Chapter Seven

John Watson returned to the living room with a mug of sweet tea a few minutes later and handed it carefully to Cassia Ingram, noting the slight tremor in her hand as she took the mug graciously from him and uttered her thanks.

He noticed that she looked a little more composed and there was more colour in her cheek, no doubt from embarrassment at the scene Holmes had caused.

Holmes, seated in his favourite perch once more, still looked like a thunder storm brewing on the horizon, glowering at Cassia Ingram.

The tension in the room was so palpable you could cut it with a knife.

"Under what circumstances?"

Holmes finally spoke, his voice dripping acid as he leaned forward once more and pinned cold eyes on Cassia Ingram, no sympathy or understanding in either his expression or his posture, his usual disdainful expression on his face.

"Easy, Sherlock," Watson warned softly, suddenly worried about his friend's reaction to this situation. "I'm sorry, Miss Ingram, I'd like to say my friend isn't usually like this, but the truth is, he can be a bit of pig when he puts his mind to it."

"Don't apologize for me, Watson." Holmes snarled.

"Then stop acting like a prat," Watson countered.

"Miss Ingram," Holmes pointedly ignored Watson, and returned his attention to their visitor. "You claim to have information about a murder, the murder of a child," his voice dripped sarcasm now. "Yet, you fail to explain just how you came by this information."

Suddenly a nasty sneer formed on Holmes' lips.

It was a look that Watson knew well, and he closed his eyes and groaned softly.

No.

No Sherlock.

No.

Stop it ...

His friend wasn't through with Miss Ingram yet, indeed, he was about to get very personal and extremely rude, if past experience was anything to go by.

"Oh ... Oh! Oh yes!"

Holmes suddenly jumped out of his chair, falling to his knees in front of Cassia Ingram, bringing his face up close to hers, and she almost spilled tea over both of them as she reacted with a jolt, but she did not try to move away from him, instead, she closed her eyes and the expression of resignation returned to her face now.

"Gotchya!" Holmes hissed, relieving her of the mug of hot tea before she spilled the contents over herself and him. "You're one of those, aren't you!" he declared triumphantly.

"Sherlock!" Watson yelped, almost falling out of his chair.

What the hell?

"You know what we have here, don't you Watson?"

"You mean apart from the misogynist smartarse?" Watson retorted sarcastically, but the jibe went over Holmes head.

"You are, aren't you? You're one of those unfortunate souls who claim to see 'beyond the veil'. You know about this 'murder' through telepathy and communing with the spirit world!"

Holmes rose to his full height and spinning around, paced up and down a few steps, pausing only to put the mug of tea down on his desk.

"What? What are you on about, Sherlock?"

"She's a psychic, or so she would have us believe," Holmes sneered, throwing a nasty look back at Cassia Ingram, who remained unmoved by his outburst, almost as though this was what she had been expecting all along.

"I hate the supernatural! There is nothing supernatural!" Holmes railed. "She is undoubtedly going to say that she has 'seen' this murder in some kind of trance ..."

"Dream, actually," Cassia Ingram corrected softly.

"Dream then. Whatever! Oh ho! No wonder Scotland Yard didn't take her seriously!"

"Bloody hell, Sherlock, calm down!"

"Stop wasting my time! Leave. Now."

"Sherlock ..."

Cassia Ingram did not move. She remained in her seat, a look of determination on her flushed face now.

She wasn't going anywhere, no matter how nasty it got.

Holmes's eyes were glittering with anger and outrage now.

He was really incensed; like a volcano about to blow its stack, undoubtedly insulted that Inspector LeStrade would think that he would even give anything that this woman had to say credence.

He obviously had the bit between his teeth, incandescent, that this woman actually had the gall and the audacity to trouble him with such nonsense, however, before he could launch into yet another tirade, Cassia Ingram spoke in a calm, gentle voice, seizing the opportunity when Holmes was drawing a breath.

"We're not so different Mr Holmes, you and I," she spoke in a calm contralto voice. "You are neither a freak, nor a fake," she regarded him with sad green eyes. "You're just a pompous, sanctimonious, arrogant prick, but so are ninety percent of the male population."

She turned her attention to Watson then.

"Present company excepted. Thank you for the tea, Dr Watson."

She rose from her seat again, more steadily now, obviously having decided to leave of her own volition, with her dignity intact, and not because Holmes had ordered her out, and began to move across the room.

She did not want to go.

There was so much that she needed to say to the supercilious twit, but Holmes was not in a receptive mood and it would accomplish nothing, if anything, if she persisited in the face of his anger and cyniscm it would put him even more at odds with her and make it more difficult for her to convince him.

But she was also anxious that she might not be granted another audience with the genius consulting detective.

She had to find something to get his attention, and she needed to find it quickly.

"You were lucky you weren't charged with wasting police time," Holmes sneered as she drew level with him.

"I'm not wasting anyone's time, the police, yours, or even my own, Mr Holmes," she told him in even tones, stopping to look back at him.

"Why did you come here? Knowing that I would see through your little game? Oh yes, I know that you came here, even though you didn't trust me. You rather suspected the reaction that you would get. You say you know my reputation. I don't suffer fools gladly and I am a logical man. I don't believe in hocus pocus ..."

"Yes, I knew all of that, and more."

"Then why put yourself through this?" Watson found his voice now.

"I wanted you to prove me wrong, Mr Holmes. I had hoped that you might just be able to rise above your prejudices and be more of a man than you usually are, and less of a child. I had it on good authority that whilst you can be an ass of the first water, you can also sometimes think outside the box, and you would understand. Under the circumstances. I was wrong. I see that now is not the time to try to reason with you. I'd just be wasting my breath."

She made a move to walk away again.

"You keep saying that. Under what circumstances?" Holmes demanded in frustration.

What did she think she knew about him?

Did she think she could manipulate him?

Did she think she could appeal to his better nature?

Ha!

"Like I said, we are not so different from each other, although, personally, I don't feel the need to deliberately hurt people to make myself feel better."

Touche.

Watson found himself rooting for Cassia Ingram.

Holmes, as usual, was being a complete berk and it was good to see someone standing up to him.

Someone other than himself that was.

We both have a gift, or a curse, call it what you will. Some extra sense, or deep seated conviction that we believe in. We can't turn it on or off with the flick of a switch and neither can we ignore it. We are what we are, Mr Holmes. Neither of us can be more than that, and both of us refuse to be anything less."

"We both exist on the fringes, using instincts and insights that we cannot always explain, trusting in ourselves and our convictions that ultimately we are right. We both believe in what we are doing. More importantly, we both believe that what we are doing is right."

"Yes, I knew the kind of reaction I would get from the ice cold, logical Sherlock Holmes. It's nothing new to me, although I suspected that you might enjoy it rather more than the average man or woman in the street, and I was right. And yet, I still came here. I took your mockery and your scorn, because I have a strong conviction that I have information that will end a killing spree, and you are the only avenue left open to me."

"I had hoped that the death of an innocent child might actually inspire some feelings in you. I didn't care what you thought of me. I don't need your support. I really don't need you to believe in my gift or me. The children, Mr Holmes. The children need you. They are why I am here, why I persist in the face of ridicule. The children."

There was such sincerity in her voice, John Watson swallowed and suddenly found a lump in his throat.

"Oh, bravo, Miss Ingram! I suppose the blonde haired, blue eyed angel came to you and begged you to help her," Holmes mocked scornfully as Cassia Ingram set out towards the door once more, and Watson let out a deep sigh, disgusted with his friend's attitude.

"You really are a cold fish, aren't you, Mr Holmes. You really are incapable of feeling anything," Cassia Ingram turned to look back at him.

"Sticks and stones."

"You can't feel anything for others, you are an emotional cripple, Mr Holmes, but you can feel self pity, can't you?"

"Caring doesn't stop people dying, Miss Ingram," Holmes ignored her words, repeating something that he had told Watson when they had first met.

"Cold, clear unemotional logic and working out the puzzle, that saves lives, and people like you, sending the police on a wild goose chase, tying up precious resources when they could be following tangible leads also gets people killed," he told her haughtily.

"Up yours."

"Charmed, I'm sure."

"You did rather ask for that, Holmes." Watson interjected with amusement.

"Good day, Miss Ingram, don't let the door slap you in the backside on the way out, wouldn't want you falling down the stairs."

"Oh we're not done, Mr Holmes. I need you. So I'm going to have to convince you. I hate unfinished business, and so do you."

"I think not, I'm far too busy on real cases."

"Suffer the little children, Mr Holmes. Even you must have a conscience. Are you willing to take the chance that I might not be a fraud? A charlatan? Can you risk another innocent young life? Not even you are that hard and uncaring. I think not," she threw his own words back at him.

"You want proof that I am the real deal, Mr Holmes? Fine. I have proof. I could tell you things right now, things about yourself that would make Dr Watson's hair curl, but the mood you're in right now, you'd probably say that I Iooked you up on the internet."

"Indeed."

"As you did I."

"Naturally."

"You have all the answers, don't you, Mr Holmes."

"Usually."

"See, there is that supreme self confidence again. You're very pleased with yourself, aren't you? Be careful you don't trip over your pride, Mr Holmes."

"Goodbye, Miss Ingram," Holmes dismissed her.

"No, not goodbye, adieu, until the next time."

Cassia Ingram gave Holmes a saccharine smile, but then suddenly her expression changed, as though something had just occurred to her.

Instead of taking the final steps and opening the door, Cassia Ingram reached long, slim fingers into the pocket of her slacks and produced a thin white card.

She walked back towards Holmes, and slipped it carefully into the top pocket of his jacket.

"I've already got your number," Holmes drawled sarcastically.

"And I yours."

Suddenly she was reaching up to Holmes, gently cupping her right hand against his jaw as her left came up behind him, gently cradling the back of his head.

A jolt shot through Holmes body.

Watson actually saw it, and was just as startled by the physical reaction as his friend was, as he watched the colour suddenly drain from Holmes' face.

Before he had time to recoil and extricate himself from her touch, Cassia Ingram was standing on tip toes, leaning her mouth close to Holmes ear, her next words meant only for him.

"Cela passera aussi. This too shall pass."

She withdrew quickly from him, walked across the room, pausing in the open doorway to give one last look back at Holmes.

"I'll be seeing you," and with that she disappeared out of the door before Holmes had time to react.

Watson heard her going down the stairs, and then a few minutes later, he heard the street door close, and when he looked back at his friend, Holmes looked as if he had been hit in the solar plexus, as he staggered back across the room, quivering arms supporting him as he leaned heavily against the mantle, head bowed, briefly.

Now what the hell was all that about?

What had gotten into Sherlock?

Watson made to move to the door, still concerned about Cassia Ingram's physical well being, but Holmes caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and snapped out: "Leave her!"

"She's in shock, Sherlock. She wasn't faking that!"

"She'll be alright. You won't catch her anyway. She had someone waiting to take her home. They'll be long gone before you even get down the stairs."

"Nice one, Sherlock," Watson grunted sarcastically now. "You really excelled yourself. I thought you were going to try to stop being such a wanker ..." he added for good measure, then realized that Holmes still looked out of sorts.

"Are you alright?" Watson immediately switched his allegiances back to his friend, who looked more than a little shaken and non-plussed, like he'd well and truly had the stuffing knocked out of him.

What had Cassia Ingram said to him to illicit such a reaction from Holmes?

"I'm fine," Holmes ground out, although he looked anything but fine.

"Oh, don't mind me, I'm sure. I'm only the one with the bloody medical degree, after all."

There had obviously been more going on in the sub text that he wasn't skilled enough to pick up on, Watson silently admitted to himself.

But right now, he felt in need of a drink, and he didn't mean sweet tea either, and Sherlock looked like he could do with one too, and time to pull himself together and gather his thoughts.