobs, no clit, no service." I smiled at her. "If I was straight I'd probably be all over him, but alas it twas never meant to be." I mock sighed. "In the meantime, I'll just have to settle for being his neighbour."
I could see Molly sighed a very visible sigh of relief. "Oh, okay then." She smiled sweetly, if still a bit nervous. "So, what was with the whole," she stammered, gesturing with her eyes at my wrist. "That whole handcuff thing. Just out of curiosity," she added quickly. "If you don't want to tell me I don't mind."
"Oh, that thing?" I said. "One of his crazy experiments." My shoulders shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I don't understand any of it." She giggled, and I joined in with her. I hoped she didn't feel threatened or anything now. I mean, how could she? She thought I was a lesbian.
Suddenly Sherlock burst in. "You were taking to long," he said to me. "I've collected almost all the necessary data. We're heading back to Baker St in five minutes. I just need to take one last look at a culture. Hello Molly."
"Oh, hi Sherlock!" She said, a bit breathlessly. "Fancy seeing you here in the ladies lavatory."
"I'll be waiting in the lab then," I said, giving Molly a wink as I left. She blushed.
Sherlock went to the sink and washed his hands, completely unabashed at being in the ladies room. "Did she say anything malicious or offensive to you?"
Molly did a double take. "What? No, don't be ridiculous. Our conversation was merely enlightening. That's all."
"Enlightening?" He said.
"Yes, well, it's just nice to see that you have acquaintances from nearly all demographics." She was about to leave when he stopped her.
"What do you mean?" He called.
"Well, I guess I mean that it's nice that you to see you having a friend who's so openly gay." She fiddled with her hair.
Sherlock paused, then looked at her. "Do you mean John?"
"Of course not silly," Molly said with a laugh. "I'm talking about Helen, the girl who just left. We were chatting about this and that, you know how girls are, and she just happened to mention that she was... Sherlock?" The man had brushed past her and left.
I was sitting on a stool swinging around in a circle when my favourite little ass butt walked in. I went to say something, but the look on his face made me stop. It wasn't anger, it wasn't frustration, hell I don't know what the fuck it was. But, for whatever reason, it made me stop talking.
He sat down at his little station and observed a few more things, forgetting perhaps on purpose to use the cuffs again. A few minutes later and he finished, standing up and gathering his coat. He looked at me for a moment, then walked out without saying a word. I followed him, irritated. He was being a jerk. He could at least afford to call me an idiot or something. Our entire journey home was much the same, with neither of us willing to say anything.
When I did manage to get through the door of Baker St, instead of heading down to my own flat I felt a tug on my sleeve from Sherlock, which ended up being less of a tug and more of a drag.
"What?" I said the moment we crossed the threshold into the living room.
"Are you a homosexual?" He asked.
"Excuse me?" I said laughing.
"Are you a homosexual?" He repeated.
"What in the bloody, Cluedo soaked hell, gave you that idea?"
"Molly implied to me that part of your conversion together in the water closet concerned your sexual orientation, and that you heavily suggested that your own predilection for a sexual partner was someone of the same gender as yourself." He walked a few steps closer. "If you are wondering why I am so interested in clarifying this issue, it is because since I am apparently doomed to know as little about you as I do, every piece of information that I come across that does involve you in some form or another, is yet another tool with which to make out your history and character." He came even closer, now only a few centimetres away. "So tell me, did you make such a revelation to Molly?"
Wow, I can't believe I was having this conversation with Sherlock Holmes of all people. Let's frustrate him! "I don't know what you are talking about Sherlock," I said. "I barely remember what I talked about with Molly, because you see, I was simply lost in those magnificent eyes of hers. You think you could get me get number?"
He drew back and paused for a moment, thinking. "You're mocking me."
"No shit Sherlock!" I said, laughing. I've always wanted to say that to him. "If you must know, dear Shirley, I am as straight as our little Johnny boy."
Sherlock paused again. "That doesn't help, Helen."
"Fine, I'm as straight as your brother then."
"Helen..."
"I get it, fine! Do you want me to say it explicitly then?" He looked at me expectantly. "Alright. I, Helen Richardson, have only ever felt sexual attraction to persons of the opposite gender then myself, and have only entered into relationships with such persons in my lifetime thus far. I can safely say that I have never had homosexual tendencies for any female on this earth, and probably never will. Satisfied?" He nodded. "Good. Now where is John?"
"I think he had a date," Sherlock mused.
"Good for him," I said. I made to leave when he put a hand on my shoulder. "What?" Click! "Aww, come on Sherlock!" He had replaced the handcuffs. "Is this really necessary?"
Mrs. Hudson walked in. "Are you two having a bit of a domestic?" She had become accustomed to our weird, our weird... whatever our thing was. John had been out more often because of this, not wanting to explain to Sherlock yet again why he was muttering "get a room." I supposed John had left to Sarah's for the night.
"A domestic is much more entertaining then hateful boredom," Sherlock replied.
"As long as you treat her right," Mrs. Hudson said, leaving.
I looked at Sherlock, and in spite of myself, laughed. He joined in a few seconds later.
And then the windows exploded.
OMFG OVER 200 REVIEWS! YOU DID IT GUYS! I LOVE YOU ALL SO FUCKING MUCH RIGHT NOW I CAN'T EVEN-
In other news, I finally finished the second episode and can move along to the third one! You know how long I've been waiting for this episode? FOR THE PAST 19 CHAPTERS THAT'S HOW LONG. I already knew exactly what's going to happen right up to the end. And you guys are going to hate me. Because I am Moffat. Now give me your firstborn! Or a review, whichever comes first.