"No," Sherlock said curtly. "You are not forcing me to go."
"Oh please, please, please," Scarlett clasped her hands together as she stopped stirring the pasta for a moment and looked at Sherlock who was playing on John's laptop after Scarlett had forbidden Sherlock from using hers when she found that he had changed her password to her email account, saying he had done it for an experiment.
"No Scarlett," Sherlock said. "It is such a typical thing to do and completely and utterly boring."
"But it looks amazing!" Scarlett told him. "And the next screening isn't until half past nine."
"It looks boring," Sherlock said. "I did notice the trailer on TV and it looked completely and utterly predictable. Yes, the good guy will eventually win the girl from the bad guy and then they will all live happily ever after. It happens in every single movie."
"Fine," Scarlett snapped at Sherlock. "I'll ask John to go with me."
"Ask John what?" Dr Watson suddenly appeared at the doorway after being sat in the living room and reading through a book which Scarlett had lent him. Sherlock looked at his friend and then back onto the laptop.
"Is that my laptop?" he asked Sherlock.
"What else am I supposed to do to keep myself entertained?" Sherlock asked. "We finished the case so I'm in search of another one...but nothing seems to be coming up."
"You could come and watch the film with me at the cinema," Scarlett grumbled and finally dished up the pasta and placed the sauce over it, handing plates to Sherlock and John. Scarlett took a seat at the dining table as did John and Sherlock finally managed to place the laptop down and onto the worktop.
"I could come and risk falling asleep which could lead to possible stares from people around us and the further embarrassment of you," Sherlock said, twirling the pasta onto his fork and placing it into his mouth whilst Scarlett simply shook her head and stabbed her pasta.
"John," she turned to the other man. "Would you please accompany me to the cinema tonight as Sherlock is being a complete and utter spoilsport?"
"Don't see why not," John shrugged. "I'm in need of a decent laugh."
"Or a decent reason to commit suicide," Sherlock replied and he suddenly heard his phone vibrate and he answered it quickly, his eyes lighting up as he heard Lestrade begging for his help on an interesting murder which appeared to be suicide.
"I'm on the way," he said and stood up.
"Come on John...we have to go," he said and Scarlett simply remained tight lipped. His job came first. She knew that. No matter how annoyed she may get at it coming first during dinner.
"Sorry," John said to Scarlett and she shrugged and smiled at him;
"Don't worry about it," she waved off and he went to fetch his coat. Sherlock walked back into the kitchen with his coat on and his scarf, slowly slipping his hands into his leather gloves as he looked at Scarlett who was simply looking at her pasta.
"I hate to say this," he began in a drawl, "but you are much more attractive when you have a smile on your face. They also say that smiling uses less muscles and so I think that in conclusion you should definitely smile some more."
"You know," Scarlett said. "You have the weirdest ways of complimenting people."
"Ah," Sherlock grinned. "But we have established I do compliment you."
"Just go and help Lestrade Sherlock," Scarlett told him, allowing a small smile to play on her lips as Sherlock smiled wider and nodded his head at her;
"Much better," and then he took off.
...
"I don't think it was her Mrs Hudson," Scarlett said as she and the elder woman sat in Sherlock's living room, staring at the TV which showed a murder mystery on the TV.
"Oh," Mrs Hudson said. "The man on the right does look guilty though dear...oh if Sherlock was here he would have solved this before the opening credits."
"That's why I don't watch them when he's about...he just ruins it within the first ten minutes and then he sits there and complains about being bored," Scarlett informed the older woman, moving her arms to go around her knees and resting her chin onto her arm as she continued looking at the TV. Mrs Hudson sat in the other armchair and she looked at Scarlett and sighed;
"So," she began. "I keep wondering to myself if there truly is anything going on between you and Sherlock...I know he can sometimes be an annoying young man and also has strange hobbies but I can't figure out what is happening with you two."
"Your guess is as good as mine Mrs Hudson," Sherlock sighed. "If not slightly better."
"You mean you don't know how he feels towards you?" Mrs Hudson asked. "Because I was just wondering if you could tell me if he and John well...you know dear..."
"Him and John?" Scarlett asked and Mrs Hudson nodded whilst Scarlett remained quiet for a moment and then gasped loudly;
"You thought they were gay?" she asked in shock and Mrs Hudson nodded;
"So they're not?" She asked. "I just wondered if Sherlock didn't have a preference...that was all."
"No," Scarlett said. "No...he's not gay...I don't think he likes both genders anyway."
"So you and Sherlock? There is something?" Mrs Hudson asked and Scarlett nodded;
"I think there is," she shrugged. "He says he likes me."
"But you're not courting?" Mrs Hudson asked and Scarlett shook her head, she couldn't help but think how traditional that sounded and she also couldn't help but think that she liked the sound of what Mrs Hudson had said.
"No," Scarlett said. "We're not"
But before the elder woman could even ask any more questions, there was a sudden blast sound. Her and Mrs Hudson jumped up from their seats and ran over to the window and looked onto Baker Street and as they did so they saw a blacked out car, the window slowly rolling down as the car drove slowly.
"Mrs Hudson!" Scarlett shouted. "Get down!" She pushed the woman down onto the floor, before falling to it herself, as the sound of gunshots came through the glass, shattering it everywhere. Scarlett screamed loudly as she felt the shards tumble into her and small ornaments in the flat began to break and fall around the women. The shooting seemed to go on for ages, but when it eventually stopped, Scarlett saw black.
...
"Where is she?" Sherlock demanded as he jumped out a black cab on Baker Street seeing police cars and ambulances scattered around. John followed his friend as he ducked under the blue tape and into the chaos and mayhem, seeing Mrs Hudson giving a statement and then finally seeing Scarlett who was sat on the step of an ambulance, shivering in the cold, wearing nothing but a thin blanket.
"Scarlett," Sherlock gasped her name as he approached her and removed his grey coat, taking of her blanket and replacing it with his thick coat as he stood in front of her and ran his hands up and down her arms, causing friction to warm her.
"Are you okay?" he asked her and she nodded;
"I'm fine," she said and Sherlock allowed a slender finger to trace the stitches which were on her forehead and she winced;
"Come on," Sherlock said, taking her hand and pulling her up. "We'll get you somewhere warmer."
...
Mrs Hudson allowed Sherlock, John and Scarlett to kip in her living room that night. John took a mattress to the floor and Sherlock remained sat with Scarlett on the sofa. He had to admit that he was stiff, as she sat herself in his lap and rested her head onto his shoulder, but Sherlock didn't push her away, instead he allowed to stay with him, realising she was probably in shock and was in need of comfort. Comfort which only he could offer apparently. He had given her his jacket to wear as she seemed to be in shock.
"Are you okay?" he whispered as she remained quiet and looked tired.
"I don't know," Scarlett whispered. "Do you think it's Moriarty?"
"I am not entirely sure," Sherlock replied. "But the murderer was the old man in the programme you and Mrs Hudson were watching," he distracted her and she managed to look up at him;
"How did you know we were watching that?"
"I saw you looking at it intently in the TV guide and I read the brief on it, it seemed completely obvious that it would be the old man," he told her and she rolled her eyes and yawned;
"Go to sleep," he urged her.
"You want me to move off?" she asked, looking at John who was on the floor sleeping.
"No," Sherlock said "Not if you don't want to."
And so she didn't.