Chapter 13

First Touch

The evening at the cinema had gone reasonably well, apart from when they went for dinner, Sherlock kept deducing things about the waiters and waitresses. According to him, their waitress was having an affair with one of the chefs. However, this time he had to sit beside Page. John had had doubts at that point, perhaps it would not be such a good idea- knowing Sherlock he would end up hurting her feelings by accident (or in this case- on purpose.) Page seemed to have enjoyed her evening; these people were her friends now. Now that she'd moved down to London, she found that despite the awkwardness between her and Sherlock, the whole thing had been for the best.

Page Santos stood outside the flats on a cold and breezy morning on Baker Street. She stood waiting for a taxi to make an appearance. There was a bright green bow tied in her hair and a small bag over her shoulder. A few leaves scattered around her feet; the autumn was here and the air caused a slight chill. Behind her, a door was opened and then shut a couple of seconds later. A man strode over towards her, his hands in his pockets of his long black coat. A deep blue scarf tied around his neck and the curls on his head bounced with the breeze. He stood beside her and breathed out; Page watched his breath flow out of his mouth with the wind. Tall, he was so tall and she was only small. Looking up at the man, she forced a worried smile at him. "Good morning Sherlock, how are you today?" She whispered, her lips quivering- she'd been such a fool- such a damn idiot. Why oh why had she made herself look a fool? Inside her head she sighed at herself, admitting her feelings so soon to the man whom she loved was not the best thing to do. She had been so silly; she'd acted like a stupid teenager! For God's sake, she was only twenty-five, she was young, he was at least ten years older then her. Did that really matter? A small sigh escaped from her mouth and she told her self to stop tormenting herself.

"I'm well thank you, actually Page, I was hoping you'd come back inside..." His voice trailed off and he shrugged...was he pretending...for once he himself didn't know. "I'd like to speak to you, it's rather important if you don't mind?" He asked, his voice was totally put on, and she knew it and he knew that she knew it.

"Why?" Her voice was cold and bitter, but perhaps the weather had put her in that mood.

"I need to question you, look it's about those killings, I really need to speak you...now."

Page and Sherlock sat themselves down in 221B- inside it was warm and cosy, unlike the bitterness of the morning outdoors. Page took a deep breath, why would she know anything about these killings? "Who's your boss Page?" That was the first question that Sherlock asked, Page looked at him funny, what use would that make?

"Mr Mason." She replied truthfully crossing her legs. Sherlock nodded and hit her with another question.

"Who drives that big black car?" Sherlock asked, this time he scared her. There was fire in his eyes, he seemed to be getting excited and she wasn't sure what to make of anything. Her eyes skimmed his face and she pursed her lips together before answering.

"I don't know."

"You must!"

"Well I don't, an employee of Mr Mason, but I don't know who." Her voice was raised and Sherlock could feel her panic. He watched as he small fingers gripped onto the edge of a pillow. His light blue eyes looked down at her dainty hand and slowly his reached down and placed his hand on top of hers. Taking it gently, he picked it up, placed it on her lap, and stared into eyes. Page watched him, her heart beating furiously inside her chest and her mind buzzing with questions and delusions. Her mouth was slightly open and she couldn't seem to close it.

"There's nothing to get worried about, I promise." Sherlock whispered at her, she nodded a little and breathed out. "It seems you know nothing, it's ok Page, and you can leave now. Thank you."