Hey guys, hope you enjoy this chapter! I enjoy writing this story despite the fact that I am working on two separate Game of Thrones fanfictions as well. Enjoy!
WARNING: This fan fiction contains mature/sexual content and subject matter
Chapter 2 – A Complete Set
John was roused from his sleep as he heard bustling coming from outside his bedroom door. Someone was walking rather rampantly around in the kitchen—Sherlock. He frowned grumpily as he angrily shuffled out of bed. Sherlock had crossed a boundary…He couldn't just go around announcing that people—strangers—were virgins. John rather liked Ruth—she was like the little sister he never had…And he would protect her from the thick-headed Holmes if he had to. The doctor swung his door open before making his way towards the kitchen. The stained glass sliding door was shut, but he could see the blurry form of Sherlock moving about hastily as he fully invested himself in some sort of work. What was he doing in there? John hoped to God he wasn't taking another salad fork inventory…
He gripped the door and slid it open, his eyes widening as he was met with a very ridiculous and…simply disturbing sight.
Sherlock's face was keen with concentration as he stood before a red lacy bra that was hanging haphazardly by the straps. He was examining it very closely with a small rectangular magnifying glass. There was something quite queer about the whole scene.
"Sherlock, what in the bloody hell are you doing? That…that bra…better not belong to who I think it belongs to…" John pointed accusingly at the undergarment in disbelief as Sherlock pulled his eyes away from the lacy red piece to glance up at him with a casual expression.
"I'm observing the fiber particles of this material. In total, I have conducted three durability tests and two micro-particle analyses…There is much more to be examined—quite a mysteriously grandiose article of clothing to wear under one's visible garment…It was made to be seen, but is not…very strange indeed," John could not believe his ears as Sherlock went back to closely examining the bra…
"Let me get this straight…You…of all people…are baffled by a woman's bra?" It was simply ridiculous. John snorted to himself. Sherlock rolled his eyes and faced him with an irritated look.
"It's rather fascinating, John. An item meant to be both seen and unseen. Very clever…these women," Sherlock trailed off as he scribbled some notes in a small leather booklet before retrieving a blowtorch from behind the counter. The detective flipped a welding mask over his face as he ignited the torch. John sighed—now seemed the perfect time to intervene.
"Enough! You're not setting fire to our new neighbor's personal clothing!" Without further debate, the doctor marched up and snatched the garment before the blue tip of the blowtorch could meet it. Angrily, Sherlock flipped the mask off and glared at John in disbelief.
"It's an experiment," He growled caustically before reaching out for the bra.
"And this is not yours. This belongs to Ruth," John hissed back as he gestured to the lacy undergarment in his hand. Sherlock gave him an unimpressed look.
"I am well aware it belongs to Ms. Hale. It clearly does not belong to Mrs. Hudson…" Sherlock stated sarcastically as he waited for John to hand it over.
"That's the point! I'm sure "Ms. Hale" won't appreciate you torching or touching her bra for the sake of…whatever you're doing here!" John was met with a serious expression from the man before him…It was made worse by the fact he was still holding a blowtorch…
"That is my only sample, I must have it back," Sherlock stepped forward, his arm reaching for the bra.
"No! If you want one that badly, go and buy one yourself! This is going back to Ruth in the morning before you do any more damage," John turned to leave the kitchen. From behind him, he could hear Sherlock approaching quickly.
"I would not recommend returning that to Ms. Hale," He spoke before John turned around, an angry expression on his face.
"Sherlock, go and buy one. There's a little place called Victoria's Secret. Maybe you can even figure out the secret while you're there," He quipped sardonically as he continued walking away. Sherlock froze before calling out seriously.
"I submerged it in a bath of highly concentrated acid," He blurted through the silence.
John slowly turned to face the detective. Sherlock looked down with slightly guilty eyes. He was serious.
John rushed over to the light switch and flipped it up. He looked down in horror to see what appeared to be a red bra…was actually an awfully blotchy muddied pink with black markings from where the dye had run from the lace. It looked an absolute mess.
"Oh for the love of…" John glared at the man before him. Sherlock simply looked at him and shrugged.
"You're still not getting this back. You'll apologize to Ruth in the morning. And you'll pay her for a new one," And with that, he walked out, the disaster of a brassiere in his hand. Sherlock certainly wasn't getting it back. It was disturbing enough that he had gone to such lengths to examine it. Sherlock's voice sounded from the kitchen.
"Then I shall inform Ms. Hale her selection of undergarment is quite durable…Although the choice of dye seems to be a slight design-flaw—an easily remedied fault."
John merely ignored Sherlock's outlandish statement. It was too late for this—and he was far too tired to deal with this right now. He slammed the door to his room shut and threw the destroyed bra in the waste basket before climbing back into bed. From outside the room, he could hear clanging from the kitchen…It was back to the salad-fork inventory it seemed…It was better than him destroying their new neighbor's brassiere…
From outside, Sherlock began to sort loudly through the forks in various drawers. He paused and listened briefly—the coast was clear. He slyly pulled out a very particular deep red undergarment with black lace from the inner pocket of his deep blue dressing gown. Oh yes, he had the true garment…Clearly John was not in good form when it came to identifying women's undergarments…
Ruth woke up that morning feeling refreshed and rather eager to begin some serious unpacking. Mrs. Hudson had shown her to 221C after she had finished her tea the day before. She had been so tired after moving her boxes and furniture into the room, that she had not gotten a chance to properly look at the place. With the daylight pouring in from a small high-window at the side, she could see the walls were freshly painted a pastel canary yellow. The room was accented by a simple white trim and there was a lovely little white fireplace in the center of the main wall. She smiled—there were so many decoration possibilities.
Digging through her unpacked box of clothes, she retrieved a white camisole and a worn floral cardigan to wear with her old jeans. She blushed when she got to selecting undergarments…That infuriatingly perceptive detective from yesterday had given her enough to be concerned about…He would probably be able to tell if she had the damned alphabet written out on her bra…She went for a simple nude colored set before shaking her head in doubt at her paranoid thoughts. There was no possible way he could know what she was wearing underneath her clothes—yesterday was simply a lucky guess.
After dressing, she decided to go up for breakfast. The kitchen below the stairs was a sort of common area it seemed…She hoped to God that she would not encounter Sherlock there…Although she highly doubted the man spent much time rummaging through the fridge for sustenance—his frame was lithe but Mrs. Hudson had warned her about his dreadful fridge experiments and stubborn aversion to eating actual food. Such a man-child…albeit intelligent beyond all normality…
As she entered the small downstairs kitchen, she was greeted with the sight of Mrs. Hudson pouring a glass of fruit-juice for herself as John sat at the breakfast table with a cup of tea and some jammed toast.
"Good morning," Ruth gave John a slightly confused look. He had mentioned briefly that his upstairs flat included a small kitchen. Reading the curiosity in her eyes, John put his cup down and gave her a pained smile.
"It's worse than a war-zone up there…Sherlock's been holed up in the kitchen since last night…" John paused as he considered something. His look became apologetic.
"Sherlock got a hold of your…personal garment from the bathroom…He sort of…destroyed it in one of his experiments…" He hesitated as he tried to formulate the least upsetting account of what Sherlock had done to her bra. A blank look washed over the young woman's face before her brows furrowed.
"Really…?" She whispered, not wanting to believe what John was telling her…Had he seen it? She blushed brightly at the thought of the doctor seeing her bra. John coughed uncomfortably.
"Y-Yes…I've already told him he needs to compensate you for a new one…He is an idiot…a brilliant idiot," He looked away, focusing on his toast as he waited for her response. Hopefully she would not move out in a rage—although he most certainly wouldn't blame her.
Ruth stared at the floor in disbelief. In truth, she was not upset with the loss of the red lacy bra—she quite sadly had nobody to wear it for, after all. She was, however, furious at the detective for taking it without her permission…The audacity! What person took somebody's bra without their permission—especially when you had just met them? Who even experimented on a bra? She was boiling with anger now. Sherlock Holmes, apparently.
Just as she was about to storm out of the kitchen and up the stairs to confront the sneaky bastard, she felt a looming presence behind her. She heard the figure deeply inhale and she turned around in fright.
There, too close behind her, stood the detective, smiling with his hands calmly clasped behind his back. He was dressed rather properly…much unlike the haphazard man she had seen yesterday. He wore a pressed deep blue dress-shirt that seemed to fit his trim form perfectly. His black trousers were ironed and fitted as well, complimenting his long and surprisingly muscular legs. She quickly looked away as she realized she was staring. He is not handsome…He's a creep…She tried to internally deny the fact that she had just been admiring the strange detective's form. Her anger returned as she glanced up and saw a smirk grow on his handsome—creepy—face. Damn him…His light eyes regarded her calmly as she frowned up at him with a red face.
"You! Why did you take my…" She blushed as she tried not to say the embarrassing word. It was already bad enough that the doctor was here to witness her so flustered. Her eyes flashed to the strange man before her as he took a step forward, his gaze steady as he observed her anger calmly.
"Let me put this simply, Ms. Hale. You may keep my dressing gown for any purpose—you can even cut holes in it if you want. In addition, I will offer you the full price of the— quite frankly— racy brassiere so you may purchase a new one. Any objections?" He laid out the terms of his peace-offering without any explanation of his actions. She didn't care about the bloody bra any more…But she was far too exhausted to get into it with the irritating man. She merely shook her head as he smiled without a care in the world. Had he no shame?
"Good! The arrangement of the fabric particles indicate…Silk…Dyed red—hand-sewn black lace…It was the accompanying piece to a limited edition Valentine's Day set…Quite naughty…You indeed indulged on something in which you obviously have no audience to observe…" From his pocket, he pulled out a leather wallet and handed her six notes.
She counted them in disbelief…300 pounds…What in the world? How did he know all of that? The bra was indeed a part of a Valentine's Day set…from two years ago…She cringed at the reminder he had just accused her undergarments of being naughty—and that she quite obviously had nobody to wear them for. Those words seemed strange coming from him in such a context…And he had gotten the amount correct…It was incredible—and most disturbing.
"Keep the change…" Sherlock then leaned in close, whispering something in her ear as her face grew hot.
"I recommend a nude beige with sparse black polka dots…He would favor that on a woman's figure," His words went unheard to all but her as he pulled away, smirking keenly as he referred to John's tastes. Her face went crimson before she quickly swatted him away. He gave her a faint smile before turning to leave suddenly. In her eyes, it was a shit-eating grin. That cocky man…She smiled to herself—he was trying to make amends…in a strange way. It was something.
"Come, John! We have a case," The doctor nodded in departure as he quickly finished the rest of his toast and rushed to the front door. Sherlock rounded the corner, now dressed in a long black coat as he hastily tied a heavy blue scarf around his neck. He watched Ruth carefully as she tried to hide her smile. She wanted to be upset with him, but it was quite hard.
"Care to join us, Ms. Hale?" He asked politely, clearly knowing her answer already. He knew she would want to spend time with the doctor. Damn him. She sighed at his confident countenance.
"Let me get my coat," She ran downstairs, missing the pleased expression that crossed the consulting detective's features. That was easier than he had anticipated. And for a small price he had managed to keep Ms. Hale's personal undergarment...Perhaps he could acquire the matching piece as well?
It had been three weeks since Ruth had moved in to 221C. After unpacking and decorating, she was officially settled in. On her second week, she had started her first day of work… as a substitute primary school teacher. Sherlock seemed to rub it in her face when she returned from her interview. She had originally been told the position was open for a full-time secondary school teacher. Sherlock had somehow known all along…It was no matter, however. She enjoyed being around younger children—even if the children were slightly more rowdy. The only problem was that the position did not pay enough…And the consulting detective seemed to be quite aware of the fact.
On her days off, the bothersome man sought her out to offer various monetary propositions…Some of which were quite unusual…He had mainly insisted upon hiring her as a paid assistant with undefined terms. She turned him down, of course. John already did all of the "assistant" work—and he did not get paid. The detective obviously was not the easiest man to work with…and to be an assistant without any notion of what was required seemed appalling. And then there were the other propositions...Which were the current reason she was avoiding the detective at all costs.
He had wanted to purchase her personal undergarments. And quite openly so…He had requested to do so on the latest occasion in front of Mrs. Hudson and John during morning tea…Which led to a high level of discomfort and her slapping the detective. He didn't seem to be phased by her blatant distaste, however. John apologized for the uncouth detective while the man himself shrugged it off and continued to furtively offer her unusually high sums of money for her "feminine underclothes".
And so here she stood…In front of her small fireplace staring at an enclosed white envelope addressed in rather chaotic pen to "Ms. Hale". She threw it in the fire without opening it. Was the atrocious detective now resorting to hand-written requests? Why couldn't he just take a hint and leave her alone? He was the most disagreeable person she had ever met…But she liked John…who was always with the damned super-sleuth…
"Damn that man!" She had endured enough. Perhaps he would stop pestering her with oddly perverse requests if she accepted the position as his assistant. She had gone on one case with them, and they merely tracked down a child's runaway cat—no danger whatsoever. What harm could it possibly do? She needed the money, and she would be able to spend time with John. It was decided—she would work for the infuriating man. Without further thought on the matter, she puffed up the stairs to the dreaded flat in which he inhabited. She had never actually entered let alone seen the inside of the upstairs dwelling…Mainly because it felt unsafe crossing into the habitat of a man with little to no regard for decency. She mustered up her courage and made to knock on the door. Just before her knuckle reached the painted wood, the door swung open and her fist gently hit the chest of…
"Ms. Hale, come in. I've been expecting you," Sherlock smiled down smugly at her fist which was now frozen in front of him. She immediately recovered from the shock as her hand swung down and she stuttered out an apology.
"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hit you—I mean, I know we don't exactly get along, but I would never resort to physical violence…Believe me, I wouldn't touch-"
"Please do stop rambling, Ms. Hale, and come inside," He turned his back in annoyance and began walking towards a sitting area at the front of the room. She frowned with a huff before following.
As she passed through the door, she immediately noticed the disarray of the room. Stray papers and books were strewn across the floor and furniture while various contraptions and odd trinkets sat in strange places. The detective ushered her to sit on a small couch and she noticed a human skull on the mantelpiece.
"I see you've gotten your skull back from Mrs. Hudson…I hope you haven't stolen it back. You are quite keen on taking things without permission, Mr. Holmes," She tried to break the silence. It was hard to be hospitable when she remembered the man before her had the nerve to take her bra…and to destroy it with whatever strange experiments he had done. Sherlock ignored her sarcastic quip and plopped down in an armchair facing the small couch before eyeing her with great intensity.
"Your work begins now," He stated simply. She looked up at him in disbelief.
"Excuse me, what?" Who did he think he was? She hadn't even said anything to him yet. The man before her rolled his pale eyes and stood abruptly. He made his way over to a cluttered table and picked up a violin from the mess.
"Your work starts now. You're officially on the clock. Starting wage is 2000 a week. You will be on call at all times…Of course, this excludes the days in which you…substitute. Your position requires a level of commitment—I expect you to be available when you are needed. Only your presence and minor assistance is required, Ms. Hale. Any questions?" He began playing the violin in a terrible manner. She could not believe it—had he just offered her…that much? She knew being an on-call assistant to him would be difficult and chaotic, but was he really offering that much?
"Did you say 2000…As in 2000 pounds a week?" That could not have been right—he had to be joking.
"Yes. Every week, on Saturday at noon. I knew in advance you would burn my letter without opening it—so I've withheld your prepayment. Which I have here," He pulled an envelope from his coat's pocket and held it out to her with a smirk. She swallowed hard. That much money…and she could tell he was being serious. Against her better judgment, she sat up, making her way towards the detective reluctantly. She paused before him, staring between his amused face and the envelope in his hand.
"And… there is no catch?" She reached out for the envelope. Piercing blue eyes locked onto brown.
"I can assure you, Ms. Hale, there is no catch," His expression was deceitfully amiable. And she was falling straight into his trap.
"Alright then," She slowly grabbed the envelope and awaited her first order. The money was well worth whatever shenanigans he would put her through with his crazy cases. How hard could it actually be?
"Sit over there and don't move or make a sound until I say so," He gestured to the couch on the far side of the room before returning to his violin. She obeyed and sat to the side, watching him with confusion as he stared at nothing in particular and played a God-awful rendition of some classical piece. This was strange…What was she supposed to do?
She looked at the small table in front of her and carefully picked up the closest book. Classification of Soil…With nothing better around to occupy herself with, she began reading, trying professionally not to move around too much—he had told her not to move.
After about sixty pages in, she glanced at the clock. It was already noon…She had been there for quite some time. It was then she realized that there was no more hideous violin playing… and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. Was soil really so fascinating a subject that she failed to notice him leaving? She glared at the horribly dull book before calling out for the man.
"Mr. Holmes? Are you here?" She waited for a response. Nothing. She stood and walked towards a set of tinted glass sliding doors. This must be the kitchen. John had told her he spent time experimenting in there; perhaps he had gone in there. She opened the sliding door and was met with the sight of the detective's back as he concentrated on something hidden from her view. He sniffed the air heavily. His voice made her jump as he addressed her without turning around.
"Ms. Hale. You're dismissed for lunch. I'll text you when you're needed," She frowned as his tall form blocked the view of whatever he was examining. She nearly laughed when she realized what he had just said.
"You don't have my number," She pulled her phone out and stepped forward. Sherlock quickly whipped out a cellphone from his pant pocket and tapped rather fervently on the keys with his long fingers. He did not even turn around to face her. He finished tapping the keys and placed the phone back in his pocket before she heard her phone beep. She looked down at her screen: "Go eat, Ms. Hale"—SH. How in the world did he get her number? Mrs. Hudson and John didn't even have it yet. Seeming to sense her astonishment, the detective spoke up once more.
"I have my ways, Ms. Hale," She could just sense the boastful smile in his voice. She rolled her eyes before turning to leave. She was hungry—perhaps he wanted something to eat as well? Getting food seemed like an obvious assistant thing to do.
"Would you like me to get you something for lunch?" She questioned as he continued to examine whatever he had in front of him. It was probably something ridiculous like soil…Her thoughts were cut off by his indifferent reply.
"That will be neither useful nor necessary," His head turned to the side briefly to regard her.
"You've surpassed my admittedly low expectations, Ms. Hale," And with that, he was once more occupied by his careful examination.
Ruth smiled hesitantly to herself. Hearing Sherlock Holmes say that felt like a victory—it was sort of a thank you. Close enough for her. She would get him something to eat whether he liked it or not. As his assistant, the least she could do is make sure he ate every now and again. With that, she left to get lunch. She had recently passed a small café two blocks from Baker Street—she would try something from there. Hopefully the almighty Sherlock Holmes could tolerate a cup of coffee and a sandwich.
When the door shut, he quickly sniffed the air to ensure that Ruth had left the room. He smirked to himself as he relished in his success. He had attained a rather interesting assistant…and he had managed to acquire the missing piece to the Valentine's set…A low chuckle sounded in his chest as he brought the magnifying glass to the garment before him—red with black lace.
"Scandalous, Ms. Hale…" He carefully picked up the silk piece and brought it to his room. He hid it away with the matching brassiere in a drawer.
The garments were indeed intriguing…But there was nothing more strangely alluring than the woman they belonged to.
Ruth spit out a stray lock of hair as she braced the wind, her hands full as she carried two coffees and three paper bags of sandwiches. She probably looked crazy with her hair blowing around every which way. I should have tied it back. She continued to puff hair away from her mouth as her face crinkled up in distaste. Damn wind. A public telephone rang from the side and she thought nothing of it as she continued to shuffle forward with the food and drink. She got to the first street corner and waited to pass. Another public phone rang to her side. She frowned. Were they supposed to do that?
When the traffic cleared, she continued walking with caution as she tried to adjust the coffee tucked in her right arm. Another phone rang as she passed and her pace increased. She was only a few minutes away from Baker Street. As she passed by a red telephone box, the sudden ringing sound startled her. She accidentally tilted the coffee in her hand, lightly burning the skin beneath her glove as she hissed in pain. She glared at the box as the phone within continued to sound. Screw the damn phone. She almost dropped a coffee and now her hand was throbbing with pain. Angrily, she made it to the final crossing before Baker Street. Waiting at the turn, a black car with tinted windows suddenly pulled up as a strange man stepped out.
"Ms. Ruth Hale, please get into the car," She took a step back. What in the world was going on? The man looked extremely shady with the stereotypical bad-guy suit, sunglasses, and earpiece. Before she could turn on her heel, a woman stepped out of the car.
"Please get in. You don't have a choice, etc., etc,," The brunette woman was indifferently texting as she made her way around and opened the back door. Her attire was sleek and professional. Ruth didn't have a chance to object as the scary man stood behind her and ushered her into the backseat before closing the door.
"Wait, I didn't agree to this! Let me out!" Ruth dropped the sandwich bags and pulled at the door—it was locked. The attractive brunette woman got in next to her and rolled her eyes which were still planted on her phone as she typed away at the keys.
"Calm yourself, blondie. You're simply going to meet with my employer," Ruth looked to her angrily.
"I don't want to meet anyone!" Was she honestly being abducted? At 27 in broad daylight…The brunette woman glanced at her briefly, her eyes slightly amused as she took in Ruth's features. She went back to typing without another word. Ruth sighed shakily. This woman was difficult and she could tell there would be no further discussion. Sneakily, she took her phone out only to see the signal was blocked. This was hopeless…She looked out the window intently, trying to remember the path and surroundings.
After what seemed to be another forty minutes of driving, the vehicle came to a stop in front of an extremely suspicious looking isolated warehouse. She felt nauseous. The woman led her out of the car and into the warehouse to a large open room with dim light and a single chair. This wasn't scary at all…She tried to appear brave as the woman left her alone to sit in the chair. A man appeared from behind a high set of crates. He looked official and intimidating in an expensive looking suit and with a professional expression on his astute face…It reminded her of somebody else that intimidated her…
He came closer, pressing a long umbrella to the floor with each step. Was he going to kill her? Sell her? She shuffled back in the chair as he spoke up.
"Ms. Hale. I can only offer you my most sincere apologies for calling you here in such an alarming manner," He slowly stalked forward with his umbrella as he eyed her intently. Her brow furrowed.
"Were those telephones…?" She trailed off as his laugh resounded through the large warehouse.
"I do apologize. Normally one would answer after the third demonstration," His demeanor was very superior and sharp…So familiar…She felt intimidated, but not entirely unsafe for some reason.
"What do you want from me?" She glared at him, trying to appear un-phased. He smiled knowingly at her false exposition.
"Sherlock Holmes…A man of great interest to me…and your new employer I understand…" She glared at him when he mentioned the detective. Of course it had something to do with him… She remained silent.
"I would like you to, in a manner of speaking, spy on him for me. I have a great interest in knowing what he is doing and when… Of course, you would be compensated substantially…" The man proposed as he gave her a charming smile. She frowned. This man was suspicious.
"Why do you care? Who are you?" There was just something too familiar about him…
"I'm...an interested party—he would call me his arch-nemesis…So infantile… I worry about him. Constantly. We have a difficult relationship…I would prefer it if you keep this exchange entirely confidential. My concern is not an object of fascination," The man spoke as he examined the end of his umbrella. Ruth considered him carefully.
"Are you his…father?" She looked at him reluctantly after a long pause as his eyes widened slightly at her suggestion. He seemed to straighten his posture proudly as he scoffed to himself. He gave her a curt smile.
"I am not his father—most fortunately. If I were, I can assure you he would most certainly not behave in such a manner," He seemed amused and slightly offended by the notion as he studied his umbrella handle. She frowned. There was no way she would spy on Sherlock…especially for some shady stranger in the shadows.
"No thank you. Now may I please leave?" She answered nervously as the man looked up with intrigue.
"I have yet to present a figure," He seemed very amused by her rejection.
"No is my final answer. No figure required. I don't know you," She stood from her seat as her phone beeped. She pulled it out of her pocket and read the text:
I need you in the kitchen. Now. –SH
She sighed angrily. He could wait—being stuck in a creepy warehouse in the middle of nowhere with a man claiming to be an arch-nemesis seemed a good excuse for tardiness. She looked up briefly at the man before her, hoping he would let her leave. He smiled.
"You don't know Sherlock Holmes all too well either…And yet you've accepted a position as his assistant. There is no difference in this manner…Only your compensation will be much more significant," He stated smoothly. Was he serious? There was a clear difference.
"Sherlock Holmes did not bring me to a creepy warehouse in the middle of nowhere…and he didn't wave an umbrella around like some literary villain. He's strange…but I trust him. May I please leave now?" She was getting impatient and her fear was growing the longer she stood in the dim warehouse with the man before her. He laughed softly at her opposition.
"A valid point, Ms. Hale. It would seem my little brother has chosen his assistant wisely. Very well, you may leave. Anthea will escort you back to Baker Street. I gather we will be seeing much more of you in the future," His eyes filled with mirth as her eyes widened. She was too shocked to even catch his duplicitous words.
"His brother?" She was taken aback as the man began walking away. She suddenly felt embarrassed for thinking he was Sherlock's father. No wonder he had been slightly insulted.
"Do make sure he eats something, Ms. Hale. He can be rather puerile with the regular consumption of food," He called out to her as he exited the warehouse. She had caught Sherlock's attention...and he would be seeing much more of her in the future.
When Ruth got back to Baker Street, she entered 221B with cold coffee and a bag of crushed sandwiches. It was already far past noon. She rushed up the stairs and opened the door only to see Sherlock waiting for her with his fingers steepled as he sat in front of the mantelpiece with his skull.
"You're late," He commented as his blue eyes stared her down. She frowned.
"Blame your scary brother. What did you need?" She made her way towards the kitchen as she placed the bags and cups on an empty spot of the counter. Sherlock was immediately behind her with a frustrated expression.
"Mycroft…Did he offer you money to spy on me?" He asked after hissing the name. She nodded.
"He did, but I declined. It was very shady…But he seems genuinely concerned for your wellbeing…" Her eyes met his as he scoffed. He is childish…
"The only thing he's concerned about is interfering with my work. But you should be well aware that he is the most dangerous man you will ever meet…" He mentioned seriously before shrugging it off.
"Now! On to more pressing matters…" Without warning, he pulled out a very familiar pair of red and black panties from the pocket of his dressing gown. She spit her coffee out.
"How did you-" She stopped midsentence as he began to pull another very familiar garment from his dressing gown pocket. He had the complete set—and he was very pleased with himself. Now all he had to do was garner Ms. Hale's cooperation.
I love a naughty Sherlock Holmes. His…professional curiosity… is a bit disoriented and misplaced. I don't think he himself would even know what he wants. Anyway, quick author note about the title of the story. It is inspired by the song "Undo It" by The 1975. In case some of you want to check it out! Please review and favorite. I enjoy reading your input and reactions. Until the next chapter!