Author's Note: Okay so if anyone reading this lives in London, I apologize for my severely inaccurate knowledge of London geography. Foyles is a real place and I don't really know its actual proximity to North Gower street, where fictional Baker Street it set. Sooo yeah. Enjoy chapter 9!
"So are you leaving your job reviewing books?" Sheryl asked leaning back in her chair, notepad and pen poised in her lap.
Samantha shook her head.
"Is he paying you?"
She shook her head again.
"Tell me, what exactly is your purpose to him?"
Sam was confused, her purpose to him? Her face must've shown her inner thoughts because Sheryl began to elaborate.
"What exactly does he want with you? Why has he decided all of the sudden to include you in his work?"
She shrugged. It was a mystery to her too. As far as she knew from Dr. Watson's blog he and Sherlock did a lot of cases together, and John documented everything. They'd lived together, that's how John knew so much about Sherlock's quirks and needs. Based on the facts presented she was merely a replacement for him. Not even a good one. After all it had taken him longer to warm up to her.
Sheryl was still waiting for an answer.
I don't know. I pay the rent, I make sure he eats and now, I document his cases. I'm doing a job.
She said nothing. Sam shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She leaned forward to scribble on the pad again.
Why are you asking? Is this a problem?
Sheryl leaned back into her chair, thinking. She was trying to figure out how to say what came next.
"You were a victim of...a terrible action."
Sam looked confused.
"An action that was carried out by...a male."
Sam didn't write anything, she wanted to hear more. What was she saying?
"I'm worried that this arrangement might be potentially...compromising to your recovery."
Now she wrote, In what way?
Sheryl was trying to choose her words wisely.
"Depending on what his...intentions are with you, this situation could make things worse for you."
What are you suggesting?
Sam could see her therapist getting more and more uneasy. The woman sighed.
"I think it would be beneficial to you to find out why he wants you around. If he's interested in a relationship of a romantic sort then that could be an issue."
Sam felt her cheeks get hot. She looked down and scribbled furiously.
Why would that be an issue? It's been three years, shouldn't I be ready for a relationship by now? You didn't tell me this originally.
Sheryl rubbed her eyes.
"It's never come up before. You weren't in a relationship when the incident occurred, and the one who caused it wasn't your significant other. There was no reason to address it."
Sam dug her pen into the pad in anger.
What will happen to me if I'm involved with someone? How come after three years I supposedly can't handle it?
Sheryl sighed again.
"At this point Samantha, I'm afraid that you haven't made as much progress as we'd hoped."
Sam leaned forward, silently begging her to continue.
"You still have a very active startle response, even at the smallest noises. You also mentioned your discomfort of people being too physically close to you in public settings."
She felt tears spring to her eyes.
What's the matter with that? Those things can be overcome.
Sheryl leaned forward and took her hands.
"Yes, yes they can. I also know that you're trying, you're trying so hard and I'm proud of you for it. But, in my professional medical opinion you are not ready to be engaged with a person physically yet."
Sam sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Then immediately regretted it. Sheryl handed her a tissue.
"Look there's no need to cry. You're not ready yet. I'm not saying there's no hope for you either."
She looked up into her eyes.
"You need to get better first. Focus on you. Once you've done that then you'll finally be capable to focus on another person."
Sam didn't know how to respond. So she got up, thanked Sheryl and rescheduled for the next week. Then she walked quickly out the front door of the office, the door clanging behind her.
She jogged up the stairs to the flat faster than usual, whipped around the corner and went striaght to her room, slamming the door behind her. She didn't care who heard.
Why would she get upset like that over a simple question? Isn't wasn't as if she were looking for a relationship. In fact she'd never been looking for a relationship. Her sister was the one who always seemed to get the guys. Even as teenagers, Sarah was the one with the date every weekend. While Sam would sit at home and read and that never bothered her. After all, she'd figured, I've got the rest of my life to do that. Much to the dismay of every girl in her school.
So why is this bothering me so much now? She paid the rent, she did a job. She was there for a purpose. Sam began to pace around the room.
She's being ridiculous, she thought furiously, Sherlock wasn't even the one who picked me! It's not like he wanted me specifically. No, she thought stopping in the middle of the room, he doesn't have a intention for me. He's just being him. He's odd. That's all, nothing more.
She heard a knock at the door.
When Sherlock heard the footsteps coming up the stairs he knew something was different. They were quicker, and had more purpose.
He stayed perfectly still in his chair. When she stormed by he didn't say anything. She blew past him as if he were invisible. The door to her room slammed and he heard the sound of bed springs as she flopped on the bed. He listened a minute before he heard movement. Footsteps in a repeating pattern. She was pacing. He heard her stop and he went to her door and knocked quietly so he wouldn't startle her again.
When she answered the door she had a fire in her eyes that he'd never seen before. He tried to speak.
"Erm... sorry... did I interrupt something?"
She gave a reassuring smile and quickly shook her head. She was about to close the door when she noticed he wasn't leaving.
Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck, rapidly searching his brain for something else to say.
"Did you...erm...make any progress today?"
A confused look. He sighed.
"It's no surprise that I know where you go on Mondays."
She just stared. He prattled on.
"You suffer from mutism so of course you have a therapist or pychiatrist of some sort."
Sam leaned against the door frame with a sigh. Then looked him straight on. This surprised Sherlock a bit. He'd often noticed her avoidance of eye contact and noticed that she only looked at him when he wasn't looking back. Probably a result of the trauma.
She stopped looking at him and turned to grab her notebook.
My psychiatrist just upset me is all. It's all over now. I'm okay.
Sherlock read the paper then said blandly,
"You know it'd be more efficient to use sign language."
She let out what sounded like an annoyed sigh and wrote quickly.
Tried it a few years ago, I didn't pick it up very quickly. Also that would mean everyone else would have to learn it too so they could understand it. This is just easier.
"Are there any other methods?"
I had a talk box that I typed into, but that seemed to frighten people. Especially small children.
Sam finished the last sentence with a small smirk.
Sherlock hesitated, "So... what's your plan then?"
My psychiatrist wants me to talk again. But I found out today I'm not doing as well as she'd hoped. So I don't know.
The wheels began to turn in his mind.
The next morning Sam was determined to get out of the house. She went through her morning routine ten times faster than usual. Sherlock clearly noticed this but she didn't care. She took only a ten minute shower then dressed, grabbed her bag, and clattered down the stairs rather noisily. Stepping out the door into the crisp, late autumn air she inhaled the smell of leaves and the biting wind.
Moving with purpose down the street, past Speedy's and onward she made a beeline for Foyles. A large London bookseller. It used to be closer when she lived with her sister, now living on Baker Street, it was a bit more of a hike.
After she'd began living with her sister, before she got her writing job Sam would go to Foyles during the day while Sarah and Mark were working. She loved it because it was large, but quiet. She'd walk up and down the shelves tapping the tops of the spines like keys on a piano. Running her fingers along the covers of the displays. She also loved the way one could literally get lost. There were so many corners and possible hiding places. If I were a child I'd play hide and seek here for hours, she'd thought.
Settling into an over sized armchair in some forgotten corner of the massive store, she began to read. Before she knew it two hours had passed.
"You gonna buy that?"
Sam started and looked up into the eyes of a young, handsome employee, who was grinning down at her.
She struggled to her feet. Which were asleep from being curled up in the same position for so long.
She opened her mouth like she meant to speak on purpose but of course no sound came out. The guy looked a bit confused.
"You okay?"
Sam tapped her throat and shook her head.
"Oh you got a bit of laryngitis?"
Sam let a smile slip and shook her head. She scribbled in her notebook.
Nope, mute.
His eyebrows went up in realization.
"Oh man, I'm sorry I didn't know."
She held her hand up to stop whatever long apology he was mentally preparing and wrote out a quick note.
It happens all the time. How could you know?
"Oh...um okay. I really am sorry though. I feel like an idiot."
She shrugged to say , "It's okay."
They stood in silence for a moment, the guy looked down at her book, A Christmas Carol.
"You reading some Dickens?"
Sam wrote, It'll be Christmas soon, getting in the mood.
Another bit of silence. The employee ran his hand through his hair a few times before saying, "Look, I still feel bad about before. Can I at least do something to stop feeling like such a git?"
She shrugged again, not really knowing what he had in mind.
"Here," he said taking the book from her hand "How about I give you a discount on this or something? Or even better how about I make it on the house?"
As appealing as that sounded Sam couldn't let him do that. She shook her head and tried to stop him.
"Come on it's the least I can do."
She wrote fast.
It's not that big of a deal. You don't have to do that.
But the guy was already at the register.
"Only ten pounds? I can spare that." He swiped a card through the machine, and handed her the book over the counter.
Sam felt heat rise to her cheeks. This was incredibly generous, and she felt a little embarrassed to accept such a gesture. She scribbled on the back the receipt.
You really didn't have to.
He smiled, "I know, I just want to keep you coming around."
As she was leaving he called from the register, "I'm Kyle by the way!"
She blushed all the way back to the flat.