Chapter 9

"When I first met him, I knew in a moment I would have to spend the next few days rearranging my mind so there'd be room for him to stay."

-Brian Andreas

Sherlock and Everleigh sat in a booth in the corner of a small Italian restaurant. Sherlock, of course, knew the owner and their meal was free, something about Sherlock getting him off a murder charge. Sherlock hadn't ordered any food, reminding her that he never ate while on a case. Ellie had protested his decision, but it was useless. John had been shocked when Sherlock had told him he was taking Ellie out alone, rendered completely speechless actually, giving him just enough time to escape the flat before he could ask any questions.

Dim, orange light cast shadows across his chiseled face, accentuating his features with precision. His gaze was fixed upon her, hard and strong, making focus a rather difficult act to practice; grey on brown. She tried her hardest to keep her eyes locked on him, her heart hammering and breaths coming out in traitorous little gasps. He knew the effect he was having on her, and it brought him a great sense of amusement. She was trying so hard to mask it too. He liked the way her eyes darted to the side but came back to stare into his in an attempt to remain strong, and how her fingers tapped rhythmic little beats on the table in nervousness. She was so very intriguing to him in a manner he didn't quite understand. He watched her eyelashes brush her cheek when she blinked, the jumpy rise and fall of her chest with each breath and felt her tapping foot gently rocking the table back and forth. And then there it was, the perpetual sadness in each chocolate brown eye. Where did it come from? Had it always been there?

"So, tell me everything, from the beginning," he instructed, finally breaking the awkward silence settling between them.

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion around them, fading into the background. The only thing she found herself capable of concentrating on was Sherlock, his eyes, his hair, that coy little grin plastered on his distinguished face. The sound of his voice resonated around her, blocking out every background noise into tiny muffles, they didn't matter, not anymore. She took a deep breath and told him what he wanted to know. When the phone calls began, their frequency, the time of day the normally occurred, and finally ending with the envelope of photos found on her doorstep that morning. He'd looked on with what seemed like interest as she quickly rattled off the facts, his gaze never swaying from hers, his brows furrowing the longer she spoke.

"Why?" he asked a soon as she'd finished talking.

"Why what?" she responded, confused.

"What's the purpose?"

"I, I don't know."

He groaned in frustration. This wasn't going to be as cut and dry as he'd hoped. There had to be some cause for this she wasn't telling him, that dark secret she was keeping hidden. He needed to know it, he wanted to know it, the thought plagued him, what couldn't he figure out about her?

"What aren't you telling me?" he accused, anger growing in his voice.

"Nothing! I've told you everything," she ensured him, her voice shaking.

"Your parents, tell me about them."

"My mum died when I was 5 and my dad wasn't really around. I lived with my grandparents."

"What did they do?"

"Who?"

"All of them!"

"Uh, my dad was a salesman, my mum didn't have a job and my grandparents own a little café in Manchester."

"You're dad, why did he leave?"

"I don't know."

"What do you know?"

"I've told you everything I know!"

He glared at her and for the first time he saw a little fire in her eyes. There she was, he thought, that mask of fear finally gone. She didn't look like the little coward she'd made herself out to be, and he liked it. Her eyebrows knit together in the center, her mouth pressed together in a hard little line, he felt his own lips turning up into a little smile. Her shoulders were straighter, she looked quite fearsome, and beautiful. Oh there was so much more to this woman than he thought, so very much more.

"You should get angry more often," he told her, leaning back into his chair.

"Why on Earth would I do that?" she snapped, the ferocity in her voice causing him to smile.

"It's quite becoming."

He watched the dance of emotion on her face; anger, confusion, slightly pleased, then back to angry. She was becoming more entertaining than the television, and so much less predictable.

"So tell me about you then, you must know something about that," he asked, surprised by his own genuine tone and meaning.

"What?" she replied, just as shocked by his question as he seemed to be.

"You. Tell me about, you."

"What do you want to know?"

'Everything' he thought. Well that was odd, where did that voice come from? Certainly not from him, or was it? The last thing in the world Sherlock cared about was getting to know people, well he practically knew everything about a person from one look, but she was different. He knew of her, but not about her, not really. She had so much more hidden inside that wasn't visible to the naked eye, or even his eye. It was only to satisfy his growing curiosity and need to know, wasn't it? His growing infatuation with this woman was alarming; he hadn't even felt the need to learn this much about Irene Adler, the woman who'd almost beaten him. She'd been a complete mystery at first, but the urge to learn about her was nowhere near as great as his absolute need to learn about the woman sitting in front of him. She was so normal, but not. Not in the slightest. She didn't have any kind of intellectual superiority, or threat, she wasn't trying to kill people, or steal anything, she was just a typical, everyday woman. No, it was how he felt inside that urged him to discover every secret, every fact, and every flaw. Yes she was normal; it was this feeling that was not.

"Anything," he finally said aloud, quieting his mental battle for a moment, "Why do you always look so sad?"

"What?" she was completely taken aback by his question, she hadn't known she looked sad all the time.

"Forgive me, that came out wrong…"

"Do I? Do I look sad all the time?"

"Yes."

Her eyes sank, and for the first time in his life Sherlock felt a pang of regret hit him, hard. His heart hurt as he looked at her, the way her face fell and her shoulders slumped. All evidence of the form she had just held moments before, gone. He wanted to reach out to her, take her hands in his, and tell her he was sorry, so sorry. The thoughts traveled through his mind in rapid overdrive, each more foreign than the last.

"Ellie, I'm sorry," he confessed, laying every speck of regret he could into the statement, an act so very alien to him.

"I don't know why, I just am. Nothing seems to ever go right," she confessed, her eyes locked on the table, "I feel like the world is against me sometimes, the moment I find some shred of happiness it gets ripped away."

"The enemies are inside the walls, Ellie."

His words ran its way through her like wildfire. The enemies are inside the walls. She knew the statement wasn't supposed to have this effect, but it made her feel so utterly relieved she wanted to reach across the table and wrap her arms around his neck. He understood. He understood her struggle, and he empathized with it. He was right, it wasn't outside forces causing her grief and resentment, it was her own self-induced plague running rampant and destroying everything in its path.

"How do you run from what's inside your head?" she questioned, finally bringing her gaze back to his.

"You don't. You take that fear, that hatred, the adrenaline and put it into more productive practices," he answered matter-of-factly, his eyes the most enchanting shade of grey she'd ever seen.

"Such as?"

"Anything. Everything. There's a huge world of untapped knowledge out there that needs to be explored, discovered. But everyone is too afraid to walk out their front doors."

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Hide from the monsters in your head?"

"Who says I have any?'

He stayed unwavering on the outside, but on the inside he felt himself break down. The trap doors and hidden walls of his mind palace crumbled as the demons came out to play, the ghosts which Sherlock Holmes kept very neatly packed away, their cages held closed by cases and work. She brought out the very worst in him in would seem. He was feeling regret, remorse, and now his ever-sharp mind dulled as the dammed up memories replayed over and over and over again. The lonely days holed up in the library, playing pirates and Indians with the no one but the old tire swing that hung idly on the tree in the backyard. Mum and Dad yelling and fighting, Mycroft ushering him into their bedroom and tucking him into bed, promising everything was all right, but it wasn't. It never was.

"Sherlock?" a soft bell-like voice rang in his ears like music, he liked the way it sounded as it again spoke his name, "Sherlock?"

A soft, warm hand came to rest gently on his tightly clenched fist and like always, his mind quieted. He didn't understand this. He'd been touched by many people before unfortunately, but it never had any sort of effect on him, except perhaps repulsion. But as her hand gripped his loosening fist with a pure sincerity that Sherlock couldn't even begin to comprehend, he felt his mind fall back into place. It was almost like hitting the reset button on a computer. He didn't pull his hand away nor did he avert his gaze back to her face, afraid of the consequences of any action in that moment. He liked the way her hand felt on his, but he feared everything he began to feel inside. With a freshly cleaned slate, his brain focused entirely on her. He saw her, felt her, and breathed her in it seemed. Questions flitted across in jumbled fragments, his heart felt light and carefree and his body seemed to be, was that tingling? It didn't make any sense.

He seemed to be in some sort of physical pain, Everleigh thought to herself as she spoke his name aloud quietly. His face was contorted, his lips had disappeared into a tight impenetrable line, and his entire body was tense. She'd watched his open hand close into a tight fist on the table in the moments of silence following his question, who says I have any? You, in this exact moment, she thought as her concern for him grew the longer he sat in miserable contempt. The way he looked was so, self-loathing, and she couldn't stand to see him like that, he had no reason to, not right now anyway. She felt terrible for seemingly making him feel this way, but she had absolutely no idea how to console him. The only weapon in her arsenal a reassuring hand on a now loosening grip.

"I don't have any," he repeated, more to himself than to her.

"All right," she responded, refusing to pry into his psyche anymore, yet curious about what he had experienced, and what had turned him so cold.

His breathing seemed harder, his face was unemotional, but his eyes were fearful. She kept her hand on his, giving him another reassuring squeeze. He looked down at their conjoined hands sadly, his mouth down turning into a frown. This felt right, but it was wrong. It had to be. All lives end, all hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage Sherlock. The words of his brother echoed in his head, he'd grown up hearing those words and he'd never before doubted them. But he doubted them now; he'd doubted them weeks ago when she'd helped him in the hospital. Never let your heart rule your head. He pulled his hand away from hers slowly, relishing in every last moment of contact with her, his hand feeling ghostly cold and lacking as he placed it back into his lap.

"Well, I need more information to be able to help you so when you've got some, you know where to find me. Phone records would be helpful, from when the calls began," Sherlock instructed, his air of business back about him.

"Yes," Ellie replied softly as she slowly pulled her rejected hand back into her own lap.

"Sorry about dinner, I must be off though."

"Right. I can drive you home if you'd like."
"That won't be necessary, a cab will do just fine. Have a good evening."

"Sherlock, I want you to know, that if you ever need anything, anything at all, don't be afraid to ask."

He nodded to her. It was a strange thing to say, no one had ever said anything like that to him before. Not many people had ever given his wellbeing a second thought. Most people loathed him, but she didn't. He'd been himself since the day they'd met, and she accepted him as he was. So it would seem. There was so much more that she didn't know, and she never would if he had his way.

His black coat swirled around his legs as he turned to march out of the restaurant he'd directed her to no more than an hour ago. He needed time to think, alone. She watched as he walked out of the restaurant, her eyes following until he was out of sight.

Sherlock decided that a walk home might do his body and mind good. The chilling air cooled his burning face, the light misting rain catching in his hair like dew drops. He ran through what Ellie had told him about her alleged stalker. The blocked phone calls, the photos, and he got an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. While this appeared to be a basic, dull stalking case, something felt off, his intuition told him that there was much more to this than what met the eye. He knew for certain there was still something she refused to tell him. Her infuriated reaction to his prying gave her away. He always trusted his gut feelings, and at that moment it was telling him there were much more sinister forces at work here than a simple stalking. An eerie sense of familiarity set in, as if he'd investigated a case just like this before, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it.

Everleigh stood up from the table, trying to overcome the disappointment she felt at how the evening had ended. She'd enjoyed the small amount of time she'd spent with Sherlock and wished it had gone a little better. She hadn't felt more herself in years, more whole. Seemingly, the dark brooding detective filled a void in her she didn't know she had, until he left again. It was difficult to put into words, the way he made her feel, but safe was one that came to mind. When she was with him she felt like there was nothing in the world that could take her down, except of course Sherlock himself. Maybe that was where her sense of security came from; the fact that with him, her biggest fear was his rejection. It didn't matter if a crazy stalker was standing right outside the door, she would be too occupied with keeping Sherlock Holmes interested than caring about what would happen to her as soon as she stepped outside.

Wrapping her coat tightly around herself she stepped out into the cold London night, taking in the lights from the buildings that seemed to touch the sky all the way down to the cabs flooding the busy street. She loved the way the city sparkled. As her eyes turned back down she saw a sleek black car pull up to the curb and stop directly in front of her, the door opened and a woman, her eyes glued to her mobile phone stepped out. She was young, with long dark hair and a pretty face, dressed in business attire with an air of arrogance about her.

"Dr. Braxton, there's someone who would like to speak with you," the woman spoke, her eyes not coming up from the faintly glowing screen.

"Who exactly?" Ev asked, taking a step backward as her phone went off with a number she didn't recognize.

"I'd answer that if I were you."

"Hello?"

"Hello Dr. Braxton. I'd like to ensure you I mean you no harm, I only wish to speak with you. Please get into the car," a man's voice sounded from the other end, one she didn't recognize.

"Who are you?"

"We'll discuss that when you get here, please, get in the car."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm asking nicely. If you'd respond better to threats, that can be arranged."

Ev went silent. Why did Sherlock have to leave? Fear guided her motions as she took a step towards the vehicle, coming to terms with the fact that she had no other option. The woman smiled before climbing back into the car, leaving the seat nearest the open door for Everleigh to sit in.
"Thank you Everleigh. See you soon."

A/N: I really liked this chapter. I hope you did too! Let me know!

Everyone send positive energy my way, heading off to see Benedict on Tuesday, show is on Wednesday evening! Hoping to meet him while I'm there, though not getting my hopes up. Seeing him in person on Jimmy Kimmel is a dream come true in itself!

Thank you all for favorites/follows, it means a lot! And a big thank you to indescribablemusic for always reviewing after chapters, it means a lot you take the time to write something, very motivating and uplifting. Same with everyone else who has left kind words!