Dear God, He's Gone and Done It : Chapter 3
"No, really Barbary, how did you meet Mary?" John had an amused look on his face.
I was new in town; I had lived in Scotland for a short time…very short, though I did like it there. I didn't know anybody in town. I went to a launderette or whatever you call them here. There was a notice hanging in the window that they needed some people to help in the local theatre. I wasn't sure about it. I…sometimes I...Well, it was a great way to try to get to know people, so I decided to give it a chance. The worst that could happen was that I wouldn't like it and would have to find a new hobby.
But getting to play dress up and pretending to be somebody else for a couple of hours a day was sort of intriguing I suppose. I mean, who doesn't want to be somebody else, have a different life, if only for a day?
I couldn't get my eye make-up just right for this one play we were going to do. And Mary came over to help me out. She told me how wonderful she thought my eyes were. It was one of the nicest things anybody had ever said to me."
With that she continued to eat her fish and chips, thinking that was the end of it.
Sherlock had never stopped watching her, barely even touching his own food, and saw her body language and the look on her face as she described her first meeting with Mary. Finally, something he could latch onto.
"You have a problem with large groups of people." It was more a statement than a question; coming from Sherlock…he's not the type to ask anything after all.
"Yeah, sometimes I do. I was an only child, sometimes growing up was sort of lonely and boring."
"Lonely maybe, but I doubt it was boring."
"What are you implying…sir?" Barbary had asked staring Sherlock down, not breaking eye contact for once. If anything, Sherlock was impressed she had even attempted the eye contact; she had been avoiding it, or skirting the issue since he and John were introduced. But, then again, Sherlock was never one to shy away from a staring contest either. But, looking into Barbary's eyes just now, Sherlock could tell that there was something….She was challenging him to say another word about it.
"Nothing. Nothing at all. I just find it doubtful that anyone like you could have been boring." He even tossed in a wink to try to throw her off a little bit.
Barbary smiled at him, the smile breaking across her face slowly, 'Awww, thanks. That was awfully nice of you to say."
After a few more bites of food, it seemed as though Barbary was reaching her limit, pushing her plate away from her and settling back against her seat.
Barbary sat and talked with Mary, John, and Sherlock for a few more minutes before deciding she needed to call it a night.
"Oh, I can call you a cab." Mary offered.
"Thank you, but I think I'm going to walk. I don't live so terribly far; I should be alright."
"Bar, it's been raining for quite some time; almost since we first came in."
"Well, damn. I hadn't bothered to notice. I was enjoying the company so much I guess. No matter, I have a hood on my jacket. And you know I always pack a small umbrella in my bag. I'll still be alright."
Strangely enough, Sherlock needed no prompting, 'I can walk with you. I mean, if you'd like."
Barbary stopped and sort of looked at him, squinting one eye as if she was trying to look straight through him to see what he was really after.
"I mean, I'm basically done eating anyway. It would, I think make us all feel better knowing you got home in one piece."
"Well, alright. Since you put it that way, I don't want Mary worrying for sure. Come on then. Mary, I'll see you at the next rehearsal."
"If not before." Mary looked at her sideways with a grin on her face. Barbary didn't see it, but Sherlock gave Mary the side eye as well as if to ask her without speaking just what she thought she was up to. Mary winked at them both as they walked out into the rainy London weather.
"Come, Sherlock. It's only about a ten minute walk from here."
Sherlock held out an elbow for her to take his arm as they walked and she smiled up at his efforts at being a gentleman, shaking her head, yet taking the offered arm. With his free hand, Sherlock carried the umbrella over their heads; carrying it this way caused Barbary to have to lean closer to be able to stay dry at all…a calculated move on Sherlock's part. She didn't seem to argue; this caused a bit of a rueful smile to pull the corners of Sherlock's lips up.
Sure enough, not more than ten minutes later, they arrived at a building that looked as though it had once been a warehouse of some sort; from the outside it still had a very industrial feel.
"Come on detective man; let's get in out of all this rain."
They walked into the building. Sherlock was pleasantly surprised by the interior thus far.
The floor was sealed concrete, with large, mansion sized rugs at various intervals to denote sitting areas, etc. There was a concierge desk with a bank of security monitors to one side. There were chandeliers that hung from above. But they were not the usual over blown non-sense that you usually see, although that they were still attractive; they were in keeping with the industrial feel of the building.
"Hello poppet." The security guard and apartment concierge rang in unison.
"Boys….' Barbary winked at them before going over to the desk. "Do I have any messages?"
"Not right now, we'll let you know."
"You have a canoe back there."
"Too right this rain…."Phillip, the guard replied.
"Well, then…I'll see the two of you later."
"Regular card game tomorrow night?" Edward, the concierge asked.
"Play that by ear. I don't know what I will be up to. But, you and the rest of the boys should still get together….a pint for me then."
"Always doll."
With that Barbary finally led Sherlock to the elevator to lead him to her flat. The elevator looked like it would have been a freight elevator at one time.
The ride up to the fourth floor took only a matter of a couple of minutes.
"I'll warn you, it's small…my place. But, I think you'll like it."
With that Barbary opened the door and ushered Sherlock in. She was right. This place looked like Sherlock's version of heaven. Almost every available wall was lined with book cases which were crammed with books on every subject; many of them were about ancient civilizations…Egypt, Mesopotamia, etc. There were a few about the history of Great Britain and continental Europe. There were pictures in frames dotted around on some of the shelves and the tables of numerous places she seemed to have visited over the years. This place had a world traveler vibe to it. There was a large bank of windows in the reception area behind the enormous sectional sofa that looked out over the river; you could even see Big Ben and the area of Westminster Palace. This was a view that most people would kill for. The flat would have qualified as a studio, a large studio, but a studio nonetheless had it not been for the sleeping area. Over where the bed was…the bed took up almost the entire little space, it was a queen-size after all. On either wall at the foot and head of the bed there were shelves, four on each end, high enough she wouldn't hit her head when she sat up, that wasn't saying much at all, she was so small. There was a wall that was built just beyond the bed that formed a bit of a doorway that led to the living area. There were drapes that hung on either side of the doorway to soften the edges a bit; they were of a Middle Eastern pattern and design. The top of the walls didn't meet the ceiling, there was about a foot, maybe two, between the top of the wall and the ceiling, allowing for air circulation.
Sherlock was so deep in thought examining the apartment…tunnel vision and all. He was broken out of his thoughts when he heard her small voice.
"So is it up to your standards?" Barbary had this impish smile on her face.
"It'll do." Sherlock gave a wry smile of his own.
"Pig." She gave a snort of laughter. "If you want something to drink, I have a few beers…tea…" she pulled a cord that opened a drape that covered a make shift pantry, the shelves of which were mostly covered with non-perishables and a copious selection of teas from around the world.
"You do hot tea?"
"Of course, why wouldn't I?"
"I didn't think Americans were into that sort of thing."
"Who said I was American?"
"Your accent was muddled like someone who was trying their best to sound British. I'm sorry, I assumed…" The look he gave her though held no such apology. He knew what he was talking about.
"I've lived in many different places, sometimes for several years at a time. I tend to pick up languages and accents quickly. It's not a problem. What sort of tea do you prefer? I usually leave some of the Indian style and the Moroccan teas for in the morning. They're a little high octane, you'll be up this time next week cleaning your house if you drink those now."
Sherlock walked over to the kitchen and stood looking at the selection. He noticed that, for herself, Barbary picked a Jasmine tea.
Seeing that he noticed her choice, 'I love the smell of it, and it doesn't taste too shabby either."
She set about making her own tea, 'How do you take yours, I can go ahead and get it ready."
"I can…"
"Oh my friend, you don't seem the type to trouble yourself about the kitchen. How do you take your tea?"
Sherlock told her and she nodded and told him to go have a seat in the living room. As the kettle of water finished boiling, she got the tray with the tea service stacked and grabbed a little something for a snack. She wasn't hungry, but sometimes when she got nervous she nibbled. And, right now she could eat the tires off of a double decker bus. She had never brought strangers back to her place, let alone men. And Sherlock was both, a stranger and a man. And then there was the whole point of him being Sherlock. Yes, she was highly attracted to him…give her a few minutes and she would name 4 out of 5 of their future children. But, she was pretty sure he had caught her in that lie about not being American. She was American by birth as it turns out. But it was the gospel truth when she said that she had lived in various places all over the world….at least she hadn't lied about that…and she did tend to catch onto languages and accents quite quickly. Perhaps he would let that slide out of the kindness of his heart. A girl could wish.
"Ok, go ahead and sit there, enjoy your tea. I'm going to change, I think, and get out of these clothes."
After noticing the look on his face change ever so slightly, Barbary turned to walk towards the bedroom…smiling to herself, knowing that he couldn't see her.
"Oh and don't peek how 'bout it." She tossed over her shoulder a bit as she continued on her way. Once she got over to where her room was she reached for the one wall and pulled. There was a hidden pocket door that she could shut; the door was made out of steel oddly enough, and it was a 'reclaimed' object that showed its age.
Not more than two or three minutes later, she emerged in her pajamas with her hair combed out. Sherlock did his best not to choke to death on his biscuit when he saw her, but he couldn't help the slight cough nonetheless. She was wearing a screaming red camisole top and some small shorts and her feet were bare….
Sitting down next to Sherlock on the sofa, she patted him on the back, 'Chew baby, don't want you dying on me yet." She couldn't stifle the small giggle that seemed to bubble up.
Recovering himself, 'I see you don't have a TV."
"Yeah, there's nothing but garbage on it half the time anyway. I can read a newspaper. Besides, if there is something newsworthy that either hasn't been printed yet, or won't be printed due to the contents of the story, I can still get updates…I know people. And, sometimes, after a busy day around town, I just like to come back to peace and quiet. It allows me to think clearly."
This could be Sherlock's dream woman….he couldn't help but look at her in an odd manner.
"Does this make me strange?"
"Not at all." He smiled at her politely.
"Well, look….You are welcome to stay here if you like. I know it's God awful late and crappy weather, and it's probably quite a distance to your place…I don't have anything for you to wear, but...I can let you sleep in there,' nodding towards where her bed was. "I'd say you could have the couch, but the bed is bigger, and you are sort of tall. It might be more comfortable if you.."
Noticing she had started rambling, 'Who is in the picture on the mantel?"
"I don't know; that frame came with the place. I just never took it down. The woman is so pretty, and it's such a nice picture, I left it up."
Another lie, and Sherlock knew it. He noted to the sadness in her eyes as she looked to the picture in question. It was very likely a picture of Barbary, or whoever she was, with her mother…a mother that was likely deceased and had been for a very long time. Odds are the death was a violent one or was in some way traumatic to Barbary as a child and she just preferred to not speak of it.
"Sorry, just being a bit nosy. It's a habit."
"So I've heard."
They bantered back and forth like this for a long time, even to the point of Sherlock asking Barbary if she really expected him to read 'War and Peace' to her out loud. She seemed adamant about this.
At some point an hour or two later the conversation began to die down, Sherlock was explaining something and then asked Barbary a question. He received no answer. Looking down, he realized she had managed to fall asleep, curled against his right side, her head resting against his chest, her left arm slung around his waist slightly. Moreover, he realized he had subconsciously wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to them as they talked. As he sat there and mulled this over, he thought about her offer to stay. It would be rude of him to just leave and for her to wake up alone, especially after she had been quite good to him, allowing him in for tea and conversation. After thinking for a moment longer, he managed to maneuver a way to stand up without disturbing her very much and made his way to her facilities. Once he had washed his face and taken care of business, he came back out into the living room and scooped her off of the sofa and took her over to the bed. Setting her down and pulling the covers up for her, he noticed the chandelier. Inside her little sleeping nook it looked like Paris threw up. It didn't surprise him in the least. The rest of her flat was covered in objects that she had gathered in her travels; he would have been shocked if Paris had been left out. On the shelves that surrounded the bed there were pictures of her in Paris as well as other cities around the world, as well as knick knacks of various sorts….a statue of Ganesh and one of Shiva, were among these.
As he stood to leave the room and go sleep on the couch he pulled away from her. As he turned to go her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist; he noted that her fingers could not close completely around it.
In her slumber she managed to mumble to him.
"Don't leave."
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Ok, long wait for an update, yes…I know, I'm awful for that. Another fairly light chapter. Tried to include bits where they put each other on the spot a bit; although, mostly Barbary putting Sherlock on the spot since he is always so in control of everything. Am I the only that loves it when he gets a little shaken up? Also, tried to give little hints into more about my girl Barbary….who she is, where she might come from, etc. There will eventually be more development there as we go along. I will say this; the theater isn't the only way that she knows Mary. That's all you'll get on that subject for now.