***The only character I own in this story is Ri, all others belong to their original owners***
Sherlock threw his lanky frame into his favorite chair, long legs splayed out, his arms draped casually over the sides of the chair. His dark curls tumbled slightly down the back of the chair as he leaned his head back, his bottom lip slightly out and his eyes hooded. The famous coat spread out behind him.
Even with out Sherlock's famed powers of observation, Ri could see that he was pouting. Awesome, she thought. My new flatmate is a genius 4-year-old.
Sherlock stole a sideways glance at Ri. He told himself it was just to see her reaction to his mini-tantrum. His mind was betraying him, instead of noticing her reaction, the first thing he noticed was how the sunlight from the window shone on her hair, making it look like she had rivers of gold flowing down her long, creamy neck, accentuating her collarbone. A feeling of horror came over Sherlock as quickly realized he was no longer just looking at the strange woman out of the corner of his eye. He had turned his entire head and was blatantly staring at her. The most disconcerting part was that she was staring back at him.
"Well," she said, with a smile. "You're dying to say it, so go ahead. Deduce me. The odds of you offending me are very slight."
"I promise I could offend you if I tried," he responded curtly.
He immediately regretted the tone of his response. For some reason, the thought of offending his new flatmate disagreed with him. Why should I care what this woman thinks about me, he thought. I don't want a new flatmate. Obviously his last flatmate hadn't worked out, as John was now married and living in the suburbs.
Sherlock sat up and turned to look at the strange woman with whom he was now, albeit reluctantly, sharing a flat with. He looked her up and down, lingering on her striking green eyes, the fullness and curve of her pink lips, how the pieces of skin he could see were a creamy porcelain. Her skin looks very soft, he thought. To distract himself from these thoughts, he sneered and began his deductions.
"You are American, but you have moved often, even outside the United States. Your accent is a mix of American regional dialects, but you are good with languages as you have subconsciously been adding British inflections. You are wealthy but you try to hide it, suggesting you don't get along with your family. You are familiar with London, suggesting you have spent time here before and I would imagine you use British slang without noticing."
Ri smiled haughtily.
"Almost correct," she said.
Sherlock did a double take.
"Almost? I'm very rarely wrong."
"I'm not American, though I did grow up there. I'm actually from Monaco. I have lived in America, Asia and Europe. I speak French, Italian, German and English fluently, with enough Russian and Spanish to get by. I did spend a fair amount of my youth in London. My brothers were at Eton, and I would come on holiday to spend time with them. I'm actually not wealthy, but you were correct in assuming my family is." Ri frowned as she mentioned her family. "I'm a bit of the black sheep of my family. I don't really care to cow-tow to them, and as punishment for my disloyalty, I'm cut off from the family funds. Fortunately for me, I am actually able to support myself."
Sherlock's face softened. He understood not getting on with family, of always being a disappointment. At least in that fact, they were alike.
"Look, I'm exhausted, jet-lagged and I would just about kill someone for a hot bath," Ri sighed, massaging her aching shoulders. "My luggage got lost, so if I could borrow a towel that would be amazing."
As he walked to pull a clean towel out of the linen closet, Sherlock tried very hard not to imagine Ri naked in the bath.
Ri, took the towel with a tired smile. She walked into the bathroom, turned the tap on nearly as hot as it would go and lowered her body into the steaming water. She couldn't help letting out a moan as the heat enveloped her body. Transatlantic flights always left her body tight and sore, sitting for hours in the cramped seats of the coach section. Travel to London was much easier in my youth, she thought sardonically. Private jets are much more comfortable than coach. It would have been nice of the Crown to at least spring for business class.
The steaming water had done its job, her muscles had loosened. The exhaustive combination of the trip and jet-lag took its toll as Ri's eyelids got heavier and heavier. Sighing, she decided to abandon the comfort of the tub for a bed. I feel like I could sleep for a week, she thought.
She dried off and considered putting her jeans and jumper back on to walk upstairs to the room that had previously belonged to John Watson, but decided she didn't really care if it bothered her new flatmate. Damn these puritanical Brits and their fear of nudity. Ri wrapped the towel around her, picked up her clothes off the floor and opened the door.
Ri wasn't really paying attention as she walked out of the bathroom. All she could think about was making up the stairs and collapsing into bed. I really hope there are at least sheets and a blanket on the bed. Pillows would be nice, but I'm too tired to be greedy. She didn't notice the fact that Sherlock's eyes followed her from the moment she walked out of the bathroom until he could no longer see her as she went up the stairs.
It wasn't long before Ri reappeared in the sitting room. Sherlock hadn't moved out of the chair, his chin resting on his steepled fingers, eyes closed. He heard her enter the room, but didn't open his eyes. He was too busy concentrating on how to solve the Moriarty problem.
He didn't acknowledge her when she softly cleared her throat. He knew she was trying to get his attention, but, for some reason, he needed to convince her that she couldn't command his attention, that she was unimportant in the scheme of Sherlock's life.
"Mr. Holmes? Do you have any spare sheets and a blanket?"
"As we are now flatmates and I do not even know your surname, you may call me Sherlock," he said flatly, without bothering to acknowledge her in any other way.
"Fine, Sherlock, do you have a spare set of sheets and a blanket," Ri responded icily.
Still mostly ignoring her, he waved his hand in the direction of the hallway.
"There might be some in the hall closet."
He could tell she was getting frustrated. Good, he thought, maybe she'll leave me alone now. For all he tried to convince himself that alone was what he wanted, Sherlock couldn't keep his thoughts from drifting back to Ri. The only other woman that had ever had a similar effect on him was The Woman. Of course, he reasoned with himself. The reason I keep thinking about her is I was wrong in my deductions. She is an enigma.