Chapter Four

Hailing a cab, Sherlock watched Aven get in, noting her unusual gracefulness in the action. Thinking on the short time he had spent with her, he realised she was, in fact, quite a graceful person.

They sat in the back quietly, Sherlock having told the driver where to go. He was waiting for the questions of what was happening, where they were going. They never came though. One little statement did however.

"You still haven't given me any proof." She said, still looking out of the window but there was humour in her voice.

He didn't look at her, but the smirk in his eyes was very visible, should she catch it. "You're from a small welsh village, you didn't like it though, they underestimated you, you barely ever had a challenge. You were different from nearly everyone else, though you didn't see that until they started treating you like an outcast, you were separate from the other children in school. You still wanted to be friends though, a part of you still wants to be friends with people, so you learnt, offered to help some of the older folks until one day you corrected the village doctor and started to go a little wider than just the older people of the area.

"Even your parents thought you were different; they saw your eyes. You weren't very close with them and when they tried to hide you a little more, you pushed back, you got your tattoo's and piercings. I think it's safe to assume that you moved out at a young age too, possibly being kicked out, maybe you wanted to get away from them. You didn't go far though, staying and helping the village people with all their little problems.

"You're confident in yourself and your ideas, sure of what you think is right and what isn't, so you pay attention; a lot of attention. You were bored in your little welsh village and so came to the big city of London, trying to find some excitement, but your not quite used to it yet, eyes always sparking with curiosity.

"Which brings us round to your eyes. I'd think possibly a chemical pigment that reacts to chemicals that are released in your brain, altering the colour of your eyes; a bright green when your more relaxed and an almost blue colour when your less happy." He frowned slightly. "You're also very trusting. You don't know that many people, you don't have many phone numbers, but yet you get a flat share with a complete stranger. Rather a stupid move when you think about it."

There was a second of silence before it was broken by a low chuckle from Aven. "Well done, Mr Holmes, but I'm afraid you're quite wrong on several accounts. Yes, I have come from a small welsh village, my accent makes that obvious, but I enjoyed it there very much and always had a challenge. Yes, I am very different but I'll let you work that out for yourself." Her tone darkened slightly then. "People fear what they don't understand and will do what they will in turn. I have no parents; I was raised by the local foster family since birth. As for my tattoos and piercings, I like them. Simple as that. And yes, I suppose I did move out young; seventeen, in fact, but I managed and it was my choice.

"I know what is right and what isn't, and…" Her tone coloured itself with a touch of humour then." …if I don't, then commenting on the topic only adds more confusion, so I don't. If I'm not confident in myself, no one else will be either. As for my coming to the city, it was time. My eyes however remain a mystery to me. I have never been to a doctor about them, my eye sight is perfect and I believe it will be for the rest of my life." She turned to face him, her one visible eye a bright and bold green, a smirk playing on her gothic lips. "But you must be observant as well to figure out as much as you did. A real thinker, indeed."

Sherlock was a little shocked he had gotten so much wrong. He was never wrong; certainly not that wrong. That's why it took him a few seconds to realise what she had said. It surprised him. "Really?"

She chuckled lowly. "Of course. You disagree?"

"No, of course not." He answered immediately; of course he was a thinker, always had been. "That's just not what people usually say."

"And what do people usually say?" She asked, curious to the answer.

He just turned to her, looked her in the one bright eye and said, "Piss off."

She just laughed and found him joining in with her. The rest of the cab ride was silent and as they pulled up to the crime scene. She got out of the cab, Sherlock just behind her.

"You haven't asked where we're going or why." Sherlock stated.

"Do I need to?" She retorted, not looking back to him.

Suppose not, he thought, frowning. He had the strangest feeling that his life was about to get a little stranger than normal.