Chapter 6: Running in the Rain
John had to work two shifts the next day and he was gone early in the morning. Cecilia came in late, nearly noon, and Sherlock was in a mood. He was in his pajamas and housecoat lying across his chair with his long legs dangling over one arm and his head resting over the other. There was a small array of open books on the floor along with his violin. Cecilia figured this might be a difficult day. She sighed as she went into the kitchen.
"Good morning." She said sweetly.
"Is it?" he spat contemptuously.
"Well, for a few more minutes anyway." She answered trying to make a joke and looking at her non-existent watch.
"Are you being dense just to bait me?"
"Okay," letting her annoyance into her voice. "You're bored." She wanted to add "I get it", but that wouldn't make matters any better.
"Oh, what a deduction!"
"Stop." She said it loudly and defiantly. It was a technique that was sometimes used on those with anxiety disorders; sometimes it snapped them out of escalating spirals of thought. Cecilia often used it on herself when she became overwhelmed. It actually seemed to work on the sociopath too, she remarked. His whole demeanor changed from aggressive to wistful. "So you've read a few books, you've played your violin…"
"mmmm. Tiresome."
She turned on the water in the sink, about to wash the few dishes that had built up from yesterday. "Why don't you watch T.V. or got o a movie?"
"Predictable, pedestrian, pedantic…"
" Petulant." She added about his behavior.
He sighed melodramatically. Cecilia shook her head; for all his brilliance he sometimes acted like a teenager.
"Why don't you tell me about some of your old cases?" He had seemed to enjoy it when he had expounded about the sauna case in the cab. "I can even try to guess how you solved it, try out my own deductive skills." She lilted, smiling over her shoulder.
This got his attention. Not only did he love rehashing old cases but also he found people's attempts at what he did amusing. That was part of what endeared John to him. He sat up and turned in his chair so that he was facing her, his mind working quickly. "Care to make it interesting?"
"Um, sure, what are the stakes?" she asked a little taken aback.
" Winner decides."
" That could be trouble." She said to the dishes.
" Not unless you lose."
"Okay, deal." She fought a smile and scrubbed a plate even though there was nothing on it.
Sherlock got up and went to his filing cabinet under his desk and rifled through the files. He pulled one after another and finally settled on one. He brought it back to his chair. Sherlock sat quietly for a moment with it open in his lap. " This is an old case, it happened years ago. I haven't published it anywhere so don't think you'll win because you've read it on my website."
"How do you know I've read your website?"
" I checked your browser history."
"How did you get onto my computer? It's got a password." She asked, confused and a little worried.
"I'll give you credit, your password was harder to crack than John's; yours took me a full half an hour." He inhaled deeply and tented his hands in front of his mouth, ignoring her sputtering sounds of indignation. " I received an e-mail one day from a recently remarried man. He was seeking my help with the disturbing incidents surrounding the deaths of his second wife and their infant. The man was an animal control officer who had a 15-year-old son from his previous marriage. The son was on medication for severe attention deficit disorder. "
"How severe? She interjected. She remembered studying the axis one DSM disorders and knew there was a hierarchy to the disruptive and attention deficit disorders.
He narrowed his eyes. "Let me finish and then you can ask your questions."
"Sorry." She rinsed the last dish and put it in the drying rack. She turned and leaned on the counter as she dried her hands with a dishtowel. Sherlock continued.
" The son and his new step mother reportedly had a very turbulent relationship with many shouting matches. After the second child was born one of these incidents escalated to violence; the son was admitted to the emergency room after being hit with a lamp.
The nanny, who had been hired when the husband noticed some signs of post-partum depression, reported that just before she died the mother had been sucking on the baby's neck. The infant even had a puncture wound. The nanny said the mother then had trouble breathing and complained of abdominal pain and nausea. Both mother and baby then fell unconscious and stopped breathing." He finished without feeling. "Now you asked how severe the son's disorder was?"
Cecilia willed herself to remain emotionally distant from the case, though she did feel a twinge of sadness over the whole horrible story. She tried to see the whole case clearly. "Ummm, do you know his diagnosis?"
"His psychiatrist diagnosed him with 'Oppositional Defiant Disorder'"
"That explains that shouting and the violent incident happening right after the baby was born. Children with that level of disorder can be extremely difficult to discipline, especially if there are step-mother tensions and a new baby usurping the sons place in the father's life, but he was medicated…"
"The nanny did say he resisted the medication; often going for days without it."
Cecilia thought for a moment, there was something odd about the symptoms the mother and infant had when they died; they both just stopped breathing. "Was the mother on any medication, anti-depressants? Maybe the mother overdosed and it got into the breast milk?"
"That's a plausible answer but the mother wasn't on any medication. She was never officially diagnosed with post-partum depression and never received treatment.
" They had a similar cause of death, but the mother had more pronounced symptoms." She thought out loud. "It sort of sounds like they were poisoned…but the mother sucking on the baby's neck…that's just weird."
"Very." Sherlock agreed; his eyes alight.
Cecilia tried to expand her mind, tried to take in every detail. She began pacing around the kitchen, running the dishcloth through her fingers. She kept thinking back to all the episodes of all the crime shows she had ever watched; this had such a familiar shape to it. It was almost like she could see some 'wind-breakered' investigator at the house, looking at some innocuous implement and it suddenly being put in the right context. Something was nagging at her. "What did the father do for a living again?"
Sherlock tried to hide a smile. "He was an animal control officer."
"Did he bring home his equipment every night?" She asked.
"Yes."
"Did he have a tranquilizer gun?
"Yes."
"The son shot the baby with the gun, the mother tried to save the baby by removing the dart and trying to suck out the tranquilizer, like you would with a snake bite. She swallowed some of the tranquilizer but there was still too much in the infant's bloodstream so the baby, essentially, overdosed. The mother ingested the tranquilizer, which has much more serious effects, even in small doses, when swallowed." She finished with a sad smile. This was the type of thing he encountered on a regular basis; she then understood what a benefit his sociopathic tendencies were.
Sherlock sat quietly for a time; he didn't make eye contact with her but she waited patiently to see if she had figured it out. "Well?"
"Congratulations." He looked up, a smile just playing at the corners of his mouth.
"That means I win the bet!" She bunched up the dishtowel and threw it at Sherlock. "Wait until John hears about this."
"How did you figure it out so quickly?" Sherlock was unaccustomed to anyone else being able to deduce as well as he could.
"Do you want the honest answer?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye.
"Why would I want to waste my time on anything else?"
"I think they did something very similar on an episode of C.S.I." she hid her smile behind her hand.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He closed the file and got up to put it back in the filing cabinet. "What do claim as your prize?"
"Hmmmm, maybe I'd like to lord this over you for a while..." she said playfully. "But I think I'd rather claim it now. Take me out to lunch; the only time I've gone out in London so far is to do errands.
"I won't be good company, I never have been."
"You're better than Yorick over there." She said as she motioned to the skull on the mantle.
"Okay, lunch it is." He sighed. Sherlock didn't like owing anything to anyone.
" Fantastic!" She looked at her watch. "Let me go change and then we can go?"
"Why do you need to change?"
Cecilia was wearing old jeans and an oversized tee shirt, perfect for cleaning but not much else. "I'm not dressed for a date, Sherlock… and neither are you." She whisked out of the apartment.
"Who said this was a date?" he yelled after her.
Ten minutes later Cecilia walked back up the stairs. She had put on a forest green knee length shirt-dress. It was fitted in all the right places and if she left that one button unbuttoned it was rather revealing, though still appropriate. She fiddled with her hair, touched up her makeup and left her Aunt's apartment feeling on top of the world. She went back upstairs and opened the door. Sherlock was standing by the mantle, dressed in black trousers and a dark purple shirt. He had the skull in his hand.
"Am I interrupting?"
"Alas…" He began sarcastically but then stopped when he actually looked at her. She was beautiful, but he knew that, technically speaking, already. He concentrated and allowed himself to 'feel' the attraction. It was like there was a magnetic pull between them. She was looking right at him, fully aware of what he did and all that he saw, and was still smiling. He fumbled with the skull and nearly dropped it. He put it down on the mantle forcefully, making a loud bang. "You look very nice." He said very seriously.
"Thank-you. You too." She felt anxious; like butterflies all over her skin. "So, what are you in the mood for?" she asked.
He stared at her for a second too long, wondering how the tables could have shifted so much with the addition of a green dress.
"Italian, Chinese…Indian?" She prompted.
"Italian." He didn't really feel like eating anything, but he heard the emphasis she put on that choice and knew that's what she would prefer. "I know a place just around the corner." Pull yourself together he told himself; once again regaining the emotional lock-down he normally existed in. He put on the black jacket that went with his suit and they headed out the door.
When they arrived at the restaurant an older man greeted them warmly.
"Sherlock! It's been too long since we've seen you! Come in; you can have the best table in the house!" He showed them to a booth in the front of the restaurant right in front of a window. He handed them some menus. "And you know, Sherlock, it's all on-the-house as always."
" I helped Angelo out of a jam a few years ago." Sherlock explained to Cecilia.
"Proving someone innocent and keeping them out of jail? That's unlike you." She responded looking at the menu.
"Oh, he went to jail; I proved that he was breaking and entering rather than killing three people with an axe."
" Three years instead of thirty." Angelo intoned as if he said it quite often. "So, what can I get you and your date to drink, some wine?"
"It's not a date, I lost a bet." Sherlock answered quickly.
" Some wine would be lovely." Cecilia answered, somewhat dejected.
" Ah, lucky man. This one's much prettier than your last date." He winked at Sherlock. "I'll be right back with a nice soave I just got in."
"Your last date?" she asked barely controlling a laugh.
"He means John." Sherlock deadpanned. Cecilia looked at him questioningly, her eyebrow rose in that mocking fashion that irked him so. "We were on a stake-out."
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" she responded acerbically.
"How clichéd." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
When Angelo came back Cecilia ordered a caprese salad, Sherlock ordered risotto. He left the bottle of wine on the table and when Sherlock did not make a move to pour Cecilia took the lead. She filled Sherlock's glass and then her own. Sherlock was distant, staring out the window. Cecilia was trying very hard to enjoy herself; it being her first time out-and-about in London, not –to-mention with the man she was infatuated with. But Sherlock's adamant denial that this was a date was cracking through her façade of confidence. She sipped her wine; it was very good.
"What were you staking out?" she asked, her voice seemed loud and awkward in the quiet restaurant. Not many people out for lunch today.
" Turned out to be a taxi."
" Oh! Yes, a 'study in pink', I remember. John didn't mention you two having dinner together."
Sherlock inwardly grimaced, knowing the choice words John had used to describe him in that write-up. "He was the only one who ate. I don't eat when I'm working; digestion slows me down."
"You must work a lot."
"Well, not lately," he muttered angrily, "there's something wrong with this city."
" The fact that people are not killing each other in undecipherable ways is wrong?"
Sherlock fell silent, lost in thought.
Angelo returned with their orders and they tucked into their meal. It was delicious. Cecilia realized she had never actually seen Sherlock eat anything before. She knew he must eat something, but around her thus far he had only consumed coffee, wine, and nicotine. So…he hardly ate anything when he wasn't working either. She shook her head. She loved food and she was an excellent cook, she couldn't imagine going days with only coffee and a nicotine patch. Cecilia again felt the burden of carrying the conversation.
"What would you have chosen if you had won the bet?"
Sherlock chewed carefully for a moment and swallowed. "Well, there is this study on spiders that I wanted to do."
Cecilia's stomach fell and she balked. She had a phobia of spiders and she could just imagine the big hairy type that Sherlock would probably want. Sherlock saw her expression and laughed. "Don't worry, though, you won."
Relief washed over Cecilia; she was thankful she would not have to be on the lookout for spiders in the future.
As they finished eating the clouds began to build up. Cecilia peered out the window at now dark grey and ominous sky.
"I didn't bring my umbrella either." Stated Sherlock and drained the last of the wine from his glass. She hadn't said anything about the rain, or about not having an umbrella, she had been about to but now she didn't want Sherlock to know that.
" That's why people hate talking to you. You jump ahead in conversation"
" Why should everyone waste time saying things that everyone knows already? It's like a script to the most boring play on earth!"
"That's how society works, Sherlock, pleasantries and idle conversation grease the wheels of society." The first heavy raindrops began pattering across the window as she spoke.
-dingle dingle-
Cecilia's phone rang. She looked at the caller ID; it was her Aunt.
"Sorry, I wouldn't normally answer on a…"
"Go ahead. It's Mrs. Hudson. It's important…and it's not a date." Cutting her off.
"You're doing it again." She said bubbling. "Hi, Auntie!" She answered the call happily. "What's wrong?" her voice fell as she listened to her Aunt on the other end of the call. "Okay…we'll figure it out. I'll be home in a few minutes." She looked at Sherlock; she was upset. "I have to go. Bad news from the doctor." She got up and left quickly, rushing out into the rain.
Sherlock was disappointed with himself, he hadn't made the right impression. He was now also worried about Mrs. Hudson. She was a doddering old lady but he did have a sweet spot for her. He admonished himself for getting into the emotional lives of the people around him. It was maddening, and he really felt that his brain was beginning to rot.
-ding-
: unlike you to not offer your umbrella to a lady
: mummy would not be proud.
: Mycroft
Sherlock was up from the table in a flash and out the door into the pouring rain. Mycroft had been watching them. He would probably try to approach Cecilia; propose she give him information for money. Sherlock took the route he knew she would take back to the flat. Within a few minutes he could see Cecilia ahead of him. She was running! He looked around wildly for Mycroft's luxury car. He had scared her and she was running from what she thought was a threat. A ball on anger suddenly formed in the pit of his stomach. It spurred him to run faster.
Cecilia reached the awning over 221's door when she heard the splashing footsteps behind her. She turned quickly, thinking she was about to be accosted by muggers… or worse. Her breath caught in her throat as Sherlock was suddenly in front of her, very close to her. His hands were on her shoulders and his eyes were wide with fear and worry; he was breathing hard from running after her.
"Are you alright, what did Mycroft do?"
Cecilia was utterly confused. She took a moment to try to figure out what Sherlock was talking about but she couldn't. Who was Mycroft? What did Sherlock assume he had done to her? "Sherlock! What are you talking about?"
"Why were you running?"
"It's raining. I read once that you get less wet if you run when it's raining." She explained feeling foolish. She was still confused as to why Sherlock was so upset.
He stared at her in disbelief but his panic had abated. If she had been spooked by Mycroft she certainly didn't show it. He started to laugh, more out of relief than anything else. Though Mycroft was still obviously trying to meddle in his affairs he hadn't succeeded…yet.
Cecilia was wrapped up in the moment. She was still short of breath. The rain was falling heavily all around them. They were safe, isolated under the awning of the building in their own little bubble. Sherlock was standing so close to her she could see the droplets of water that clung to his hair. When he laughed, really laughed, deep lines around his mouth formed and his luminous eyes sparkled.
"Sherlock?" She asked, as she slid her hands up his chest. "Have you ever done something crazy?"
"Like running in the rain?" He answered, no longer laughing and a glint of fear in his eye.
"No." she whispered as she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down to her. In a moment of uncharacteristic brazenness she kissed him. Her heart was beating so loudly she could no longer hear the rain.
Sherlock's mind went blank as she pressed her warm lips against his. He felt that familiar lurching feeling in his stomach, but so much more powerful than it had been two nights ago. He couldn't remember such a soaring sensation since university, where he had discovered stimulants other than coffee and cigarettes. Some primal part of his brain took over and told his lips to kiss back. He wanted to slide his hands from her shoulders; one to the small of her back and the other to twine in her damp hair. Too soon, however, she was pulling away, a void left behind that Sherlock was sure had not been there before.
"I have to check on Auntie." She dashed in the door and disappeared into Mrs. Hudson's flat before he could speak.
-ding-
Sherlock didn't look at his phone, he knew it was Mycroft texting him as simultaneously a black town-car was rolling past him on Baker street; he didn't want to give his brother the satisfaction. Sherlock turned and slammed the door behind him. He walked up the stairs to his flat. Curiosity killing him he looked at his phone
: can't wait to meet her
: Mycroft
Mrs. Hudson was not well. She had just returned from her doctor and had some bad news for Cecilia. When she opened the door to the flat Mrs. Hudson screwed up her courage and blurted out what she had to say. "I'll be going out of town, to Rupert and Alice's"
"Why? Cecilia was dripping as she entered her Aunt's apartment. She had so much concern in her voice that Mrs. Hudson nearly teared up.
"Dr. Wellington said that I'm not getting any better, he said I had to get away from this place for a while." She couldn't keep the distress out of her voice and it wavered.
"Oh, Auntie!" Cecilia bent down and gave her Aunt a hug while she was sitting. "I was so worried! That's fine. I can take care of everything here, that's why I came. Don't even worry about it."
"I'm so lucky you came, Cecilia." She said while her eyes misted.