Chapter 2

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

-The Great Gatsby

Everleigh looked again at the man in front of her, Sherlock Holmes he'd called himself. Sort of an odd name, she thought, and what had he meant, he knew a lot of things? She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn't seem right, they weren't forming coherent sentences and they didn't make sense. As thoughts flew quickly through her mind, each seeming to be the wrong thing to say, Sherlock Holmes' grey eyes smoldered down on her, flustering her further. His face remained placid as he awaited a response, Everleigh growing more and more agitated with each blink of his dark lashes. Who was this man and what was he doing to her? She'd been reduced to an inarticulate imbecile with one look and 20 words.

"I'm assuming by your lack of a response you're quite befuddled. Normal really, I get that a lot," he spoke quickly with an air of arrogance, turning his attention away from her.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a cell phone that was vibrating lightly in his hand. Everleigh watched as he gracefully glided away from her, stopping just far enough away to where she was out of earshot. Finally out of his steely gaze she regained her normal brain function and thankfully her ability to speak. There were two thoughts battling each other in her mind as she stared at the man in his sweeping dark coat; one was that she should leave immediately, these emotions were dangerous and something about him made her subconscious uneasy, two, she wanted to know more about him, know whatever things he claimed he had knowledge of and she hadn't felt like this in so long, although dangerous it may be, it was also reassuring. Reassuring that maybe she wasn't quite as empty as she thought she was, a heart did still beat in her chest and at this moment, as she gawked at a head of messy dark curls, it was beating very quickly.

Her thoughts were quickly banished as she watched Sherlock place his phone back into his pocket and head into the morgue without so much as a second glance at her. And she felt disappointed. She fought back the little voice in her head that told her to follow him and berate him with the questions that now flooded her mind, she heard it screaming in protest as she walked further and further from the door, further and further away from the answers she desired. The image of those piercing grey eyes flashed with each blink of her own, both haunting and enchanting.

Sherlock walked quickly into the morgue, John was irritating, calling to complain about forgetting to pick up milk. Didn't he know there were far more important things for Sherlock to put his mind to? Like discovering if a wound inflicted after death clotted the same way as one inflicted prior. Picking up milk was almost as trivial as knowledge of the solar system. He'd never live that one down. John just didn't understand that pointless facts like the Earth going round the sun had no place in a mind such as his, it did him no good. It was so easy not being Sherlock Holmes, he was sure of it.

The newly deceased bodies were laid out onto tables before him, Molly Hooper was always good about arranging things just like he preferred them to be. Starting on the left with the one who had died yesterday, Sherlock took a small pocket knife out and sliced a clean 3 inch gash into the mans side, watching the congealing blood ooze slowly from the wound. He worked his way through the other 4, finishing at a young man of 26 with multiple gun shot wounds. Sherlock smirked coyly to himself as he read the toe tag, he was right. He was always right. Dr. Everleigh Braxton had signed off on the tag, citing his death no more than an hour ago. So this was the reason the woman cried, if only she had a brain half as functioning as his she would have known there were no reasons to weep for this man. The gun powder residue on his right hand indicated there had been another victim, or intended victim, the tattoo on his left hand was that of a popular gang around London, the bruises on his side were most likely inflicted by whomever he was trying to rob, probably with a baseball bat and the light scarring of his wrists proved that he'd been arrested, and tried resisting, on many occasions. It was so apparently obvious, why didn't people just think and observe? Instead they chose to act according to their flawed moral compasses and hearts, which would get them nowhere. Facts and knowledge would always outweigh emotion, what went on in those people's funny little brains was the only thing Sherlock knew he would never understand.

"Molly!" Sherlock screamed as he took one last glance at each wound on the 5 bodies, jotting down his final findings in a small notepad.

"Yes Sherlock?" Molly answered excitedly, running from whatever part of the lab she'd been hiding in.

"I'm all finished. Thank you."

The woman nodded sadly as he brushed passed her, wrapping his scarf back around his neck. He would never understand that girl, but the effects he seemed to have over her definitely came in handy when he needed anything in the hospital, no matter how illegal it was. He felt a slight pity for her as he remembered all the awful things he'd said to her, the rude remarks and all the times he'd made her feel worthless or embarrassed. But he was who he was, and people either accepted that or they didn't, he felt no need to change, for anyone, especially not a woman. Women were cruel, manipulative creatures, so many crimes he'd investigated and the center point for them all, a woman. Irene Adler came to mind immediately. She'd drugged him, teased him and tried to make him feel inferior to her, which of course he proved to be wrong. And the reason for all her plans being ruined, years of manipulation thrown away: Love. The thought made Sherlock laugh to himself as he walked through the halls of the hospital; no one had, or ever would, get the upper hand on Sherlock Holmes.

Everleigh walked out into the cool London air. The sun was setting, making the world around her glow in the waning light. A truly beautiful ending to a terrible day, it seemed almost poetic. With shaky hands Everleigh pulled out a pack of cigarette's and a lighter from her black bag, setting a small blaze to the end. Breathing in deep she took the smoke into her lungs, letting the nicotine flow through her and calm her dizzying emotions. She felt as if her body and mind had been thrown in every direction today; happy, sad, angry, disappointed and shocked just to name a few. There was only so much a person could handle and today had been far too much. These next two days would be spent relaxing, drinking wine and catching up on mindless TV shows, the perfect remedy for any broken heart.

"May I have one of those?" a deep baritone sounded from behind her, she recognized that voice.

Sherlock Holmes stood no more than a foot behind her, his lips drawn into a tight line as he stared longingly at the half smoked cigarette in her hand. Everleigh felt the lump reforming in her throat as she watched his curls blow around his face in the light breeze. A chink in his armor she thought as she watched his cheek twitching from the tension he obviously felt. Knowing he was just as uncomfortable in that moment as she was, whether it was for an entirely different reason or not, gave her the courage she needed. She turned her brown eyes to meet his grey, the unease creeping back into her heart as she slowly held her hand out to give him what he so desired.

"When you said you know, a lot of things, what did you mean?" she asked, mustering as much confidence into her voice as she could.

"Exactly as it sounded," he responded before taking a long drag, closing his eyes and turning his face up to the sky, enjoying every sensation as the smoke coursed through him.

"A lot of things about what exactly?"

"Everything."

"What do you know about me then?"

"You're a new doctor here, working in the Emergency Department, but this isn't your first job, you've held others before this one working somewhere else in London, a small clinic or office. You suffer from anxiety and insomnia, most likely caused by something from your past that you wish you could forget but cannot. Which I'm assuming is a relationship gone badly as you find yourself single at this moment. He left you for another woman that you found him with, a friend or coworker. You live in a nice flat in the upper parts of London alone, not even a cat to keep you company. Tell me how am I doing so far? What did I get wrong? I always get one thing wrong."

She stared in horror as he quickly listed off the last two years of her life as if it had been written on her forehead. The corner of his mouth curled up into a smirk as he watched her expression change from confident, to shock, as he basked in his own glory. It was too easy. She felt her bottom lip begin to quiver as the memories she kept neatly packed away flooded her mind, jolted loose by a man she'd only just met. If he knew that much about her from a single look, the façade she so carefully played out couldn't be as effective as she'd been led on to believe it was. How much did everyone else know, how much else could they see play out in her eyes?

"How," she whispered, knowing he would hear her.

"Your scrubs are newly embroidered, not one string out of place, which means they've never been washed or worn before. You've held other jobs in the city which has given you enough money to buy a car, I know this because your shoes while they are older than the rest of your uniform, are in relatively good condition which means you don't have to walk around the city trying to hail a cab and the only places that have parking for tenants are the flats in the upper parts of London, which as a doctor you can afford. You have dark circles under your eyes, you don't sleep, haunted by the ghosts of the past, perhaps you find sleeping alone difficult. You're last boyfriend, no, fiancé, was cheating with a friend or coworker and you found them, causing the immediate end of your relationship, but it wasn't your decision. He left you, for the other woman. You would have left London had you been the one to choose to leave him, typical behavior for a woman scorned, but you're still here, so he left you. Your nails are bitten down to the quick and you jump at the slightest of sounds, hence you suffer from anxiety. Now, what did I get wrong?" he listed, staring at her through his thick brows.

"It was my cousin. He was sleeping with my cousin."

"Ah, cousin. There's always one thing."

Her eyes fell to the ground as she spoke the words. The ultimate betrayal, acted out by none other than her cousin Hannah. Their grandparents had raised the both of them, growing up as practically sisters their entire lives, and she'd found her in bed with her fiancé, Tom a year ago, three weeks before their wedding. He had also guessed correctly that it was Tom that decided to leave her, choosing instead to live with Hannah in Manchester. Everleigh had wanted nothing more then to work it out, such a naïve thought, she had loved him, or she thought she had. Looking back, the only thing that urged her to try and mend what had been long broken was to avoid the embarrassment of canceling her wedding, to have to broadcast her failure to her family and friends. A little piece of her was thankful he decided to leave, saving her from a lifetime of heartache and sadness. But that was exactly what she had now; nothing had changed, except that the place beside her in bed was empty. Which would have been worse, living a beautifully orchestrated lie, or the agonizing truth? It all felt the same to her.

"Well, this has been fun, but I must be going. Have to get milk," Sherlock said as he stepped to the curb, searching the street for a cab as he took the last drag of his cigarette.

Everleigh kept her eyes firmly placed on the sidewalk; she couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. He'd discovered almost every one of the skeletons in her closest, and she only knew his name. She was fighting every urge to cry, only because she didn't want him to see her, see the effect his words had caused. It would only bring him a higher sense of pride, she thought. There was something strange about Sherlock Holmes, strange yet alluring. He'd just blurted out her deepest darkest secrets, yet it only intrigued her more about the man. He was obviously very observant and very intelligent, maybe too much so.

"What exactly is it that you do, Mr. Holmes?" she found the voice to ask him.

"Please, Sherlock. I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world. I invented the job," he responded as a cab pulled up to the curb, opening the door he added "Good evening Doctor, I'm sure we'll meet again."

The cab pulled off the curb and Everleigh watched as it drove away, the silhouette of Sherlock Holmes' head outlined by the setting sun. Stomping out her cigarette she turned towards the parking garage to begin her journey home.

So this is a little shorter than I planned, but the other half is practically another chapter so I split it. I hope you guys like this one, probably not as good as the first chapter but it gets much better! Beginning stories is hard haha, I want to get to the middle! I realized the tumblr address got deleted in the last one, but it's Everleigh-Rose. The plan is to have this story out every Saturday.

Please read/review/follow/favorite I love it all!

Lazzyk: Thank you for your review, I read it like a bajillion times, it made me super happy!