Hey my lovely readers! Sorry for the wait! I haven't abandoned this story at all…I just take a while to update sometimes…I had this chapter sitting unfinished for a while since I've been busy with my second year in college. I had to finish it up and proof-read it before sending it out to you guys! Anyhow, I really enjoyed writing this chapter because we start getting into the cases—starting with the "great game" (ehem, Moriarty!). Sherlock misbehaves in this chapter…but then again, when does he ever behave? Sigh…I love writing dirty/perverted Sherlock so much. Enjoy!
WARNING: This fan fiction contains mature content and subject matter of the sexual nature.
Chapter 3 - The Great Game
Ruth merely stared in complete and utter disbelief at the bizarre situation which had just unfolded before her very eyes. Sherlock Holmes was rather calmly standing before her with her red, racy, undergarments displayed in front of him as if it were a completely normal occurrence. The entire scene was absurd. Had she found herself in a nightmare? There was no way this would happen in reality. Sure, Sherlock was rude, and he had absolutely no sense of privacy or propriety whatsoever…but did he really have the audacity to steal a woman's underwear and stand so openly before her with them—as if to flaunt them? With an annoyed roll of the eyes, the man before her cleared his throat.
"Ms. Hale, you assume that you've found yourself within a preposterous delusion of some sort. I can assure you that everything you are currently witnessing is, indubitably, real," He reached for a cup of tea, nonchalantly sipping as he gauged her reaction with that piercingly observant and infuriating gaze of his. Yes—it turns out the idiot did have the audacity. And the underlying desire to get slapped.
"W-what in the fucking hell are you doing with my…my underwear?" The blood boiled angrily in her veins as she looked on in horrific disbelief, her cheeks turning red in both rage and utter embarrassment. He tutted before abruptly turning away, walking over to the crowded kitchen counter where the crushed sandwich bags and cold coffee sat.
"Oh, do stop cursing, Ms. Hale. It's not very befitting of a school-teacher. Shame—think of the children, they're the future…" He scolded sardonically, pausing as he grabbed a coffee cup and deeply sniffed the contents before grimacing and moving on to inspect the remaining coffees. Was he...blatantly ignoring her question? She crossed her arms in silent impatience as he continued to obliviously inspect the food.
"These sandwiches smell delightful. I'll have one," He beamed cheekily—he was obviously putting on a show and clearly trying to change the subject! Ruth clutched her hands, the knuckles turning white as she waited for him to drop the appallingly obvious "innocent" act.
He rummaged through the sandwich bags meticulously before he turned to inspect her silently fuming form. Ruth glared impatiently before the man finally gave a dramatic huff. He retreated from the sandwiches and exited the kitchen, quite clearly never having had any intention of actually eating.
Her eyes followed him out of the kitchen and into the sitting area as he theatrically threw his body onto the couch in one of the most immature displays she had ever witnessed. She waited a moment, staring in disbelief at his recumbent form, his back sulkily turned in her direction. After a long span of silence, she realized that the stubborn man-child was not going to discuss his immature behavior any further, and she rolled her eyes before angrily snatching her undergarments from where they openly lay. He had some nerve—practically harassing her into being his assistant and then doing this. Clutching her unmentionables, she made to storm out of the disorderly flat.
"The sandwiches…" She heard his stoic voice call out from his place on the sofa and she quickly turned to glare at his lithe back.
"You can keep the bloody sandwiches!" She hoped the stupid detective choked on them, not that he would even attempt to eat them. With no further words, Ruth left the flat with her undergarments, slamming the door after passing through.
Sherlock sighed in irritation as he listened intently, the livid woman's footsteps barreling down the staircase back towards her own basement flat. Her reaction had been quite the puerile one. Ms. Hale had cursed him, of that he was sure. Perhaps she even hoped he would choke on the sandwiches she so rudely left on his perfectly "orderly" kitchen counter…She would not have the satisfacti-
A loud scream cut through the silence and Sherlock flung up from his recumbent position on the settee. He didn't need any elaborate deduction to conclude it had been Ms. Hale's scream…and it sounded more displeased than frightened. Perhaps she was venting; perhaps her anger towards him was boiling as she paced about her little yellow flat. Women…The detective frowned at her typical behavior before lying back down, waiting for the sure sound of the woman's footsteps brutally ascending Mrs. Hudson's unfortunate staircase.
He smirked to himself in silent victory as he keenly listened to the fast and heavy steps which came barreling up the staircase before the door swung open, hitting the wall with a rather impressive impact. He duly noted that Ms. Hale was a very strong woman.
"Sherlock, why are there ragged old sneakers in my living room?! You'd better explain yourself! I swear you're such a child!" Ruth yelled out at the man, seething as she pointed a finger at him accusingly. Sherlock frowned. Sneakers…as in shoes—trainers to be specific. Yes…he'd been expecting this for some time now…This was very dangerous indeed…
Ruth took a step back as Sherlock abruptly flew off the couch and straight out of the flat without a word. She turned to see the frustrating man descending the stairs before she yelled out to him.
"W-where do you think you're going?!" After receiving absolutely no response, Ruth huffed angrily before following him in frustration. She couldn't ignore the uncertain feeling growing in her gut…
Turning past the foot of the staircase, Ruth followed Sherlock through the downstairs kitchen before coming to the basement stairs when she finally realized his path. Oh hell no. He was not just going to barge into her apartment without permission again. Ruth picked up her pace, nearly running as she stood to block the tall detective from his forbidden destination. A clear sound of objection escaped the halted man as he glared down at her, shuffling on his feet in an attempt to swiftly bypass her.
"Oh no, you don't. You're not setting one foot into my apartment ever again," Ruth crossed her arms before attempting to stand taller to look more intimidating. She could tell Sherlock was attempting to suppress and sigh of agitation before he put on a false smile. It was so insincerely saccharine that it made her want to heave her breakfast all over the infuriating man's lounging slippers.
"Ms. Hale, I do understand my past behavior has been unacceptable to you, but you misunderstand the gravity of the current situa-" Ruth cut him off before he could finish.
"Oh, I understand perfectly, Mr. Holmes. This is just another one of your weird little experiments! Well, I'll have you know that I will take no part in it! I'll collect your sneakers and you may have them back, but you're an idiot if you think you're going anywhere near my apartment!" Ruth finished with a final huff before noticing the serious expression on Sherlock's face. There was a tense moment of silence before a small smirk escaped him.
"If you're quite done, Ms. Hale...Please move aside," He was slightly miffed yet simultaneously amused that the woman before him had insinuated his intelligence was below average…However, the situation at hand was far more serious than Ms. Hale could possibly grasp.
Ruth opened her mouth, failing to find the correct insult to throw at the impossible detective. She quickly closed it, realizing that his striking eyes were pointedly staring at her. She huffed in anger before throwing her hands in the air and pushing past him. The detective staggered slightly, not having expected her to allow him entrance to her living quarters in such a violent manner…and as she thrust herself past him with all her might, her hip, soft and round, had brushed ever so lightly against his side…sending the most unusual sensation through his body. He turned to stare at the blonde woman in slight bewilderment, finding his cheeks grow unusually warm despite his cool demeanor. Perhaps it was an adrenaline response—or perhaps it was the lingering effect of his rising temper towards the previously disagreeable nature of the woman before him?
"Just get your damn sneakers and go!" Ruth nearly shrieked with a blush as the strange detective silently stared at her like she was some unusual museum exhibit. Stop staring at me like that, stop staring…She found her cheeks grow even hotter as he continued to stare, his blue gaze lingering on her face. Shit, he noticed she was blushing. It didn't take a super-sleuth to see her cheeks were flushed red…
But the detective said nothing as he nodded in her direction and turned to descend the staircase to her basement flat. Ruth bit her inner cheek in frustration as she watched the detective's regal back disappear from the doorframe. Was that a smirk she had seen on his stupid face? Still blushing and angrily clenching her fists, Ruth quickly followed the detective, swallowing her pride in hopes he would simply retrieve his battered old sneakers and leave without any further conflict.
As Ruth neared her humble apartment, however, her hopes dropped as she was met with the sight of Sherlock inspecting the pair of shoes with strange caution from the doorway. Her anger was quickly replaced with concern as she began to put the pieces together, dread settling in the pit of her stomach.
"They're not yours…" Ruth went pale as she spoke the harrowing truth aloud. She fearfully peaked at the sneakers in question from behind the safety of the detective's back as he intensely inspected them from the doorframe. She looked up from behind to see that the detective's jaw was taut; his calculating eyes never leaving the ominous pair of shoes which lay neatly in the middle of her living quarters.
"Ms. Hale…" Ruth nearly jumped as Sherlock's deep voice suddenly addressed her, his frame not turning to face her as he continued to carefully watch the sneakers like a hawk. She quickly collected herself, feeling slightly ashamed for having blamed the detective…
"Y-yes, sir?" She wanted to slap her forehead as the word slipped from her lips, a direct result of her guilt and growing fear at the potential danger of the situation. As much as she hated to admit it, Sherlock Holmes had absolute authority in this menacing matter…and she was more than prepared to follow the irritating man's orders if it meant those creepy old sneakers in her living room would be taken care of without any harm to her person.
The detective felt a smirk pull at his lips as Ms. Hale clearly trembled in fear behind him. He was certain that after the events of this case unfolded, she would eagerly apologize for so blatantly accusing him. Perhaps she would even forgive him for past digressions…like the pastel blue undergarments that he had furtively taken from her drawers while she was out fetching lunch this morning…surely Ms. Hale would not miss those…although he would be sure to keep it an absolute secret this time.
"Get Watson…" Sherlock finished with growing excitement as Ruth quickly nodded from behind him and rushed up the staircase to dial the gallivanting medical doctor.
The headstrong Ms. Hale was a rather agreeable woman when frightened…quite the self-preserving trait—perfect for an assistant to have in his line of work. Sherlock duly noted the beneficial trait before turning his utmost attention to the pair of trainers which lay almost innocuously in Ms. Hale's sitting room. He felt his excitement grow as a familiar pink phone rang from his dressing-coat pocket. He pulled the phone out, hitting the button as he pulled it up to his ear. He had been expecting this for some time now...The game was on.
Today was not going as planned at all for Ruth. First she had been kidnapped by Sherlock's intimidating and clearly dangerous older brother, then she found out that her unmentionables were being stolen by the idiotic detective for God knows what kind of strange science experiments, and then a pair of what turned out to be scary bomber shoes had turned up in her living room. Ruth now found herself standing anxiously besides a pacing John in a dim lab at St. Bartholomew's Hospital as Sherlock was sat over a lab bench, meticulously inspecting matter off of said bomber shoes under a microscope. Today was turning out to be one of the worst days of her adult life…and it all had everything to do with the stupid man sitting before her. Ruth frowned silently, watching as John stopped his pacing abruptly before putting his hands on his hips.
"So who do you suppose it was?" The good doctor asked Sherlock, his eyes tired yet filled with concern. Ruth felt her heart internally melt even more at the doctor's genuine worry. He was husband material if she had ever seen it…She sighed, knowing that the doctor treated her more like a younger sister than a love interest of any sort.
"Hmm?" Sherlock sounded as his cold eyes continued to inspect the matter under the microscope. Ruth watched on in silence as the doctor resumed his impatient pacing.
"The woman on the phone—the crying woman," John looked at the floor in slight irritation as both he and Ruth awaited the detective's response.
"Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage, no lead there," Sherlock indifferently replied from behind his microscope. Had he really just said that? Both she and John briefly stared at each-other in disbelief before the doctor furrowed his brow at the callous detective.
"For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads," John angrily huffed under his breath, shaking his head in revulsion at Sherlock's utter lack of human decency. The doctor paced angrily for a few seconds before walking towards her.
"Please, Ruth, you deal with him for a bit. I need a few minutes to forget he just said that," John pleaded in exasperation before she nodded in understanding, allowing the weary doctor to storm out of the lab to distance himself from the provoking detective. She sighed as the lab grew silent before glancing up at the detective who so calmly continued to work towards solving the case. That was all it was for him…a case—a game…He clearly had no interest in the lives of the innocent which were dragged into it. She wanted to slap the damned man, but doing so would only take up what little time they had to find the bomber and stop them. She would definitely give him a good slap when this was all over.
"Pass me my phone," Ruth's head shot up at Sherlock's sudden request and she sighed tiredly before looking around in confusion at the phone-less lab tables.
"Where is it?" She crossed her arms in growing impatience and glared at the "too busy to be bothered" man.
"Jacket," He stated, still indifferently staring into the microscope like a stoic statue.
Ruth paused for a minute, uncrossing her arms and looking around the lab room for a discarded jacket. There were no jackets lying around…He didn't possibly mean…?
"Jacket. Upper right pocket. Please don't delay, we have things to do, Ms. Hale," Sherlock's deep voice cut through the silence once more, sounding slightly annoyed. Oh hell no! He wanted her to fetch his phone from his own coat pocket? Did he need an assistant to wipe his stuck-up ass as well?
"Get it yourself, Mr. Holmes," She crossed her arms once more, standing in place on the opposite side of the lab table in which Sherlock was working at. She saw him glare into his microscope before pursing his lips.
"Please," The words were forced from his mouth and she let out an amused smile at how childish he sounded.
"Well, since you asked nicely…" She rolled her brown eyes and rounded the table to stand beside the sitting form of the detective. She was his paid assistant, but she couldn't help but find this task a bit…demeaning. If it were anyone else, she would even think that the request was…perverted. But this was Sherlock Holmes…the man probably didn't have an inch of room for a single dirty thought in that strange deductive brain of his. Ruth paused for a second with a blush before awkwardly clearing her throat and reluctantly slipping her hand into the opening of his upper right coat. From this close, she could catch the faint scent which drifted off of the detective—a mixture of indistinct aftershave and various unknown chemicals. She briefly wondered when the detective took the time to groom his facial hair. She never saw any evidence that he took care of himself or his personal hygiene, but he was always somehow mysteriously clean-shaven. She didn't think she even wanted to know. Looking up at the ceiling in growing embarrassment, she felt around his coat for the phone with burning cheeks, attempting not to touch his dress shirt-clad chest as the detective merely continued to stare, un-phased into the microscope. Of course he wasn't uncomfortable, the emotionally inept bastard.
"Today, Ms. Hale," He demanded crankily and she clumsily quickened her search in an attempt find it faster so she could get away from him. He could have just done it himself. In her frantic search, her hand accidentally groped at his clothed chest as she gripped for what she thought was the phone. She jumped up in surprise when the detective grunted in what sounded like annoyance as he rigidly paused.
Ruth looked up to meet his icy eyes, which were now downturned to intensely stare at her hand in his coat pocket. Oh God, why couldn't he have just gotten it himself?
"Ms. Hale, if you're quite done playing around in there, pass me my phone," She felt her face grow even hotter as she caught sight of the detective's subtle yet cheeky smirk.
"I'm not playing around in anything! The phone isn't there," Ruth's hand retreated from the man's coat pocket like it had caught fire before she hastily took five steps back. The detective rolled his eyes as he continued to adjust the microscope focus without a care in the world.
"Trousers, right pocket," He spoke the words as calmly as any others as he resumed his study of the matter under the microscope. Ruth stood in place, glaring at him from the side as she realized what he wanted her to do.
"I am not reaching into your pants to get your phone," She crossed her arms in finality, expecting the detective to huff in annoyance and get it himself. Instead, she saw him roll his eyes once more into the oculars of the microscope.
"You've already reached into my coat pocket, Ms. Hale. I scarcely see the difference," He stated coolly, his face void of any expression despite the underlying suggestiveness in his tone.
Ruth blushed hard. He knew the difference. He knew exactly why she didn't want to reach into his pant-pocket…it was way too lewd… And unless Sherlock Holmes was some alien species—which was still up for debate—she was pretty sure he had some parts down there that were considered intimate. She remained silent, ignoring his attempt to garner a reaction before he stepped his little game up a notch.
"Why can't you retrieve my phone from my trouser pocket, Ms. Hale? It falls under the simplest of tasks," He questioned innocently as he continued to work. Ruth remained silent, refusing to answer…Only to regret it.
A look of false sympathy suddenly played across Sherlock's features despite the fact that he never turned away from his work.
"Oh dear! I now see the err in my ways, Ms. Hale…I sincerely apologize for my lack of manners. I'm well-aware that you are a virg—" The smug detective grunted in surprise as Ruth shoved her hand into his pant-pocket angrily.
"Careful," He growled out, finally facing her as she violently rummaged in his pocket. He felt the fabric of his pants painfully shift across his crotch as Ruth's hand invaded the pocket. The feisty woman… She quickly yanked out his phone, shoving it in his stunned face.
"Here's your stupid phone, you…you bastard!" She huffed angrily, her cheeks burning at what she had just done and at Sherlock's embarrassing reminder that she had yet to sleep with anyone at her age. Blue eyes stared into brown as the detective brought his hand up to the phone. Ruth felt his cool breath against her hot cheeks, their faces close. Too close. Long fingers wrapped lightly around her hand and she was suddenly too nervous to loosen her grip on the phone. His unreadable eyes looked strangely dark, and they flickered down to her body for a mere fraction of a second before landing on her lips as she licked them nervously.
"My phone, Ms. Hale," His words were soft, bringing her back to reality as she dropped the phone into his waiting hand. She tried to pull away, but his fingers lingered over hers as she met his gaze in confusion once more.
"How delightfully interesting…We'll solve this mystery soon enough, Ms. Hale," His strange words and the touch of his hand were like a faint whisper— it was over as soon as it had happened and she wasn't sure if she had imagined it or not. She pulled away in confusion, glancing at the detective as he checked his phone-screen as if nothing had just happened. He looked at his phone with an annoyed expression and muttered something about Mycroft under his breath.
What had he meant by that? What mystery was her referring to—the bomber? Shaking her head, Ruth turned to face the computer monitor as it suddenly beeped, Sherlock making a celebratory sound as the screen flashed with the words "search complete". Ruth smiled weakly, Sherlock's baffling words quickly fading to the back of her mind at the apparent success of his lengthy lab search. Maybe now she could finally go home and pretend this day never happened…
Just as the monitor beeped, the doors to the lab opened, revealing a calmed Doctor Watson and an unfamiliar woman with light chestnut hair.
"Any luck?" The woman quickly passed by John, eagerly rushing over towards Sherlock with flushed cheeks to review any results. Ruth quickly realized that this woman seemed to have a crush on Sherlock…Bless her heart…
"Ooooh yes!" Sherlock exclaimed in self-satisfied excitement, his eyes meeting Ruth's cheekily as she shuffled in discomfort and slight embarrassment from beside him. Could that evocative tone and piercing stare be considered sexual harassment? It sure felt like it…and she couldn't even justify her paranoid reasoning behind it…
The door popped open once more, the uncertain figure of a slightly effeminate man standing half-way in the frame.
"Oh, sorry…I didn't know…" The man sheepishly apologized, his hand poised on the door to leave if given the word.
"Jim! Hi, hi…Come—come in!" The brunette haired woman fretfully ushered the apologetic man in. Sherlock glanced over at the man briefly before quite noticeably doing a double-take. Ruth knew the detective had noticed something about the man…and it was quite clear by his amused expression and continuous scrutiny that he wanted to share with everyone. Ruth took a step closer to the uncouth detective, nudging him gently with her elbow before he faintly smiled in hidden amusement and looked down innocently at his microscope. That's right, you'd better hold your tongue…Ruth internally felt like she was babysitting some sort of naughty schoolboy who didn't know better. With Sherlock, there was almost no difference.
"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson, and…umm…sorry," The woman paused sheepishly as she stared at Ruth, her bright mood somewhat dimming as she continued to stare at the blonde. Ruth felt self-conscious, feeling the bubbly woman's eyes glance over her lower body as she trailed off. Please don't judge me…Ruth took a quick step away from Sherlock, pulling at the layered fabric of her knitted sweater in a meager attempt to hide her figure before she held out a hand and smiled brightly, hoping to make a good impression.
"Hello, I'm Ruth. It's very nice to meet you…" The brunette took Ruth's hand with a nervous blush before smiling at her warmly.
"Molly Hooper," The woman timidly introduced herself before the man named Jim laughed nervously, staring at Sherlock's back as the detective continued to work, ignoring their spontaneous meet-and-greet.
"So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?" Jim's polite smile grew awkward as Sherlock continued to ignore them all. Ruth noticed that Molly continued to stare at Sherlock with a hopeful smile. At least acknowledge the poor woman, Sherlock. Ruth internally cursed the heartless detective as he paid no attention whatsoever to either Molly or her companion.
"J-Jim works in IT upstairs…That's how we met. O-office romance," Molly rambled on at the detective, both her and Jim breaking the accompanying silence with nervous chuckling. Sherlock briefly glanced over at Jim as the nervous-laughter died down.
"Gay," Sherlock droned under his breath. Ruth nearly had a heart attack as the word—clear as day—escaped the detective's mouth and pierced through the silence like a dagger. Molly's love-struck smile faded into a frown before she furrowed her brow at the detective. Here we go…Ruth wanted to slap the horrible super-sleuth even more than before.
"Sorry, what?" Molly questioned frantically. Sherlock turned to calmly face Jim once more.
"Nothing…umm…hey," He gave a half-hearted false smile before returning to his work. That rude bastard couldn't come up with a better save?
"Hi," Jim sheepishly replied, staring at Sherlock nervously before clumsily knocking over a metal plate. It clanged loudly on the floor as Jim apologized repeatedly and scrambled to pick it up, Sherlock eyeing the man with an irritated glare. John looked away and uncomfortably turned his attention to anything but the awkward situation.
"Well I'd better be off…" Jim placed the pan back on to the lab table before awkwardly moving over to Molly.
"I'll see you at the Fox. About six-ish?" He put his arm around Molly's back awkwardly before turning to face the detective with sparkling eyes of admiration.
"Bye…It was nice to meet you…" He stared at Sherlock's back as the detective ignored him, a long pause following as Watson looked between the pair and Sherlock's uninterested back before Ruth quickly responded.
"You too, Jim. And you as well, Molly," Ruth acknowledged them both as they smiled in relief at the end of the awkward silence. Jim looked over at her with an almost traumatized smile before blinking uncomfortably at the detective and quickly making a retreat to the exit. Poor guy.
"What do you mean gay? We're together," Molly broke the silence and turned to Sherlock as soon as her boyfriend left the room. Ruth loomed over Sherlock like an angry shadow as he sighed heavily at the upset woman.
"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you," He stated, seemingly pleased with himself for his deduction. He did not just mention her weight…Ruth moved to hit him on the shoulder but John stopped her before she could get to him.
"Sherlock…" John spoke out reluctantly as he and Ruth stood by, Ruth ready to slap some sort of sense into the filter-less man.
"He's not gay!" Molly yelled out hysterically, her cheeks growing red with anger at the cold detective.
"Tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired, clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear…" Sherlock began his rant of deductions, and there was no stopping his ostentatious trail of speech now.
"His underwear?" Molly questioned in disbelief as Sherlock quickly clarified.
"Visible above the waistline—very visible, very particular brand….That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here. I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain," Sherlock finished with a pleased smile as Molly opened her mouth to reply, visibly upset and failing to find any words before storming out of the lab.
Sherlock's self-satisfied smile faded as he stared at the door, clearly having no clue as to what he did wrong. Ruth rushed towards the door in pursuit of the distressed woman, yelling at the idiotic man as she left.
"You're a real dick, you know that?" Ruth exited the room, the door slamming behind her as she chased after Molly. Sherlock merely sat there in disbelief at Ruth's appalling language as John stood beside him.
"Charming, well done," John stated sarcastically in the silence.
"She called me a…" Sherlock continued to stare at the door, muttering to himself in shock. Ms. Hale had referred to him with such a vulgar term…could virgins really use such language? A fiery woman as always, Ms. Hale never ceased to mystify him.
Ruth woke up the next morning in Molly's apartment. She and the poor woman had stayed awake until three in the morning drinking wine, eating ice cream and chattering about how horrible men could be—Sherlock Holmes in particular. Jim had called Molly at around six fifteen at night to tell the poor girl he couldn't make it to their date before he so eloquently broke up with her over a text. She consoled the heart-broken woman with tales of her misfortune in the pursuit of love, both women finding comfort in their similar struggles. Embarrassingly, Molly was surprised to hear that Ruth had never been with a man before, and they both laughed hysterically when she told the tale of how Sherlock had initially thought—like an imbecile—that she was some sort of harlot despite her inexperience. It had been a relieving night away from her crazy new home in Baker Street, and she was extremely glad to have found a new friend in Molly Hooper.
"Thanks for letting me stay here overnight, Molly. I was terrified to sleep in my flat yesterday, and I'm sure I would have clocked Sherlock in the nose if I had to put up with him another minute," Ruth sat at the breakfast table as they both ate, Molly smiling gratefully as she put her tea down.
"I should be thanking you. I don't know what I would've done if I'd been left alone last night…I probably would have drowned my sorrows in more ice-cream than anyone should ever eat," The brunette sighed before they both laughed. Ruth frowned as her phone suddenly beeped, and she picked it up only to stare at the screen in utter horror.
There, the screen read exactly fifty one texts from the annoying detective, each of them ending with the infuriating initials SH.
"Seriously, I may be his assistant, but I didn't agree just to be harassed by an endless barrage of messages," Ruth sighed in frustration as Molly looked to her sympathetically.
"He's really not bad, Ruth. He's just…different. He can be mean and rude…and he likes to spoil everything…but he's not bad…" Molly trailed off, almost losing her point as she grew angrier and angrier with listing each of the detective's offensive social idiosyncrasies. Ruth chuckled tiredly before sighing and standing from the table.
"I guess I'd better get to Baker Street to see what Mr. Holmes needs," Ruth called a car before saying her goodbyes to Molly. As she waited, she read Sherlock's texts, seeing that he and John had solved the mystery of the shoes and that the bomber had emerged with a second case which he was currently working on. She secretly hoped to be left out of the dangerous events…maybe the school would call her in today and she wouldn't be under obligation to follow the mad detective around in his game with a crazy murder-bomber lunatic.
She stepped outside of Molly's apartment and paused as she read Sherlock's final text, "Expect Mycroft to fetch you. You and John will be doing some menial leg work – SH".
Ruth wanted to throw her phone in frustration as she looked up and saw a black car with tinted windows waiting for her outside. A very familiar woman who was intent on texting stepped out of the car before John got out of the passenger seat. Damn it, Sherlock.
"Ready to do some menial leg work, Ruth?" The good doctor joked before shaking his head in disbelief at Sherlock's indolence when it came to his brother's high-profile case.
"If it keeps me away from Sherlock and his dangerous playtime with death, then yes," Ruth sighed before getting in the car. At least she would get to spend some time with John…Anything was better than getting involved in a dangerous game between a bored super sleuth and an unknown bomber. Little did Ruth know, she had become an unwilling player from the moment a certain crazed criminal had laid eyes on her standing so charmingly in the midst of the great detective. After all, having two trusty little helpers was rather naughty of the detective…and a certain someone had his eyes set on Sherlock's spunky little blonde bombshell. The game was already on.
Dear oh dear, guys. This chapter was a hell of a lot of fun to write. Sherlock isn't the easiest guy to deal with…sending John storming out of a room followed by Jim, and Molly, and Ruth, and eventually every character from every imagination ever. We got our first look at Moriarty in this chapter, albeit in the form of the arguably homosexual Jim from IT. Gotta love Jim from IT…Anyhow, I can't wait until the next chapter when we see Moriarty in his final sing-song pool voice form! Wow, I'm tired right now. I've been writing for far too many hours straight. Till next time, my faithful readers! Review and favorite at once if convenient. If inconvenient, review and favorite anyway -GGD