ABRIELLE'S POV
After running hand in hand through the streets Sherlock and I had finally made it to the espresso bar that we had determined Van Coon had stopped at on the day of his death. Sherlock's hands. Oh, his hands were the hands of an angel. They were so perfect, and they fit so perfectly with my own. We were like two chemicals that together could create the ultimate compound. And running with the man was like flying through the sky, my feet dancing amongst the clouds. Being with Sherlock made everything better, and holding his hand made me feel like I was safe … like I could accomplish anything. He was everything that I could hope for … and soon he would be gone. Soon Mycroft would make me complete the one mission I never wanted to. The ultimate challenge, and he was standing right in front of me.
"So he bought his lunch from here en route to the station, but where was he headed from? Where did the taxi drop him ...?" Sherlock questioned, walking backwards as he talked to me, his sentence trailing off as he bumped into John who seemed to be preoccupied as well as he read what could only be Lukis' diary. As they both fell to the ground I couldn't help but laugh as Sherlock glared at me, his expression making the whole situation even more hilarious.
"Right." John said, getting up and dusting himself off as I helped Sherlock up, his tone slightly annoyed.
"Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case was heavy. We've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information …" I rambled at a quick pace, not even caring if they understood a word I said.
"Bree." John called, causing me to stop talking and look at him as if waiting for him to speak more … yet, before he could say anything Sherlock took the silence as a sign to finish my previous statement.
"... credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here." He concluded, causing me to glare in his direction. Not only had he stolen my dramatic finishing statement, he had totally interrupted John! I mean, yeah, John was totally used to being interrupted … by both of us for that matter, but that didn't mean that it was a good thing. Poor John.
"Sherlock." John said, trying to, obviously, get the attention of the man that was now pacing up and down a strip of sidewalk, the gears in his head spinning as he tried to determine the exact place both Van Coon and Lukis had stopped at.
"Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don't know where, but …"
"That shop over there." John stated, cutting the man off and pointing at the shop at the other side of the road. We stared at the shop, both of us amazed and a bit confused at how the hell John had possibly been able to figure that out.
"How can you tell?"
"Lukis' diary. He was here too. He wrote down the address." John replied, showing the pair of us an entry of the diary. He smiled at the pair of us, almost as if he were gloating that he had figured it out before us. Which was very odd for the both of us considering he hardly ever figured things out on his own. Granted, he did have a book that had outright told him where the shop would be. It was still really weird though.
He snapped the book shut with a loud snap, taking me right out of my thoughts as he waltzed off across the street leaving both Sherlock and I dumbstruck.
"I feel like we did all that work for nothing." I stated, watching as John walked further and further away. All that work, going through all those receipts was for no reason. I had literally spent a good a few minutes trying to deduce where Van Coon had gone by using those receipts, and after all of that my deduction wasn't even needed.
"I just feel like an idiot now." Sherlock said, slapping himself in the face as if trying to scold himself for wasting so much time trying to figure out what John had already known. He was anything but an idiot. He was amazing. Nobody could even compare to how amazing he was. Not one man on earth was as unique or smart as the man that stood in front of me now. His mind was as beautiful as he was. Flawlessly perfect, just like everything else about him.
"You're nothing like an idiot Sherlock. You're my genius." I told him, giving him a small smile as I grabbed his hand once again, feeling his warm palm in my own.
"And you're my enigma." He told me, smiling back at me as he grasped my hand tighter, as though it made him feel safer. He actually liked holding my hand. Sherlock Holmes, the man that I've been told had no heart or emotions whatsoever, was actually, properly holding my hand! He wasn't shying away from the touch, or indicating that it made him uncomfortable, he was actually holding on tighter as though he liked it! Perhaps he did like me? No, that couldn't be the case. He was too much of a sociopath to fall in love, let alone fall in love with me.
"We should follow John before he yells at us." I stuttered, trying to keep a straight face while I talked to him, a gigantic lump in my throat as I tried to stop myself from dwelling too much on the thought of our hands together once again.
"Good idea." He replied, the two of us moving to follow after John who was now standing outside the shop looking a bit annoyed by our slow pace, my mind still stuck on the way Sherlock had grasped my hand tighter. It seemed like he had been consoled by the thought of my hand in his. As if it was right. Just like I felt safe when I touched him. Like I felt like I could accomplish anything. Did he feel the same way? Did he think of me like I thought of him every second of every day? Did he feel the same spark I felt, or the pull of something pushing me closer and closer to him? Did he feel like he was flying when we were together? Or was I just trying to find something in nothing. I wanted … no needed to know if he felt the same. I knew he could feel love. If his brother could, I knew it was not impossible. But the question was … could he fall in love with me?
