Here it is. Chapter two. Still getting a feel for the character's involved so forgive me if it's slow and a little boring. There will be further, deeper studying into the tenuous relationship between Ava and Sherlock later one including where it began etc.
Two weeks without an interesting case and Sherlock thought he may lose his mind with the intense boredom that had begun to seep into his bones. It was always the same when the city dulled like this and the triumphant need to exercise his brain overtook his every sense. He longed so painfully for a thrill that his days, hours, minutes were filled with thinking of nothing else. It was an effort to occupy such mundane things like eating and sleeping despite John's worrying whiney speeches. The floorboard where under he kept his secret tin thrummed to the point he thought he could visibly see the board itself moving up and down frantically, tempting him. And he perhaps he would've were it not for Lestrade, and John for that matter, he may've thrown himself down onto his hands and knees and ripped the piece of wood up to get to what he kept so quietly hidden.
But now. Now there was something to make his blood pulsate excitedly inside of his veins. He knew it was coming and felt the thrill of the chase building within him before it had even approached. And even so, the floorboards had ceased their thrumming – though the noise never strayed far from his conscious thought. Lestrade had contacted him almost immediately after the body was discovered with the details.
A murder.
Chaotic. Frenzied. Violent.
Deliciously exciting.
Sherlock leapt at the chance to be involved. And then, as it always should be, the game was on.
The adventure had taken he and John thus far and the deductions lead him to a wall which was near impossible to scale. Involving a long term friendly enemy, though Sherlock would hardly describe her as friendly, on a case was not high on his list of priorities but had proved to be vital in venturing any further with solving the case. Sherlock glowered at the very idea as his leg jittered and his long fingers crept around the hot cup of coffee in front of him. He welcomed the burning sensation through his finger tips like the sting of that first, glorious snort after so long. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep the smell of burning chip fat, old men and women and human perspiration. They only opened once again to settle on the door as it chimed open.
He recognised her immediately. Her face was a picture he'd long since memorised and although her hair was now a deep crimson red and the nose ring a new feature – perhaps not the cleverest for a woman of her profession – she was still exactly the same. He didn't even attempt to make an effort in order to alert her of his presence in the corner of the cafe but just waited, instead, until her eyes landed on him as she scanned the room. When they finally did, if there was emotion behind her own recognition, she didn't show it. Rather she turned to the barista behind the register and ordered a drink before navigating her way towards his table, dropping down in the plastic seats with a sigh.
"Really, Sherlock," She began, her lips curling in distaste. "You could've chosen a better place to rendezvous."
"Substance over style," He ignored her as she rolled her eyes. Sherlock didn't bother to conceal the real reason why he had brought her and began talking before she'd even settled. "There's been a murder."
"Am I the murderer?" She asked without missing a beat, eyes narrowed and lips curved upwards.
"No, Ava, but I'm sure you know more about this man than I do. His house was burgled. Money and jewellery was taken, as well as a number of extremely expensive paintings."
Ava allowed none of this information to register on her face and thanked the waitress for bringing her coffee over. She stirred it listlessly for a moment and added two sugars before stirring some more. "Oh really. How expensive?" The tone she'd adopted was nonchalant but Ava knew better than to try and act so casually around Sherlock.
"Very," She met his eyes and he held her gaze steadily. "Although any idiot can see the burglaries aren't connected."
"How so?" Ava humoured him, staring around the cafe idly.
"For one, all the jewellery and money taken was from the master bedroom only and the locks to each safe were replaced carefully and relocked," He attempted to catch her eye here but she avoided him and instead focused all of her interest on the overweight chef cooking a fried egg in a dirty pan. She was playing hard to get. With a sigh, he continued. "But Stephens had money hidden all over the place. In fact, there was a rather large amount stored in the spare room. The paintings, however, were taken from most, if not all, rooms and without thought too. They took everything, even the most useless of pictures worth nothing more than a pound or two in a charity shop. Now why would the same burglar be so careful in one room and so reckless in others?" Sherlock paused and sat forwards with his fingers clasped in front of him. "You forget just how well I know you, Ava Marwood."
The domineering way in which he said her full name made her sit up and mirror his movements. She all but snarled at him. "And you forget how well I know you, Sherlock Holmes. And exactly what it is that you're trying to imply. This has absolutely nothing to do with me," Ava stood to leave in a flurry of red hair and furrowed eyebrows until Sherlock placed a hand on her wrist and slid his fingers so they locked around the narrow bone that jutted out. Ava stopped and looked down, her gaze slowly peeling to meet the perpetrators. "Sherlock," She said quietly, evenly, through clenched teeth. "Do you really think that's wise?"
His eyes narrowed. "Yes," He daren't question her abilities to easily overturn tables and people alike, himself included if he was feeling sluggish, but this was imperative to the case and he wasn't going to leave without the information he needed. "Now sit down."
In one simple and quick movement, Ava twisted and ripped her wrist free of his grasp. It was so much easier when people least expected it. "No," She said sternly. "As I said, and you know I hate to repeat myself, Sherlock. This has nothing to do with me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some shopping to do." And quite suddenly she swished towards the door, her coat billowing out behind her where she hadn't done it up around her waist.
Sherlock scrambled out of his seat, pursuing her hotly. His eyes were still narrowed, lips drawn in a thin fractious line. His body folded neatly to slip through the crowds pushing their way along the London streets and he buttoned up his coat as he moved, turned the collar up with a dark frown. He could see the back of her head, the way her fingers carelessly picked up little pieces from market stalls and didn't set them down again. He trained his eye to watch as she lifted things without paying for them. With a quick step, Sherlock ducked down a side route not littered with tourists and locals and business folk alike and almost ran to catch up before emerging somewhere back into the crowd in step with the woman. "Ava," He hissed and took a hold of her elbow, stopping her in her tracks and forcing her face him suddenly. "For God's sake. I need your help."
From beneath the lion's man of curls and varying hues of red, Ava looked up with a smile that made his jaw clench irritably. "Well, Sherlock. You should've just said so in the first place. Honestly now."
Verdicts?