Chapter 4

"All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living."

"Table for two please," John stated merrily to a very bored looking redheaded hostess playing with her hair absentmindedly.

It had taken him a few days, but John had finally called inviting Everleigh out to dinner after her shift at the hospital. He had chosen a small, quiet bistro not far from the flat he shared with the unbearable Sherlock Holmes. The small tables were decorated with red table clothes and centerpieces of different glass votive candleholders circled by an array of silk flowers. The room was dimly lit from rustic sconces on the walls, which were alongside different paintings and photographs of scenery from London. It was a lovely place, and as an added bonus, wasn't very crowded. The hostess led the pair to a table in the corner by a large window facing the bustling street outside.

Before sitting down himself, John pulled Everleigh's chair out from the table so she could sit. So, chivalry was not dead, not yet anyway, she thought to herself. She looked outside to all the people walking by. Business men just leaving their offices, young couples walking hand in hand, children riding their bicycles up and down the gray pavement. Their lives were all progressing fluidly, moving with the ebb and flow of reality, whereas Everleigh felt as if she'd been stuck stagnant, congealing with algae, all forms of life finding it impossible to live; except the most stubborn of bacteria, the parasites, leeching on to every last living, breathing cell. It was all getting very tiresome. The sleepless nights, the endless longing, this is not what life was meant to be.

"So, how do you like working at St Bart's?" John asked as he perused the small one sheeted menu.

"Oh it's great. Never boring," Ev answered, "A little stressful, but I think that's how I'm supposed to feel."

"Sherlock told me about your patient a few days ago, sorry to hear about that. It's good to know at least he was a criminal."

"What?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"No."

"That's odd. He usually loves to show off."

A young waiter came by the table, jubilantly taking their drink orders and breaking the conversation at the exact point in which Everleigh least wanted to end it. Damn that Sherlock Holmes and his over penetrating mind. Did that insufferable man know everything? Anger coursed through her, it would appear he knew more about her and her life than even she did. How anyone could stand to be in his presence for more than thirty seconds was a mystery to her. Except it wasn't, not entirely, for in the darkest hours of the night, as she tossed and turned, she had thought of him. She'd thought what he was like behind the mask, if he had one. Or maybe that was just exactly who he was: cold, apathetic, brilliant. He had no inhibitions, no regrets and no social etiquette. He was an enigma in a horrifically humdrum world and she breathed in his air of mystery with a baffling vigor. No matter how she tried to convince herself, she could not find herself to completely dislike the man, or lose her curiosity in him.

"What's he like? Sherlock?" she finally asked, her thirst for any information on him winning out.

"Sherlock? Um, exactly as he seems," John answered after a long pause, "He is no different at home than he is, out here."

"He's a rather interesting man."

"Interesting? Never heard him called that before. It's usually, annoying, psychopath, freak. Interesting is, nice to hear. He just takes some getting used to is all."

"He's very intelligent, hyper aware."

"You have no idea. He has a blog, The Science of Deduction. That's the best look inside his head there is. Such as how he 'deduces' which perfume a woman is wearing or the type of programmer a man is by his tie. Funny thing though, he didn't know the Earth went round the sun."

Ev and John simultaneously broke out into a fit of laughter. It was carefree and liberating. As she looked over at her new companion, a sliver of light forced it's way through the perpetual darkness, cracking the cold, dark exterior ever so slightly. She felt a new sense of happiness and ease in the presence of Dr John Watson. It had been a long time since she'd met someone who had such an impressionable way to them. Him and Sherlock were polar opposites; perhaps that was why they got along so well. John was the conscience and emotion to Sherlock's brain and intellect. It was reassuring to know Sherlock had someone keeping him in check because he needed it. Ev felt like the differences between right and wrong, good and bad, were all a gray area to Sherlock, probably not on purpose, that was just the way his mind worked.

The pair sat and drank wine, talking about working, past cases of John and Sherlock's, Everleigh's favorite being one of a murderous taxi driver. She'd felt a certain dread as John explained how Sherlock had almost taken a pill that was almost certainly poisonous. She'd imagined the scene as John retold the events, Sherlock's eyes darting quickly between two bottles and his captor's face, trying to read every minute detail, as he had done to her in the hospital. She thought of how his ego had almost gotten him killed and as she much as she wanted to say he would have been his own fault if he'd keeled over dead, she knew that if he had been wrong, Sherlock Holmes would have much rather been dead than admit he had been bested. She'd seen the man three times and she could already gather that simply from the way he talked and carried himself. So much pride, and well earned she considered as John continued his tales of Sherlock Holmes and his mysteries before a loud rapping on the window beside them interrupted the conversation.

"John! JOHN!" Sherlock yelled through the glass, slamming the side of his gloved fist repeatedly against the window.

"Oh for God's sake Sherlock, what?" John answered, looking around the restaurant embarrassed.

"There's a case John. Murder! We must go immediately."

"I'm in the middle of something."

"Murder, John, serial killer!"

John just shook his head, turning his attention away from his friend in the window, trying his best to ignore the incessant thudding of Sherlock's attempts to gain back his attention.

"Do you have to go? It's all right you know," Everleigh asked him with a small smile, knowing the answer to that already.

"No, he can wait. Or go alone even," John answered, trying to convince himself just as much as he was her.

"John," Sherlock's deep voice sounded from beside them, inside the building this time.

"Yes Sherlock?" John answered, locking his eyes on Everleigh trying his best to keep his cool.

"Are you coming?"

"I'm a little busy."
"Yes I see that. What's her name again, Ellie?"

"Everleigh Sherlock, and since when do you forget names?"

"I don't remember things that aren't important, John. Murder, that's important. I have a taxi outside waiting."

John sighed, finally looking over to his friend, his face hard with defeat. He knew he had no choice, well, he did, but he would always choose to accompany Sherlock on his case, he had to be around to keep Sherlock, amicable and well behaved. It didn't always work but at least he'd know he tried. The last thing he needed was Sherlock going off on a rampage on Anderson or Donovan; those little scuffs never did end well, for those two anyway. With a little more force than he intended to use, John threw the napkin from his lap onto the table and stood up.

"I'm sorry Ev, I hope this won't dampen any possibilities of being able to do this in the future," John stated, the annoyance in his voice clearly audible, "And I apologize for Sherlock's lapse in memory about your name."

"Of course not," she answered back happily, "Murder is always important. I understand. I don't mind, Ellie is close enough, it's fine."

Sherlock looked over at her quizzically, their eyes meeting gray on brown. Whenever he looked at her the strangest sensations of both fear and relief set in. Deep down in her heart she wanted to get to know this strange man, learn his secrets and desires, see what treasure hid beneath the layers of ice and stone. But she knew he would never allow it. He was too proud and too long ruined. Had anyone ever shown him compassion, she wondered, or tried to get past the mask?

"Well good, I'll call you later then," John chimed in, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between the three.

Everleigh nodded, breaking her eyes free from Sherlock's steely gaze. She watched the two men as they left, the unease of loneliness creeping back in.

The hospital bustled with doctor's and nurses running back and forth between beds. A large group of people had been rushed to St Bart's after a suspected single murder had gone awry, landing several people injured. The story was faulty, each person having a slightly different spin, but the main facts remained the same. A pair of men were in an alley, they had appeared to be fighting, people had assumed it was just two drunk men getting rowdy. Slowly pedestrians started to form a group, watching the scuffle, ready to intervene if necessary, when a gun was pulled and one of the men shot dead. The murderer, in an attempt to clear any witnesses to his crime, emptied his remaining bullets into the crowd before running off, injuring six of them. Two of the injured had died on scene, the other four were being cared for in the Emergency Department, two of them in Everleigh's care. Both were in stable condition and resting peacefully, with their families at their sides.

The event had brought on the worst of Everleigh's anxieties. It made her realize how fragile lives truly were; you couldn't even walk on the streets without the possibility of being killed. The face of human nature was truly hideous, but she tried to keep her faith in those who had dedicated their lives to helping others. All she ever strived for was to make a difference in one person's life, help one person see the best in themselves and set along that path.

"Dr. Braxton, the patient in room 3 is asking to see you," Sam informed her as he jogged past, grabbing a chart for the next patient to be seen by her in the waiting area.

Everleigh took in the direction of the room. Room 3 housed a middle-aged woman who had been shot in the thigh, severing her femoral artery. Everleigh had been able to stop the bleeding fast enough to save her life and her limb. She would make a full recovery. Everleigh poked her head around the curtain slowly and greeted the woman with a smile before walking in. The woman was sitting upright, tears lolling slowly down her cheek.

"Mrs. Jones, what's the matter? Do you need anything?" Everleigh cooed, placing a reassuring hand on the woman's frail shoulder.

"Who was that man? He was so rude," Mrs. Jones sobbed, placing her hands over her face.

"What man?"

"In the black coat."

Everleigh stood up straight, knowing exactly whom she was talking about. How had he gotten in here? She jogged out of the room and to the room of her second patient to find Sherlock Holmes yelling at the poor man to focus. For all the other times she had found it difficult to speak in front of him, this time was different. He was interfering with her job and those under her care, giving her the confidence she needed.

"Sherlock!" she yelled, breaking his attention away from poor Mr. Jacobson.

"Yes?" he answered nonchalantly, looking at her with annoyance.

"You can't be here."

Sherlock scoffed at her, "I'm with the police."

"No, you're not. Now please leave."

Sherlock's face took on a venomous expression. He moved with reptilian coolness as he slid from the room, looking over his shoulder at her, signaling his desire to speak with her alone. Fear settled itself into her stomach as she followed him into an empty hallway. She wasn't sure what he was going to say, or do, and she desperately wished John would round the corner and save his friend from lashing out at her. His gray eyes held no signs of life as they bore down on her, the corner of his mouth turned into a small smirk as he watched her fear dance across her eyes.

"I need to talk to those people," he spat, his voice staying at a level volume.

"I'm sorry, I can't let you talk to them while they're in the hospital. They've gone through enough alread-"

"Yes and I need to talk to them before they forget it all. The facts will only stay truthful in their minds for a few hours before their fear and desire to be pitied and glorified embellish the stories. I need the facts."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm trying to catch a serial killer! Does that not mean anything to you? This will happen again and again until I solve this!"

In that moment, Everleigh saw a small piece of the Sherlock behind the wall. His face was passionate, angry and disappointed. He needed to solve this crime, not only for himself, but also for everyone else, for people's safety. As much as this was about him and his superior intellect, it was more about the people who died because of his failure to solve the mystery. He breathed heavily as he stared at her, his face frantic, the cool exterior long broken. In that moment, she realized she had never before admired a person as much as she did Sherlock Holmes. He didn't only aid the police to boast his superiority to them, although that was part of it; he did it to save lives. Everleigh's heart swelled with respect for this man and it deepened her desires to get to know him. She looked at his face, still frantic, still disappointed and she couldn't help the need she felt to make this easier him. This man was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders, with no one to help him carry the load. He was alone.

"All right, but I need to be there while you do it," she told him quietly; thankful his features were starting to relax.

"Fine," he responded curtly.

Sherlock brushed past her, the bottom of his long coat gently hitting her legs. She followed him at a safe distance, knowing he was still seething from their conversation. He waited at the door for her, holding it open so she could walk in first. If there was one thing she did not expect from Sherlock Holmes, it was any sort of manners, and she couldn't help but give him a small smile as she passed him.

"Hello Mr. Jacobson, I need you to answer this gentlemen's questions as well as you can, all right? He's trying to catch the man that did this to you. He's very smart and if anyone can do it, it's him. His name is Sherlock," Ev introduced the brooding man behind her to the small elderly man before her, "Be nice to him," she whispered over her shoulder to the dark haired detective.

Ev listened closely to Sherlock's conversation with her patient; he seemed to be behaving much better now that she was here. His voice stayed level, even if it was heavy with annoyance at the man's slow story telling, he refrained from yelling or getting angry. When he'd gotten as many facts as he could he turned and faced her once again, his lips curled into a large, confident smile.

"They always make mistakes," he said to her before quickly walking out of the room.

"Sherlock!" she called out, quickly leaving the room, running to catch up to him.

When she'd reached him she placed a hand gently on his upper arm to stop him, causing him to freeze and look over at her defensively. He looked down at her hand on his arm and she felt his lean muscles relax under the three layers of clothes he wore. He hadn't pulled away like they both thought he would, which kept her hand lingering longer than it should have. He had to be honest; the feeling of her small, warm hand on him had a calming effect on his ever-frenzied mind. He found himself focused on the feeling, the warmth, the smell of her, lavender essential oil perfume, and the way her eyes looked at him with both concern and admiration. He hadn't noticed before how her forehead wrinkled ever so softly and her lips slightly puckered when she worried, or how small of a woman she really was. He knew she was 5'6" and around 120 pounds, but that 120 pounds was not enough, she was thin, too thin; a product of the insomnia and anxiety no doubt.

"You need to eat more," he instructed, pulling his arm from her hypnotizing grasp.

"What?" she inquired, looking away from him embarrassed.

"You're too thin. Surely as a doctor you should know this."

"I suppose, yes."

Sherlock nodded once before turning and starting down the hall, speaking, "Thank you for your help this evening. Good night," over his shoulder

Everleigh was blasted with confusion at his strange exit. Her phone ringing in her pocket broke her train of thought as to what on Earth had just happened.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Ev, it's John. You haven't happened to have seen Sherlock recently, have you?" John asked, speaking very quickly, he was obviously very shaken up about something.

"Yes actually, he just left-"

"Thank you!"

John hung up the phone before she'd had the chance to say goodbye, only racking up more questions in her mind. What on Earth was going on?

A/N Sorry about the week long delay! My laptop charger broke and I had to wait for the new one. Please follow, and review! No one reviews and it makes me very sad! And don't forget the tumblr is Everleigh-rose, I post all the updates there and soon there will be photos and gifsets once we get rolling. My personal blog if anyone at all is interested is benny-cumberbatched. Nothing exciting I promise.

Please Please Please review and make me super happy! If anyone has any ideas or anything they'd like to see make sure to let me know so I can see if I can add it in! Always open to suggestions!