Chapter three: Thin sheets of conversation

The silence pervades the room. I shift uncomfortably and risk a glance at Sherlock and the same moment he risks one at me. We instantly look the other way and clear our throats, both embarrassed and mortified to be caught in this wordless situation.

I lick my lips and mutter. "I need something stronger than tea."

"Same here." Sherlock stands up, allowing the sheet to fall from his waist and body completely. My eyes widen, only for a moment as I realize that he is wearing pants underneath the sheet. He bends over and rolls the length of his pants back down around his bare feet. "A lot stronger. Do you drink?"

"Yes!" I stand up and walk with him towards a cabinet, which upon opening it, revealing a selection of alcoholic drinks and glasses. I reached for the white merlot the same instance he does. I release the bottle and shake my head. "Great. We even fancy the same wine."

"So it would seem." He pulled the cork out and began pouring his glass. "So, what do we do about this situation?"

"I could kill myself." I offered humorlessly as I reached for the bottle before he could stuff the cork in. "Or, you could help me get away and give me a sum of money to support myself until I was able to find a way of supporting myself."

He shook his head. "No good. Mycroft would notice the money missing from my account, as I rarely use and he'd follow the trail of money it would leave behind. Besides, if Mycroft even suspected that I helped you escape, he'd hunt you down just to attempt to prove his superiority."

"Then what do you suggest?" I am sorely tempted to just inhale this whole tumbler of wine, but I force myself to sip it. "I'd like to know before I begin planning my last meal."

"Well, it's a good thing both of us find this marriage so disagreeable, otherwise, I'd be offended by your preference to die than marry me."

At his tone, the glass almost falls from my hand. I look up at him. "Are you, suggesting that…marriage-

He cut me off. "If I were interested in you, I would contemplate it; you're not stupid like all the women I've met. But no, things like this, love, wife, children, aren't really in my area. Moreover, before you start asking stupid questions, I consider myself married to my work. I'm not interested in anybody."

I exhale as I take a larger sip out of my wine. "I'm not an idiot." He frowns as he gazes questioningly at me. "You're obviously not an Oscar Wilde," his brow arches; as if curious about as to how I'd know such things, much less even find the nerve to mention the subject. "you're just too busy to have time for anybody other than yourself."

He looks at me for a moment before taking the bottle and moving to sit back onto the chair. "So…tell me about yourself."

"Are you asking to be polite or because you're curious?" He doesn't answer me; he simply tops off his drink. I exhale. "I'll take your silence as a sign that you're both emotions."

He frowns at me. "I divorce myself from feelings."

"Whatever." I clear my throat. "My age is none of your concern."

"You're turning twenty the day after tomorrow." At my glower, he adds. "I had a friend of mine do some digging on you once my brother announced that I'd be meeting you today."

I make a face at him. "Then you'll know that I'm an only child, I help out children in the street whenever possible."

"Yes. You throwing yourself in front of a carriage to save a child that had fallen into the street." His eyes narrowed. "You were lucky just to have several ribs broken, a snapped wrist and a mild concussion, it could have been much worse."

"Thank you."

"Why did you do it? The child didn't have any parents anyway."

I glowered at him. "Because it was a child. It deserved to grow up. She's now been adopted by a respectable family and she's happy."

"Actually, she's miserable." His words cause my heart to pause in my chest. "The husband of the couple that adopted her, beats his wife and believe me, he's begun to move his advances from his wife to his adopted child."

I set the glass to the side. "How do you know this?" I demand. "How?"

"I just know."

"And what have you been doing about it?"

He shrugs. "What I can, don't worry, I should have enough physical evidence to convict him within a week."

"A week!" I snap. "Anything could happen in a week!"

"I presume at this point you're referring to your mother committing suicide." All the oxygen was sucked out of my lungs at his words. His brow arched slightly as I picked up my glass again and began drinking again. "Rest assured, the police have been informed but they cannot act without evidence which I am collecting. Now, granted, if your mother was planning on committing suicide, there wasn't anything that you could have done to stop her from blowing her brains out."

I exhaled. "But there was no reason for her to kill herself." I pointed out. "She wasn't upset. My mother, if she were to kill herself, I think she'd prefer poison to a bullet. But I know her, how much she loved life and for the life of me I can't figure out why she killed herself. If it was because of anything to do with my father, she would have left him and found somebody else. She wouldn't have killed herself because like myself, she didn't care what people in society had to say." At the curious look in his eyes, I cleared my throat. "Why am I doing all of the talking and you're doing all the criticizing?" He didn't answer me. He folded his hands in a prayer like position. His eyes raking all over my body in a silent study. I crossed my arms around my waist. "Do you mind?"

"Who found your mother's body?"

"My father and stepmother." I reflected back on his tone. It had been curious, almost suspicious, but I had to put that ridiculous mind of his to rest. "If you're thinking foul play, you'd be wrong; Mother had invited her and a few other friends over for tea. Everyone was in the parlor when my mother shot herself."

Sherlock jumped up and suddenly clapped his hands together. "Brilliant!" I frowned in confusion as he stood up; muttering under his breath in what I suspected was Latin. He threw the door open and shouted. "Mrs. Hudson!" Getting no reply, he stood up and stomped out of the room. "Mother! Mycroft!"

I stood up and followed him in confusion. "Sherlock, what are you-

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes." His mother scolded as she came down the staircase, my parents and Mycroft right behind her. "What on earth are you-

"Oh nothing mother." He hurried up the staircase, kissed his mother on the forehead before continuing up the stair. "Just simply announcing that we've agreed so well that we're marrying this Sunday." Mrs. Holmes's eyes bugled and Mycroft lost his footing for a moment. All eyes went to me and I was so shocked that I dropped my glass of wine on the carpet in shock. He hollered down the stairs. "Be sure to invite John and Mary, they'd be so upset at being left out of the celebrations. Keep it simple, nothing loud or crazy; we can afford to pay for a special license. So, see you all at the church on Sunday."

He hurried up the stairs and I found my tongue. "Are you serious!?" I shouted. "You didn't even propose!"

He frowned. "Does it make a difference?"

"Yes!"

He groaned and shook his head as he peered over the rail down at me. "Fine then, will you marry me?"

"No!" I shrieked.

He wasn't even fazed. "Sorry, considering I've agreed to marry you, you don't have much of a choice." He grinned at me. "I'll let your parents explain to you how a girl's life changes into a woman when she marries. See you Sunday!"

With that, he went up the stairs and slammed a door to a room upstairs. Everyone look at the general direction. I exhaled in amazement as the world spun before my eyes. Mycroft spoke up. "Well, shall we discuss the impending marriage in the library? I've got a copy of our contractual agreement in the parlor."

I felt was if the whole world were passing me by. As the air was slowly sucked out my chest, I reached for the nearest thing to throw and it happened to a priceless vase. It was is if my hand were not my own as I threw the vase to the ground. The scream that ripped itself from my chest echoed in the room. I may have let out a hysterical cry or two, but that was the last thing that I heard before I began gasping. The world swirled around me and I sunk to the ground on my knees, clutching my chest in horror. For I knew in that instance, the moment Sherlock Holmes announced that he was to take me as his wife, I would never meet the man that I was destined to truly love.