AN: Well, this is the second-to-last chapter :) Thank you so, so, so, so, so much for all the reviews, follows and favourites. I can't tell you how much it means to me to know that you're enjoying the story!
Just realized I haven't done a disclaimer for this story, so here it is: All characters (except Eleanor) belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the rest of the Sherlock cast.
Also, thank you to my beta LilMissNerdfighter - you're amazing! (see I used the right form of your)!
Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter and the next one will be up soon!
Chapter 5
Sherlock sat in his chemistry lecture, scribbling down notes into his book. He looked up as the door opened, a young woman walked in. Sherlock blinked, she had long blonde hair and pale skin. He tried to find things out about her by observing- he was continuingly practising the science of deduction. She had little hairs at the bottom of her trouser legs – had a cat then- dry fingers on her right hand- right-handed and had been working exceptionally hard to get into this university. He watched as the professor smiled at her and gestured for her to take the seat next to Sherlock. She approached him, set down her bag, pulled out her books and sat down. Sherlock immediately held out a hand to her.
"I'm Sherlock Holmes." He introduced himself, smiling.
The girl turned towards him, with mild interest. "I'm Eleanor," she replied, "Nice to meet you."
Sherlock nodded in agreement and turned back to concentrate on the lecture.
Eleanor stood up as the lecture finished. "How did your experiment with hydrochloric acid and sodium hydroxide go yesterday?" She asked, casually. Sherlock stared at her.
"Um, it was okay, very interesting." He answered, "Sorry, how did you know?"
"There are traces of talcum powder, between your fingers and under your nails, from those stupid plastic gloves. You wouldn't have needed those gloves if you were using safe chemicals but hydrochloric acid and sodium hydroxide are both very corrosive. It must have been those two because on your pad, on the next page, there's a table of results using those chemicals." She finished and smiled.
"The Science of Deduction? You know it too?" Sherlock asked, amazed.
Eleanor's eyes shot to him, "Yes. Do you know it?"
Sherlock raised his chin slightly, "I'm practising it." He told her, defensively.
Eleanor nodded and chucked. "I'm sure you'll become brilliant at it! Well, see you tomorrow."
"See you!" Sherlock called after her.
Sherlock stands on the edge of a large hall, watching everyone else talking and laughing with their friends. He slides further into the shadows as he sees the girl he's been looking for. She comes in with her friends and she is so beautiful.
Sherlock's heart leaps slightly and nerves flutter in his stomach. She wears a blue dress that stops just above her knees. Her long hair hangs down her back, shimmering in the light. When she laughs her eyes crinkle up and sparkle, Sherlock realises he's falling in love.
They'd got to know each other more in their chemistry lectures, but to Sherlock, she still seemed a mystery.
Later into the night, Eleanor is called up to the stage. She laughs as her friends push her towards the stairs and jumps up the steps two at a time. She walks to the centre of the stage and they hand her a microphone and start up the karaoke.
When she starts to sing Sherlock's mouth drops open. It is sweet and melodic and a beautiful, beautiful sound. She puts all her feeling into the words, but before long the song is over. She hands the microphone to another volunteer and then walks down from the stage. As she walks down the stairs, her brown eyes find Sherlock's blue ones. She smiles and waves and Sherlock smiles back.
She talks with her friends and then pushes past them, making her way to Sherlock's side. Her cheeks are flushed as she looks up at him.
"Hey, how are you?" she asks.
"I'm not bad." He answers, truthfully, "but I don't really like parties."
Eleanor grins at him, and then takes his hand. "Come on let's get some air, it's roasting in here!"
Sherlock lets her pull him outside to the lake that is close to the hall. He stands next to her, just letting the realisation that he is alone with her, so close, sink in.
He turns to face her. The moon frames her face in a silvery light, making her skin almost shine.
"You're really beautiful." He tells her and then claps a hand over his mouth, realising what he just said.
Eleanor turns to him, her eyebrows raised, but an amused twinkle in her eyes.
"You're really handsome." She replies.
Sherlock stares at her for a few moments, then leans down and pressed his lips to hers. They're soft and warm, and a feeling of exhilaration shoots through him as Eleanor presses into the kiss. It's the first time he's ever kissed someone so it probably isn't the best kiss ever, but when he pulls back; Eleanor is looking at him with wide eyes, her lips parted slightly.
"That was interesting." Sherlock said, awkwardly.
"It was amazing." Eleanor said, reaching up and pressing her lips back onto Sherlock's.
Eleanor and Sherlock walk into the attic of a stately home together, eyes sweeping the scene in front of them. They had been together now for three years and had started helping the police out with crime scenes, seeing as they were the best and only consulting detectives in the World.
Behind them came Sergeant Greg Lestrade, who had called them in to help with this case. He was willing to listen to everything the detectives could uncover and pulled out his notebook- ready to take notes.
Eleanor and Sherlock approached the woman lying on the floor- middle aged, slit in her neck and her blood leaving a trail on the floor- one on either side of the body. They bent down in unison, both seeing so much more than the other officers present.
After a minute of observing they stood up, looked around the room once, glanced at each other and smiled.
"The victim came to the party that you were talking about, last night," Sherlock started looking at Lestrade. "She came up here with someone..."
"She trusted." Eleanor continued, "Her wrist is broken, showing she was holding hands with someone and they spun her round very quickly..."
"To strike her. The wound in her neck is deep, but very precise, right on the jugular vein, this shows that the murderer..."
"Has killed before. There are slight indentations in the slightly rotten wood towards the stairs, where the murderer has walked, but..."
"They change shape at the top of the stairs – become smaller and narrower. The murderer was prepared for this murder, brought larger shoes to walk in, so he wouldn't be seen as a suspect."
"He?" Lestrade broke in to ask question. Eleanor looked up at him.
"The gait shows it's a man. Also, there has to be a motive for her being murdered. There is a pale band of skin on her left hand, 4th finger, where her wedding ring once was. Clearly..."
"Her old husband wanted revenge on her for divorcing him, so he came to the same party, convinced her to go with him to the attic and killed her. Neat." Sherlock finished, smirking slightly.
"Not neat, Sherlock." Eleanor told him, "This women's dead. We should be sad and respect her life."
Sherlock coughed awkwardly, and then looked at her. "Of course, my apologies."
Eleanor smiled, turned towards Lestrade, and said, "Hope that helps, Lestrade."
"As usual, it helps an awful lot, thanks."
Eleanor grasped Sherlock's hand and pulled him from the room, shouting "Goodbye!" over her shoulder.
A few months later, Sherlock and Eleanor knock on the door of a flat in London, 221B Baker Street, waiting for the little, old landlady to open the door.
As she does, Eleanor and Sherlock both smile. Mrs Hudson invites them inside her flat, offering tea and biscuits.
"How did it go?" she asks, excitedly.
"Like a dream," Eleanor replies, smiling. "Your husband is due to be executed within the week."
Mrs Hudson jumps up, beaming. "Oh, thank you, darlings!" she cries, hugging them both, while Sherlock and Eleanor exchange bemused looks.
"What can I give you to repay you?" she says, stepping away and looking them over. "My flat upstairs is available; I'll even put down the rent."
Sherlock shakes his head. "No, it's fine, Mrs Hudson, we don't need any reward for doing our work."
"I insist," She tells them, strongly. "I heard you were looking for a new flat, so you can have this one."
"That's very kind of you. Thank you so much." Eleanor says.
"It's no problem, dear. Just remember, I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper."
"What would you do if I wasn't here?" Eleanor asks, from where she sits in her armchair.
"Are you planning on leaving?" Sherlock says, curiously, as he walks into the living room from the kitchen and frowns at her.
Eleanor looks at his worried face and laughs. "No, stupid!" she exclaims. "Just, what if I wasn't here one day? What would you do then?"
"Well, you're not planning on going, so I don't have to worry about it."
"Sherlock," she chides. "People go missing all the time. And everyone dies in the end."
"If you went missing, I would find you. If you died, I don't know, I'm not sure I'd be able to survive without you."
Eleanor tenses in her seat - that clearly wasn't the answer she had wanted. "Just don't hurt yourself for me, promise?"
"I can't promise you that," Sherlock tells her. "What if you were in mortal danger and I had to save you?"
"You'd leave me, Sherlock." She answers, "I'm not worth your life."
"I don't think that. Without you what have I got?"
Eleanor looks at him with concern in her eyes. She then smiles "Thank you," she says, standing up and hugging him, pressing her lips to his. "I would save you in that situation too. I love you."
Sherlock wraps his hand around her back, kissing her back, "I love you more."
There were small things he remembered. The brush of a hand, the warmth of a kiss. Memories too ordinary to stay forever, but too precious to let fade away.
The rain pours down, as they run to the nearest restaurant. When they get under the shelter of the roof, they look at each other and burst out laughing. Eleanor's hair is soaking and has gone brown, hanging down her back and Sherlock's hair is plastered to his head, the blue of his eyes shining through the sopping fringe.
They pull off their coats and sit down, Sherlock orders a plate of snails to celebrate their trip to Paris, while Eleanor orders a crepe.
As they wait for their food, Eleanor pulls out her camera protected from the elements by her pocket. She flicks through them, laughing at a few and smiling at others. She shows Sherlock the one of the both of them by the Eiffel Tower, the good one of her by Notre Dame and the one of Sherlock sunbathing on a patch of grass.
They laugh together as eat, always holding hands, and they discuss different topics – politics, cases, music. Soon, the rain stops and they stand up, pull on their coats, and get ready to go on another adventure together.
They sat together on the grass, on their last night in Paris, watching the sunset. Eleanor snuggled closer to Sherlock, his arms wrapped around her waist.
"It's just like the song, isn't it?" she asked.
"Which song?" he replied, moving his head so he could see the side of her face.
"Our Last Summer, by ABBA." she clarified.
Sherlock smiled into her hair, "Yes, I suppose it is."
With the chill of the night starting to wrap around them, Eleanor started to sing.
"I can still recall our last summer, I still see it all," she leaned further into him as she sang. "Walks along the Seine, laughing in the rain, our last summer, memories that remain." She started to laugh, as she changed the words. "And now you're working for the law, a detective, a genius, and your name is Sherlock. How great it seems, that you're the hero of my dreams!"
Sherlock started to laugh with her, kissing the top of her head. "This isn't going to be our last summer though, is it?" he asked, worriedly.
Eleanor laughed at his apprehension, wriggled round and kissed him softly on the lips. "No, of course not."
"I want to stay with you forever." he told her.
"I'm fine with that,' Eleanor agreed."Forever."