Serene woke up in Graham's bed just as dawn was breaking passed the London skyline. At first nothing was out of sorts until she remembered she had quite adamantly fallen asleep on the sofa in the living room insisting Graham take his bed back. Now here she was tucked up in the lonely island of silk sheets and pillows with Graham nowhere in sight.
She tried to move soundlessly through the apartment, which wasn't hard given her bare feet on the smooth tile. She turned the corner into the living room and could see feet sticking out passed the sofa.
She found him asleep on the hard tile floor of the living room, the plush rug pushed almost entirely underneath the chrome and leather settee. She remembered this feeling after coming back from months on research trips. She wouldn't sleep in her bed for a week because it had seemed too soft or too warm. Graham had been living in strange quarters for a decade, no wonder that silly posh bed had been so unappealing to him.
She wonders who knows he is in London, how careful he has been about letting himself be seen.
His sudden return could not have come at a worse time; she feels the urge to protect him, but after everything she has been through she feels swallowed by a tide much larger than herself. She suspects she may need rescuing as much as he does. Yesterday had been revelatory. She had found Greg's world appealing, but Sherlock's world was addicting.
She didn't hold illusions about becoming a detective or leaving the soft padding of academia. This was a vacation of sorts, an adventure that hadn't felt real until she had seen Lauren Attwater in the mortuary. Now it felt too real, like the balance of the entire world was hanging on finding the murderer.
She shakes her head over Graham, banishing the ridiculous thought that had taken residence in her head. Graham rolled over in his sleep, making a low groaning noise. Her roiling thoughts were worming their way into his dreams. She should leave him to sleep.
Under the bandages her cuts itch; going to bed seemed an impossibility. She walks towards the bathroom unwinding the greyed strips of gauze from her arms. She throws them in the trash and exams the angry red cuts on her forearms. They were scabbed over and she decides not to redress them. Seeing them makes her feel more grounded in the work ahead of her. She showers and dresses slowly, waiting for the numb feeling in the pit of her stomach to wane. When it doesn't she knows where she must go.
It seems a dream when she is standing outside of 221 Baker street in the cold morning. She isn't sure the exact time; somehow that information slips from her mind every time she looks at a clock. Instead she is staring blindly up at the two-storey townhouse.
The sun warms slightly on her shoulders as she stands arms wrapped around herself, her breath escaping like steam from her nose and mouth as she shudders. The warmth reminds her she has been standing here awhile, not sure whether to go in or not. Unsure how Sherlock will greet her, what he will want from her.
Yesterday had been overwhelming; they had gone from the morgue to Scotland Yard. From Bakers street to the smallest nooks and crannies of London. Breaking into soda and cigarette machines trying to find pound coins that had the same words scratched into them. In their jimmying a can of soda had exploded, hence she had stolen one of Greg's shirts. She had kept it in fact; it was currently laying across the back of the sofa she had fallen asleep on.
All throughout the day Sherlock had been receiving texts of pictures of lavender fields. Each one had been wrong and had only fueled his fervor; he had shown the coin to a woman perched on a bench by the Thames. Given her a fifty-pound note and left her without saying a word. It was brilliant; half of London's change probably crossed their hands why not use that to their advantage.
Serene heard a door unlatch and small exclamation, she turned her head and saw the woman from yesterday standing on the steps of 221 Baker Street.
"Is Sherlock not answering the bell again, dear?"
Serene half-heartedly shrugs. She isn't sure she can explain why she hasn't let herself in.
"He's probably asleep, he was up pacing all night. Come in and have a cuppa, you look half frozen."
Serene nods but doesn't move. The woman walks down the steps and she feels warm, solid hands guiding her inside.
Serene feels herself settled into a squishy vinyl chair in the small kitchen of 221A Baker Street. The woman bustles around the kitchen, a placid smile on her face as she fills a kettle and sets it on the stove.
"I know that look, you know. When I met my husband I was in such a tizzy, I walked straight into a wall-"
Mrs. Hudson turns to share a laugh with the pretty brunette at her kitchenette. Instead she sees her staring into the formica of the table. She is pale and looks tired, poor girl. Sherlock should treat her better if he was going to meddle with her. She would have to have a word with him.
"Beans on toast, dear?"
"Sorry, what?" Serene looks up from her daze.
"You look a bit peaky. Little bit of breakfast will do you good, just this once though."
Serene thinks to refuse but her stomach growls in protest; she realizes she has not had a proper meal in a couple days. Since coming home she had been drifting between nibbling on biscuits and a little cold take away.
"Thank you, I've just gotten back from holiday so I have nothing in." Serene smiles as best she can, she feels she must justify her inability to take care of herself.
"I know how it is dear, you just sit and warm up."
There is silence then as Mrs. Hudson sets about making toast, opening a tin of beans and pouring hot water into the tea pot. Serene's mind whirs thinking about the last few days. The coin, the killer, and the women. "Magnuficentia sanguine" what did it tell her? What layers could she pull back from the engraving? What mechanism lay under this case?
"How do you take it?" Serene is pulled out of her reveries.
"Oh, milk and sugar s'il vous plait"
Tea and a plate of breakfast appear in front of Serene, and she gladly takes the warm mug in her hands. The woman sits opposite her with her own breakfast.
"There now, eat your breakfast then we can have a nice chin wag about Sherlock, hmm?"
Serene feels better for the sip of tea she manages before this woman makes her laugh.
"What about Sherlock?" This woman must be under the impression Sherlock and her are some sort of item.
Before the woman can continue there is the staccato of someone descending the stairs quickly.
"Mrs. Hudson? Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock bursts in the room.
"Sherlock, we have company." She sounds like a mother speaking to a little boy.
Sherlock's eyes sweep the room, taking in Serene's presence, but they focus on the toast in front of her.
"Ah you made breakfast, excellent. Extra butter on mine."
"I'm your land lady dear, I don't make you breakfast."
Sherlock takes a plate from the dish rack. He sits matter-of-factly between Mrs. Hudson and Serene. He takes a slice of toast off of Serene's plate and drops it on his. With his other hand he takes Serene's mug, taking a large swig of her tea.
"Milk." He wrinkles his nose.
"Really Sherlock, where are your manners?"
Mrs. Hudson gets up and begins making him his own tea. Sherlock flashes a pleased, conspirator's grin at Serene, she can't hold back her bark of laughter. He is so shocking sometimes, both the stoic poet and the mischief-maker.
Serene manages a large bite of beans on toast as Mrs. Hudson puts a mug of tea down heavily in front of Sherlock.
"I thought you didn't eat when you were on a case, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson sits back down across from them gesturing with her hands. "Such a fuss last time I brought around some nibbles for him and John. Knocked the tea tray right over."
Mrs. Hudson shakes her head and laughs batting with her hands as if to waft away the memory. Serene sneaks a look at Sherlock as she takes her next bite. He raises the breakfast as if toasting Mrs. Hudson.
"I have solved the case, so my stomach can digest away." With vigor he takes a bite, and follows it with tea.
Serene drops her toast, she feels as if a bucket of cold water has been dumped over her head. She can't find her tongue, or her thoughts.
"Well done, Sherlock. Now you two have time for a proper evening. There's always a play, my husband used to take me to a theatre when we were first married-"
"You solved it?" Serene shakes her head trying to disperse the disbelief she feels.
"Yes, but hardly a cause for celebration. Or subjecting ourselves to a panto."
"You hush, Sherlock. A woman likes to be treated to an evening every once in awhile. It would do you well to remember that." Mrs. Hudson begins clearing away their breakfast dishes. Sherlock's wolfed down, but Serene's sits half eaten.
"That's all then isn't it? Be sure to write. All the usual pleasantries."
Sherlock speaks quickly Serene senses his awkwardness. She would tease him if she could dispel the panic settling into her core. Sherlock gets up and gestures crisply towards the door. Serene gets up mechanically and begins to leave; she pauses and turns to Mrs. Hudson.
"Thank you. You were very kind." Serene attempts to smile at her.
"I will see you again, my dear, I have a sense for these things" Mrs. Hudson nods knowingly as Serene drifts towards the door, Sherlock floating behind her.
She pauses at the door her hand on the latch she turns into him. He hadn't been expecting her to pause and their bodies are closer than he would have chosen. He feels her eyes burn into him as he looks at an uninteresting inch of door to her right. She was ashen this morning, her eyes far away. He can't justify the protective feeling coiling in his stomach or the way his fingers twitch when he thinks about touching her hair. Instead he finds his hand resting over top of hers on the latch.
"Do you require assistance?"
"You didn't solve it."
Sherlock's hand is warm over top of hers and he smells different today. He isn't wearing cologne, the soap that clings to his skin is fine but no replacement for the heady scent he was wearing yesterday. She likes this better, he feels naked in front of her. She wills him to look into her eyes.
"Do you need proof?"
"Usually"
He removes his hand from hers and steps back from the door. He gestures to the stairs up to his flat behind him, there is a challenge in the sweep of his arm. Serene senses false bravado she passes him her head held high. He had been trying to be rid of her. After their mad chase yesterday she had thought she had risen in his esteem, but now he seemed to be trying to trick her.
Sherlock follows Serene's swaying hips up the stairs. He would have preferred to bound them two at a time, but Serene was moving at a slow determined stride. She had sensed his earlier deception and now was prolonging the moment before all would be revealed. It hadn't been a lie exactly. He was farther than he was yesterday, but he had not yet chased down all the answers. Despite his earlier resolve to take Serene as assistant and remold her into a detective he had since abandoned the plan. He had hit upon an inconvenient truth while pacing in thought the evening before, that Serene's quick intellect was less useful to him if it cost him his connection to Scotland Yard. Lestrade had marked his territory with this woman, and no matter what her feelings were; he would not allow Sherlock to interfere. And Sherlock intended to interfere.
If he could be honest with himself, he felt an awkwardness at the thought of accepting Serene's forward attentions. However her relationship with Lestrade was developing it could only hinder his work. Sherlock considered taking over the role of sexual partner in order to keep Serene focused on the work ahead of them, but he would certainly lose Lestrade. He could not admit to himself that Serene might be a distraction to him. He was drawn to her mind and her body, which was inconvenient. What had woken him from his sleep on the sofa last night had been dreams of Serene. He had dreamt she materialized over top of him on the sofa, half waking him from sleep. Her was body immaterial, an illusion writhing on him and caressing him. Her kisses were not quite real, her hands ghosting over him but somehow driving him closer and closer to orgasm. He had woken sweaty and unsatisfied. Alone in his flat the adrenaline pumping through him he had attacked the case with an insatiable energy. The mere apparition of Serene had spurred this in him; he could not imagine what heights his mind could reach with the living, breathing woman.
She reaches his flat first and walks straight to the coffee table with its papers splayed out and its mug rings. Serene picks up one of the maps Sherlock had printed out looking at it intently. He follows her into the apartment hovering behind her; counting the seconds before his deception is revealed.
"What is wrong with the bed?"
"I prefer the sofa when I am working."
She hasn't looked up from the map and yet he knows she has cataloged the room already.
Serene drops the map and watches it as it slips itself among the other papers. She sits on the sofa where hours before he had dreamt he had made love to her. She holds her hands and looks up at him expectantly.
"Alright, solve it."
"I have solved it."
Serene doesn't say another word, she looks at him expectantly her hands open in a welcoming gesture. She wants him to continue. Sherlock is frustrated normally such a pronouncement would have been the end to it. Lestrade would nod and do whatever he asked. Instead this brunette with wide set eyes is challenging him and he suddenly wants to make her cry.
"First lets talk about your house guest." Sherlock watches with glee as Serene's shoulders stiffen. "As there aren't really work emergencies in Entomology I assume he returned home last night. He doesn't know that your proclivities have alerted the British government to who owns that lease. He won't last long, not with his resume-"
With impressive speed Serene rises from the sofa and is in front of him. Sherlock catches Serene's wrist as she arced her hand for what surely would have been a jaw cracking blow. He grips her wrist hard and she hisses as his palm digs into her scabs. They are a step away from being a tangle of limbs on the sofa.
Sherlock considers sending them backwards he steps closer to her, their hands raised between their bodies like a shield. His eyes trail from her eyes down her throat to the small triangle of flesh between her collar and her top button. He feels heat between them and Serene pulls back against him, challenging him.
There is the pounding of Mrs. Hudson ascending the stairs and Sherlock releases her wrist as if it burnt him.
"Sherlock, Sherlock" Mrs. Hudson lets out a little gasp as she comes into the room. "Sorry to disturb you dear, but Mr. Chatterjee is complaining about a certain... associate of yours. Can you go get him out from under the awning?"
Sherlock steps away from Serene straightening the front of his jacket. Serene feels herself breath easier, one of the homeless network had turned up something valuable. There was hope a new piece of the puzzle. She moves like a shot across the room her anger about Sherlock's threats to Graham and his safety was forgotten as she picked up the fresh scent. She takes the stairs two at a time Sherlock behind her his pace fluid like a dancer.
She sees the boy hanging just under the awning of the coffee shop, he seems too young to be homeless and her heart breaks as loudly as it thrills. She practically runs up to him.
"What have you found?" Serene begs him.
"Spare some change, Miss?" The boy looks blankly at her. His eyes sweep up behind her shoulder and the accompanying bang tells her Sherlock has made his way outside.
Serene digs in her pockets and pulls out a couple crumpled fivers. She thrusts them into his hand and the boy tucks them into his pockets nodding.
"Well?" Serene could shake him she is so frustrated. She feels Sherlock swagger up behind her and watch this quickly growing train wreck. "torrieu."
She takes out her wallet and hands the boy a twenty pound note. He merely shrugs and tucks the money in his pocket.
"How much money do you pay them?" Serene turns her head desperately to Sherlock.
He laughs at her his grin mischievous. He has been clever. He brushes passed her with a pleased bounce in his gait as he passes he whispers to her "You don't."
Sherlock positions himself in front of the boy deliberately.
"Spare some change, Mister?"
"Don't mind if I do." Sherlock snatches the piece of paper from between the boy's fingers.
He smugly snaps open the sheet as he walks passed Serene to hail a taxi. "I just know the password."
"What does it say?"
"Nothing important." Sherlock wrinkles his nose and shrugs his shoulders as the scrap of paper vanishes into his pocket. Serene walks towards him with her hand held out.
"I paid for it. Now give it to me."
"I think you'll find it was my fifty quid which began it all."
"What about all that?" Serene gestures hopelessly after the boy who had melted away once he had delivered his message to Sherlock.
"Charitable donation." Sherlock turns up the collar of his coat and steps to the curb to hail a cab. "Really must be going."
A black cab pulls up to the curb and Sherlock makes to get in. Instead he feels Serene's solid body thrown between him and the cab.
She slides into the back of the cab and pats the seat beside her. "Do join me Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock's eyes sweep across the street before following her into the cab.