Isabel woke up Saturday morning to the sound of thunder booming in the distance. She sat up, checking the time on her alarm clock: 5 AM. She had to be at work in two hours, and she could tell that it wouldn't be easy getting there. She hopped in the shower, enjoying the warmth of the hot water rushing down her skin. When she got out, she noticed a slip of paper taped to the wall. Not bothering to read it, she threw it out, and walked into her room to get ready for the day.
She slipped on her black lace tights, putting on her red pencil skirt. She looked for her white ruffled shirt, running about the flat in a rush. Once she found it, she tucked it into her skirt, and put on a black blazer. Slipping on her high heels, she walked into the kitchen, and made a cup of coffee. As she was drinking the warm beverage, she heard a knock at the door. She answered it to see John standing there, looking shocked.
"Something wrong?" Isabel asked, unsure if it was her (somewhat) low-cut top or Sherlock. She preferred the latter of the two.
"No, I was um... I was just wondering if you could drive me to Scotland Yard? Since it seems you're going to work today?" He said, gesturing slightly with his hand to her outfit. He looked her up and down quickly, not wanting her to think he was flirting. "You, uh, you look nice today, Isabel."
"Thanks. And, yeah, I guess I can drive you down. Is there a certain time you have to be there?" She smiled, glancing at the clock in the kitchen. "Because I'm going to leave for work in about... 20 minutes. I was going to see if Sherlock needed to come, since he's there almost every day anyways." She sighed, and realized John was still standing in the doorway. "Why don't you just go sit down for a bit. I have to find my binder of..." She trailed off, looking irritated.
"The binder of reports you handed to Sherlock to correct? Because he brought those to Lestrade yesterday, apparently." John said, sitting on the couch.
"Oh. I'll have to um, thank him, then." She said awkwardly. "Do you want any tea?" She asked, clearly uncomfortable with the current situation.
"No, thanks. I'm good. By the way, Sherlock forgave you for... whatever you... did. He said he doesn't blame you." John said. He looked at her as if to ask what she had done, except she was in her room, putting on some makeup.
"Did he say who he blamed? Or, more likely, what he blamed?" She asked, walking back out and slipping on her promise ring.
"He blamed your hormones..." John said.
"Oh. Okay." Isabel smiled, but John seemed perplexed as to what they were talking about. "Is... Something wrong?"
John thought about it for a moment, opening his mouth but closing it before speaking multiple times. "I just... He's seemed a bit odd... More than he usually is, since I came home yesterday. He's refusing to speak a word about his... visit... here. I'm just extremely lost." He said, giving up on waiting for them two to bring it up themselves. Isabel looked down, realizing that he knew what happened. She glanced at the clock, realizing she had to leave.
"I'll explain on the way to Scotland Yard. Whatever you do, just don't mention it to him, okay? Because even I'm regretting it, and I really... I don't regret things I've done... Well, most of them, anyway." She grabbed her purse, fishing her keys out. "Let's go, I have to be there in 20 minutes."
10 minutes of silence had passed, with Isabel focusing on the road, and John staring out his window, lost in thought.
"Alright, I'm guessing you know I kissed Sherlock." She said, looking at John for a moment before looking back at the road. "John?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, he told me." He said, feeling both intrusive and curious.
"Figures. And I'm assuming you're wondering why."
"A little. Sherlock's never talked about girls in a sense that shows he fancies one. And suddenly, he's kissing one."
"Alright, so I'll catch you up to speed, okay? Mate, this'll be kind of... Odd, I guess, I don't know." She suddenly swerved, and John realized a car had almost hit hers. "Oi, Mate, watch where the hell you're going!" She hollered.
By the time they reached Scotland Yard, John had been informed of the events of the previous night, except for the kiss.
"So, after I gave that little speech about him not letting anyone into his life, I said, 'I want you to know what it's like to have someone to go to. Because not having that one person really sucks. Then... I kissed him." Isabel said, walking into the building. After she checked in, she put her purse on her desk, and went to go find Lestrade. When she saw he wasn't in his office, the first person she went to was Dimmock.
"Oi, Dimmock! D'you know where Greg is?" She asked, walking up behind him and tapping him on his shoulder. "He's not in his little-"
"Isabel!" A male voice bellowed. She turned around to see her boss running up to her. "Where are the reports? I need them!" He looked disheveled, as if he'd been running for miles.
"Watson told me Sherlock gave them to you! Where the hell's the bloke?" She said angrily. Lestrade shrugged, not bothering to ask why Sherlock had the files. Not that it was a good idea, anyways.
Isabel stormed off to her desk, and saw the binder she'd been looking for not even 5 minutes before. She opened it, seeing a sticky note on the first page.
What you did distracted me while I was trying to fix these. I couldn't stop thinking about it. So don't do it again. -SH
"Go bloody figure." She muttered under breath, smoothing her skirt and sitting down. She didn't have much to do that day, so she thought about how she could pass the time. A few minutes later, she took a piece of blank white paper, and found her charcoal pencil. She drew a rough sketch of Toronto's skyline, smudging the marks where the water would be. After a minute, she stopped drawing and just looked at the picture. She felt the urge to tear it and crumple it into a ball and throw it away, but she couldn't. She sighed and started randomly typing on the computer, her fingers spelling every word that came to her mind as if they were under no control.
"What are you typing?" A man said. Isabel jumped, and quickly closed the application she was using. She turned around to see Anderson standing behind her, grinning. "Is it for the freak?"
"Anderson, I swear to God, that if you don't start leaving me alone like I've told you 10 times, I will personally go to your house, and I will torture you. Now go bother Donovan, you bugger." She threatened, standing up and walking away. Anderson stayed at her desk, and saw the sticky note in the open binder. He picked it up and ran over to her, spinning her around by her shoulder. "What the hell, Anderson! I told you not even five minutes ago to leave me alone!" Isabel yelled.
"What's this, then, love?" He asked, holding up the sticky note. She looked down at it, then back up at him in shock and irritation.
"Where did you get this?" She asked.
"Your desk. Now tell me, love, what you did to the Freak to make him unable to concentrate? Was it bad?" Anderson asked, knowing he sounded nosy but enjoying it.
"Don't call me love, Idiot. And it's not any of your damn business, now, is it? Now go on, go bother someone else, okay?" She said, pushing him away, tucking the sticky note in her blazer's inner pocket. She walked back over to her desk, tapping a pencil absently.
This was going to be a long day.
Upon arriving home, Isabel immediately slipped her heels off and walked into her flat. She opened the door to see Sherlock sitting on the couch. She jumped a little and gasped, closing the door behind her. He looked up to her, his phone in his hands.
"Why are you home early?" He asked, standing up and walking towards her. She stood perfectly still, her heels still in her hand. "You're not supposed to be out till 6."
"Why the hell are you in my house?" She retorted. He smirked, looking her up and down. Considering this was all Anderson did, she wasn't fazed.
"Good question. Why is Anderson flirting with you?" Sherlock asked, suddenly switching his facial expression to the typical emotionless stare. "You have something he wants, don't you?" He said, turning around and walking into the kitchen. "And he won't leave you alone because of it, so you came home early, telling Lestrade that you felt a bit ill. You just wanted to get away from his constant harassment." Isabel just walked in after him, trying hard to laugh at what he said.
"Oh, yeah, I have something he wants. I have the female human anatomy. And, actually, I get out of work at 3 PM, but I go out with my friend, Melody, after work. But today I couldn't, because I had brought John with me. So I figured I'd just bring him home with me. I didn't have much to do today anyways." She said, chuckling softly. He really didn't understand her, as far as she could tell. Why was she so different?
"It's not funny. I'm assuming you saw the note, correct?" He said, glaring at her. She suddenly quieted herself, nodding slowly. She looked down at the ground, her auburn hair framing her hidden face. He looked at her, and slowly walked towards her, approaching her carefully. "Did you permanently dye your hair?" He asked quietly. She looked up at him and slightly nodded, giving him a small smile. Something about his expression made her wonder if he seemed a little worried, but she simply shrugged the thought off, knowing that this was Sherlock Holmes, a man that, according to almost everyone, had no emotions.
"I, um, thought it looked better than my natural color... So I dyed it. Why, does it... Look bad? Do you not like it?" She asked, suddenly self conscious. He shrugged, and she hoped that he was at least not bothered by it. "Back to my original question, how did you-"
"Picked the lock." Sherlock interrupted, making it seem as though it was the most obvious thing. He walked past her, sitting on the couch. "Now, tell me, why'd you do it?"
"Do, what?"
"Don't ask that. You know what you did."
"I'm sorry, for one, I'm not good with people. You would not believe the amount of sexual frustration I have had. I acted on impulse. Okay, you've got your reason. What else do you want?" She said, sighing and sitting down next to him. He glanced at her for a minute, pursed his lips, then closed his eyes, looking defeated.
"John wants me to apologize." He sighed.
"Why?"
"Exactly. So let's say I did, and everything is the same again."
"What do you mean, 'the same again'?"
"You can go back to flirting with Anderson." Sherlock smirked. "Yes, I saw you two 'talking' when I left the binder on your desk." Isabel huffed and stood up.
"Excuse me, but I am not the one flirting. He's been basically harassing me. I've told him to leave me alone so many times even God doesn't know. That's a lot. Can you cover up a murder like the bugger says you can?" She said, giving a crooked smile. He thought for a minute, and shook his head. "Well, then you're of no use to me. Now, leave, like I told you who knows how long ago." She showed him the door, and he softly put his hand on her shoulder as he walked towards it. He leaned his head so his lips were just barely touching her ear.
"Mm, but I am of use to you. Don't kill the man, I'll tell Lestrade if you don't." He whispered in her ear with his velvet voice. She shivered slightly, biting her lip, as he pulled back to look at her.
"How are you useful to me?" She questioned.
"You'll find out soon enough." He winked. As he started walking out the door, she yelled at him.
"You son of a-" She was cut off by him closing the door. She heard him running up the stairs, laughing. She sighed. "This will be one Hell of a week."