Because I can't refuse a request from an awesome reviewer! :)
Thank you to TheWheelWeaves for the Robin Hood idea!
Bit of a cheeky chapter. ;-)
Rose opened her closet and gazed around at the outfits, costumes was a more accurate term. Socialite, PA, secretary, business woman, police uniform, a collection of coveralls, maid, waitress, and loads more. Today was a socialite day, most days were since that was her main cover. The others were for days like yesterday when she had to don a second cover.
She pulled out a powder blue dress and picked up a pair of black heels, not the ones she wore to the restaurant, but similar. Then she stepped back into her room and proceeded to get ready. Today was a shopping day, which meant going round to her friends who couldn't go out themselves, picking up their lists, and then going round to the London shops, which was why she needed to keep Sherlock occupied. The last thing she wanted was to run into him, although part of her didn't agree with that, but she shoved those feeling aside. He was too much of a complication.
John stepped into Sherlock's flat. He could hear his friend in the kitchen, the sound of Sherlock's blowtorch indicated he was working on an experiment of some sort.
"Ha!" Sherlock exclaimed as John stepped into the kitchen.
Sherlock grinned as he turned off the blowtorch. He sat it on the counter, raised his goggles, and finally opened the safe deposit box.
"Now, to find out what she left for me," he said.
"What who left?" John asked.
"Her."
The detective peered into the box. A book and a card. Odd. He picked up the book. Robin Hood. Cover was leather. High end bookshop. New. He sniffed it. Purchased…last night. He leafed through the pages. She hadn't even opened it, which meant the title, the author, or the story itself was the clue. The book would, most likely, be as devoid of fingerprints as the box had been, but he'd run the tests anyway.
"Her who?" John inquired.
"The…" woman, he'd been about to say, but for some reason that didn't seem right, only he couldn't figure out why it didn't seem right. "The one from last night."
He picked up the card. Business card. Prentice Hall. Makers of educational books. He turned the card over in his hands, gazing at it, feeling the material. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"Wait. So, she answered your ad?"
"Obviously."
The card was also a clue, but what about the card was the clue? Education? Books? He dismissed both of those. She wasn't in education and although she had left him a book she wouldn't have left him a clue that told him she'd left him a book, she was too clever for that. Which meant it must have something to do with the name…
"Oh! A name!" he exclaimed, dashing into the other room and sitting down at his laptop.
"What?" John asked, following him.
"She's given me a name."
John walked over to Sherlock while the detective typed on the keyboard. His friend appeared to be running a search, but he still didn't have a clue what was going on. The woman, the blonde from the restaurant answered the ad, but her answer appeared to be clues to a name.
"Her name?"
"Doubtful. She's too clever for that," Sherlock replied and he could hear the same admiration in his friend's voice that he had for another woman.
"What name then?"
"An alias, obviously."
"Why would she give you clues to figure out her alias? I mean, if it's not her real name why not just tell you?"
"Because this is more fun."
John rolled his eyes.
"Is that why you used the blowtorch instead of your lock picks because that was more fun?" he asked, sarcastically.
"Don't be an idiot. I tried the lock picks, all of them. The blowtorch was number fourteen. I'm not sure how she managed to jam the mechanism, but all my attempts to unlock it failed. I'll be examining the lock later," Sherlock explained, more of that admiration in his voice.
"What are you doing now then?"
"Running a search on Marion Prentice."
"Marion Prentice?"
"The business card and the book. Two clues to the same name. Prentice is obviously a last name and the female lead in Robin Hood is Maid Marion."
"Seems pretty easy for someone that clever."
Sherlock shot him a disproving glance before turning back to his search.
"The box was meant to keep me occupied not the clues," the detective replied.
"Keep you occupied?" John asked.
"She's obviously afraid we'll run into each other today, which is why she gave me the box."
Damn! Sherlock sat back. Nothing. No mention of Marion Prentice. He had the name right. He was sure of that. She was keeping a very low profile. There was only one thing to do. He stood up and walked to the door, sliding into his coat and wrapping his scarf around his neck.
"Where are you going?" John asked.
"I'm sure you have to get to the office and I've got to take walk," he replied, opening the door and stepping out.
Rose leaned on the rail overlooking the Thames, ignoring the chilly breeze that ruffled her unbuttoned coat. Even if it was a parallel version the river would always remind her of the Doctor. Of that day her mum slapped him and she was teasing him on the roof of that building when that ship flew overhead and crashed into the Thames. They were good memories, but still tinged with a bit of loss. Mainly, because she was still alone. She had friends, not close friends, but even with those it was still just her. She sighed.
"From personal assistant to socialite in twenty-four hours. Impressive," a deep voice said behind her.
Bollocks! She didn't have to turn around to know it was Sherlock. She'd been so lost in thought that he snuck up on her. She could've played it off as a case of mistaken identity, but she knew that wouldn't work on him.
"I would've thought you'd be too busy for a stroll," she replied without taking her eyes from the view.
He walked over to the railing to stand next to her, but instead of looking at her he leaned his hands on it and glanced out over the Thames.
"I would have been had I waited until this morning, but you know how impatient I can be, Ms. Prentice."
She couldn't help grinning.
"I may have heard that somewhere before."
She caught the sideways glance he gave her, but she pretended not to notice.
"If I recall correctly, at our last meeting you told me you would give me answers," he said.
"You found the box," she replied.
"Giving me an alias isn't an answer."
"Actually it is, but you probably don't remember that bit," she said, unable to stop herself from grinning at the memory.
Another sideways glace from him and she caught the smile he returned. He blinked a moment later, still seeming to gaze out at the view.
"I was told we had a date," he said after a minute. "Unfortunately, I can't seem to remember it."
"Actually you invited yourself to sit down at my table. Not exactly what I'd call a date," she replied.
"Since my credit card bill indicates I paid for your meal and your champagne I beg to differ."
She laughed, she couldn't help it.
Sherlock turned his entire body seeming to gravitate toward her laugh. He gazed at her. The sound of it, almost euphoric, tugged at his mind, but the feeling was gone before he could locate the source. He knew what it meant though. His memories of that night weren't gone, not completely. They could be found, recovered. She was the key to that.
"That was your own fault," she replied after a moment. Turning toward him. "It was nice to see you again, Sherlock," she continued, drawing close to him. So close that their bodies were nearly touching. She gazed up into his eyes and for a moment he didn't even breathe. Time itself seemed to stop as a feeling washing over him, like her laugh it was almost euphoric. Stardust. The word whispered through his mind, but he couldn't find its origin, didn't understand why it was there. "I have a busy day, but we'll talk again once you work out all three of the clues I left you."
She gave him another one of those cheeky grins and in its wake he lost all sense of reason. He started to reach for, but she stepped back, breaking the trance. His mind slapped him back into focus and that's when he realized there was something on his wrist. He glanced down and found she'd cuffed him to the rail.
He looked at her and found her grinning at him.
"You carry handcuffs?" he asked, unable to stop a smile from appearing.
"I like to be prepared," she replied and her grin turned cheeky.
He raised his brow.
"Prepared for what?"
She shrugged.
"Everything."
She turned to walk away.
"You're just going to leave me?" he called after her.
He had his lock pick set so getting out of them would be easy, but he didn't want to lose her. She turned back.
"You've got Lestrade on speed dial, remember?" she asked, giving him a smile and then she turned back and hurried off before he could call after her again.
How the hell did she know that? He shook that question off and pulled out his lock pick set. Three clues, but he'd only worked out two. Three. The book, the business card and…Oh! The safe deposit box was a clue. Why didn't he see that?
Standard Disclaimer.
Thank you to all my brilliant readers!
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