Teacher or Student
She was like a drug and Sherlock was very fast becoming addicted to Hermione Granger. He wrapped his days around her schedule so that he could spend more time with her, not even realizing his actions until he was so deep in that he didn't even want out.
After the surprise party she was around more, just like she promised, and like a beating heart she pumped the rhythm of his life.
He mistakenly gave her all the power.
At first it was little things to test her, conversation, experiments, even cases. He chose each with care, just to see what she was capable of and in everything she matched him move for move.
She was an excellent conservationist. Her knowledge vast; extending over multiple subjects and she knew her facts. She was able to argue with clear intellect and Sherlock found he would disagree with her just to watch her eyes flash and to hear her sternly contend her very through, well informed opinions.
Then there were the experiments; the ones he sat up in the kitchen when he knew she would be home. At first it was simple chemistry that quickly escalated to advance organic chemistry. It didn't matter if he was finding PH levels or trying to come up with an anti-venom to poison, she knew each step and how best to assist him without explanation.
He offers to take her out on cases, most the time she says 'no, take John'. But then, there is the rare occasions that she answers, 'I'll get my coat.' More often, however, if she accompanies him only on the cases she picks out. Like the one that she invited him to help with asking for him to meet up with her at a café in central London. It was another of his cases that he had been unable to solve because the suspect had gone missing, presumably dead.
Sherlock finds Hermione sitting on a park bench across the street from where their missing suspect, who is very much alive, eats lunch. The man is a potential adulterer and while Sherlock usually steer clear of such cases, Hermione had insisted they look back into this one. Her eyes are on the suspect as Sherlock sits next to her and he is surprised that she doesn't look at him but smiles sweetly.
"You kept me waiting, Mr. Holmes." She tells him in way of a greeting.
"How'd you know it was me?" He asks, wondering if he had a certain sent or gave off a particular vibe that she was in tuned to.
Her gaze shifts to him for a second, "Intuition." She tells him focusing back on the man across the street.
"You are very trusting Miss Granger." He comments adjusting his coat.
There is a fait pull at the corner of her lip, "You mean foolish. I understand the poetry of your vocabulary. You say trusting you mean foolish. You say brave you mean stupid."
"Are you trying to read me?" Sherlock asks observing their suspect. A man in his late twenties and while he is dressed nicely his portion size is rather small for a man of his built, clear indicators the man lives outside his means.
"Trying? No." Hermione assures.
"My brother and I play a game, it is called deduction. We use an object or a person and make informed statements of who they are. Do you want to play?" He invites thinking this would be the perfect way to pass the time.
"No you use prejudiced stereotypes to make informed judgment on what people are." Hermione argues. Sherlock locks his jaw scooting closer to her.
"It's more scientific than that." He informs her. "We have been living together for two months, Miss Granger. As I could read you the moment you walked across the dance floor to me. You have had weeks to decide who I am. You're clever, tell me what am I?" He was daring her. Daring her to play to understand and to once more show him what she hid from the world. What she still tried to hide from him, behind her polite little girl act. She too reads people and since she wasn't his brother; her conclusions would be far more unbiased, and Sherlock needed to know what she saw in him. For some reason her opinion mattered to him.
"I don't like this game. It hurts." She whispers, but he hears her confession. She still sees him as lacking. "But if you want to touch on painful subjects; I would prefer to discuss Redbeard."
"Why would you want to talk about him? I'm sure you have already gotten Mycroft's version and since you two are so close, there is little need for me to talk about it." Sherlock shares, keeping the sentiment out of his tone. Still he suspects she can read his vulnerability particularly when her own tone matches his detachment. Her observation continues with clinical composer.
"No, we mostly talked about Mycroft. He does, however, worries about you… constantly. His fears are unfounded. He's afraid your clever mind will turn to a life of crime then we will all be doomed. He of course didn't have to say a word for me to discern this. Why else would he pay a flat mate to spy on you, along with a level five surveillance?"
"Level five? Wonder what I did to get an upgrade?" Sherlock looks pleased by this information.
Hermione shrugs. "I'm sure it had something to do with grape jelly." She concludes and they both laugh. Then she proceeds to bring the subject around. "He kept on about how he can be trusted. He wants to know my secrets almost as badly as you do. The name, Redbeard, did come up…who was he?" She asks with such compassion and interest that he almost wants to tell her.
"He was my dog. You have lost a pet. The way you stroke my hair while you read, suggest a lap dog." Sherlock replies defensively.
"Cat, his name was Crookshanks. He was incredibly old when I got him. I let him roam and he was looking sickly. I didn't think he had much time left…One day I came home from work and he was simply gone. I don't know if he wandered off somewhere to die alone, or moved on. Not knowing is the hard part because I am without closer. I loved him…"
"Yes and…"
"I like Mrs. Hudson, too bad about her husband," Hermione cuts across him not looking at the detective as she continues the point she undoubtable was making. "And John… the doctor is what four years older than you? You are very protective of him given the age difference. Didn't you tell me that actions speak louder than words?"
"You knew what I was going to say. And so now you are using my own observations against me." Sherlock acknowledges.
"Yes. Because I am tired of hearing the Holmes's family Motto 'Caring is not an advantage.' Do you have a family crest too, perhaps one with a shattered heart? Tell me, is that what Mycroft told a little Sherlock after accidentally killing Redbeard?"
The silence is so deafening that Sherlock cannot register anything past: how could she possibly know that unless Mycroft told her. But there is the logical reasoning that tells Sherlock there is no way that Mycroft would ever speak of that day. Still somehow Hermione knew. Could she really have figured it out all on her own? There was a beauty to the way she saw the world and people. Yes Sherlock easily decided if anyone could see the truth it would be her.
"You love Sherlock and it hasn't compromised you one bit. You are brilliant and logical and you show your love in the way you treat the people around you." Hermione says breaking the silence and Sherlock can only turn and look at her wondering what he was going to do realizing she had too much power over him. "But unlike Mycroft or really anyone else you accommodate John. He means a great deal to you. And while you treat Mrs. Hudson with dismissive amount of absurdity, you understand her far better than I did. You care for her too. You are far more emotional than a scientist has the right to be, Mr. Holmes. Let's not forget I have heard you compose." She informs with insight.
Sherlock's mind is catching up realizing the direction their conversation has gone and this was the perfect opening. He could ask her what she saw of him, and she would tell him unbiased, not avoiding the question like she always did. He would just have to be careful how he asked. "What about my compulsive lying, poor hygiene, and lack patience for the ridiculous. I have been told many times I'm a pompous prick, or an arse." Sherlock argues watching her eyes soften, she looks up at him with compassion.
Hermione reaches over brushing a curl back from his ear comforting, before placing her hands back in her lap. "But you strive to achieve those titles. You like people to think poorly of you, less expectations. Then you're free to do or say whatever you want. If you were a gentleman, said please and thank you would you solve a crime faster? Or would everyone stand around pinkies in the air offering tea? None of that is who you are, all it tells me is that you are a professional dedicated to his trade. However..."
"Ah! Here we go..." Sherlock interrupts turning to give her his undivided attention as he attempts to calm his pounding heart. She looks serene as he searches for any sign that she is effected by their proximity to one another and verbal sparring.
"You see London as a war zone. There are soldier on either side, generals and those caught in the crossfire. You completely ignoring the armory filled with weapons needing sharpened; the medics that need supplies, and the intelligent agents that have no way to communicate what they have uncovered." She breaks down for him but he doesn't completely comprehend her meaning.
"How is that significant?" He asks.
She looks exasperated by his question. "Stop looking for a damsel in distress and teach the poor girl to fend for herself." Hermione states, like he is an ignorant man.
"Are you saying the world is not filled with goldfish?" Sherlock asks in a mocking tone. She narrows her eyes on him and shakes her head.
"I think we both know the world is not just filled with goldfish and sharks." She informs him her attention back on the café across the street.
Sherlock seems to be digesting this information, because she was right he did see London as a war zone and many times forgot about the importance of his allies.
"No." he says supposing she has a point. Sherlock looks back out surveying the café. The suspect is still at the table eating. Sherlock collects his thought deciding to play her game, and give her a taste of her own medicine. He could do sentiment, "I have found the prospect of categorizing exactly what kind of aquatic specimen you would be weighing on my mind, Miss Granger. And I have decided that you must be a star fish? While intelligent you have a rational insight into emotions and you do tend to inspire…" Sherlock turns to look at her wanting her full attention as he told her exactly how fond he had grown of her, only to find she has gotten up and left without a word.
Sherlock stands looking around for any sign in which direction she may have went. Then he spots her approaching the suspect casually.
She has applied lipstick and her red coat draws the man's attention before she even speaks. In fact, Sherlock, watches bewildered as the suspect purposefully knocks his glass off the table as Hermione walks by spilling the water all over her. Sherlock can imagine the conversation as the man takes his napkin and personally starts to clean Hermione off. She plays her part perfectly, allowing the suspect free range to pat her down. Sherlock can see how pink her cheeks are from where he stands and he moves to intervene as she down casts her eyes flirtatiously. Then before the detective can make it across the street, Hermione is sitting across from the suspect and he is ordering her a drink.
Hermione is at the table for three minutes she is fidgeting with something in her hand something gold and reflective. It is like watching a play as Sherlock observes Harry Potter walking over casually standing behind the suspect. Hermione's expression would indicate she had requested this back up completely cutting Sherlock out of the apprehension of this criminal. Mr. Potter stands behind the man the hostilely on the young man's face is evident to the detective as is the unseen weapon pressed into the suspect's back and as Harry pulls the man out of his chair.
"It is always a pleasure, Granger." The suspect spits at Hermione as Harry pulls him away. Hermione follows and Sherlock sprints to catch up. He turns the corner into an alley way four second after them to find it empty. Once more Hermione has vanished into thin air taking Mr. Potter and the suspect with her.
Sherlock spends half an hour looking for a secret passage way or an open door to which they could have gone, with no results he returns to his flat. Angry to be cut out of the resolution to his case, and frustrated by the conduct of Miss Granger, Sherlock pulls out his phone needing immediate answers form the girl.
After growing impatient at her inability to answer his calls, Sherlock decides that privacy is a luxury deserving of the trust worthy. He grabs his gun and shoves it into his waistband wanting to be prepared.
The conclusion is simple Sherlock determines heading up the stairs to her room.
There is nothing suspicious in her room. In fact it was rather plain and more feminine than he had anticipated. Which in part made it quite suspicious. Everything was very tidy, there was a small book shelf filled with an array of text books and the bed had a simple white lacy covering. There were no pictures or personal touches of any kind, but stranger still was the lack of electrical devices, particularly of a young person. She had a clock with a key back that would require winding daily. There was no computer or phone charger, and while there was a probability that she carried the later on her Sherlock made quick count of all the electrical outlets in her room, which was an easy feat since they were all covered in electrical tape. He stood in the middle of the room trying to figure out what made him so uneasy when he realized there was something in the corner of his eye that he simply could not look at no matter how hard he tried. He could go around an describe the color of wall paper on three of the walls, but the fourth wall all he could bring himself to focus on is the door, standing there looking at the wooden frame with the urge to quickly leave rising in the pit of his stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck stood in that pricking sensation, only he was not afraid. The urge to leave became instinct and Sherlock let himself back out of her room immediately feeling better.
The phenomenon was so strange that he repeated the exercise three more times before going back down to the flat and searching the internet for any explanation.
He found nothing.
Hermione arrived with take out and being so caught up in the mystery of her room, Sherlock momentarily forgot that he was quiet upset with her.
"Why have you never invited me to your room?" Is the first thing out of his mouth. The accusation there though perhaps there was an unintended suggestion that she immediately picked up on and decides to tease him about.
"OOh...down boy." Hermione jokes pulling down plates. "You have been in my room, woke me up in the middle of the night, if I recall, and all so I could tell you 'good boy'." She reminds him.
"Yes, but it was different then…you had a red comforter and…"
"Ah…so you finally went snooping and you realized there was something off about my room." Her smile is haughty.
Sherlock frowned walking into the kitchen to see what she brought for dinner.
"I knew you would at one point. You did warned me the day I moved in, so I took precautions. I keep trying to decide if I am going to tell you, or if I'm just going to lie about today."
"And?" Sherlock wonders, really wanting answers but was not about to beg to get them.
She stops, looks at him, and then shakes her head. "I haven't decided." She tells him before resuming to unload the food. "I could say nothing. It would be easier to say nothing. But then saying nothing could lead to relationship problems between us...and I really am happy here...then there is Harry's idea...though it seems immoral... I just haven't decided." She again is shaking her head while filling their plates. "On one hand, I trust you. On the other I just don't." She shrugs handing Sherlock his food.
Sherlock takes a bite trying to figure out what exactly she was rambling about. "What did Mr. Potter suggest, exactly?" the detective wants to know.
She makes a frustrated face stabbing her fish with her fork. "See even if I tell you that much, I am making a decision and it could be the wrong one." Hermione informs him. "You are a consulting detective." after stating this she pauses and Sherlock nods, recognizing the obvious. "From what I have observed you are not forth coming with evidence until you have a well-informed theory. You have loads of information stored in that beautiful brain of yours, so how often do you divulge that information before you are certain who to trust?" She asks and he pauses considering her question.
"Well I think we both already know the answer to that." Sherlock concludes returning to his meal.
"I think we do. So perhaps I have already made my decision." She shrugs continuing to eat like this was all a very blasé issue.
"You cut me out of my own case." Sherlock accuses concerning the violation of their partnership.
"Yes, because it is all tied together. And if I could trust you then I would have been more forth coming but you went snooping into my private affairs because your ego got bruised. So what does that say about you?"
"Everything! But we are talking about you and everything about you reeks spy." Sherlock is blunt.
I know." She again seems to be reassuring him," but if I could tell you the truth, I wouldn't need your trust." She reasons taking another bit of her food.
"So you trust me but you don't. You lie to me but expect me to trust you. And you excluded me from one of my own cases after suggesting we share. I suppose you are, now, expecting me to apologize."
"You are forgiven." She cheekily says, her expression earning a glare. "Today was a fluke. I didn't talk you into this case with the intention of taking it over. I hadn't even known who the man was until I was sitting across from him at the table. The whole set up was curious. From what you had already uncovered about the three wives all in different cities with three different aliases. Yet, not even the police could track him down. I had not anticipated him to be a wanted war criminal using women as a cover for his crimes. He is a very dangerous man; third generation criminal. We were lucky he wasn't armed, because he's the kind of crazy that would have murdered the whole restaurant to prevent incarceration."
"Lucky?" Sherlock huffed. His expressed disappointment in the form of an eye roll, earning a swat from his roommate. "Ow!" Sherlock claims rubbing the side of his head.
"Yes lucky! Murder is not a fun party game unless it is on cardboard." She lectures. ''The suspect had thought he was being clever."
"Incredibly clever, up until the point he stupidly left his phone just lying on the nightstand where one of his wives could look through it. Didn't even have a passcode. Third generation criminal that wanted to get caught." Sherlock points out.
Hermione is again shaking her head at him. "Yes that is what we should take away from this whole case; when juggling multiple families have a passcode on your mobile."
"Course not! That is just absurd. The moral is that one family is illogical a second or third is insanity."
Hermione did not try to think of something clever to say to such a telling statement. It simply rekindled that want to understand the root of his bias for so many very basic human wants. She could practically hear Mycroft's words, the matron that seemed to be the Holmes family motto.
"When is Mary due?" Hermione asks, reminding Sherlock of a family that he did approve of.
"Any time now, I got them the perfect gift." Sherlock boasted as Hermione collects the dishes and puts them in the sink.
"I know." Hermione tells him thinking of the crib that Sherlock had delivered to the Watson's home. The wood work including little foot prints of different spices of animals. "Don't forget to do the dishes." She reminds him and he looks up at her like she just said the most outlandish thing in the world. "Mrs. Hudson is visiting her sister for the weekend. You agreed."
"Did I?" He ask off handily.
"Yes, the day I moved in. We were in the taxi." She reminds him, and his acting is not nearly good enough as he pretends he doesn't know what she is talking about.
"What does W.I.M.P. Stand for?" He asks.
It is a game with him asking seemingly out of nowhere to try and catch her off guard. "War in Moments of Peace?"
She shrugs absently. "Weirdoes in Matching Pantaloons. I'm surprise you haven't figured it out yet." She tells Sherlock with a flip of her hair.
"You are humorous, Miss Granger." this does not sound like a complement. "Well then how about Women Impairing
Men with Provocative attire." he asks recalling her actions from the café.
Hermione looks down at what she is wearing finding nothing provocative about her attire. "Wouldn't that be W.I.M.W.P.A? So that certainly isn't it." She throws back while Sherlock comes up with his next guess.
"What of Wankers Enforcing Majesty Penalties."
"Enforcing starts with an E." She snaps. "I like Woman intolerant of Moronic person." She shoots back just as quickly. "Don't forget the dishes, Sherlock." With that she starts for the door but Sherlock grabs a hold of her wrist and pulls her up against him. Her back against his chest his breathing against her ear and suddenly she's breathless, "What are you doing?" she asked her heart hammering and her voice no more than a whisper. Sherlock wraps his arm around her waist holding her to him with one arm. His other hand taking hers and place something metal in it. She looks down at the gun he just handed her and she can't seem to rationalize what his intentions are. He braces her hand with the gun raising it up to point at the yellow smiley face target on the wall.
"Teaching the girl to defend herself." He answers, proceeding to teach her how to handle the weapon.