Hello there Dear Readers… Ahem… First off, I'd like to apologize. Holmes: *snort* Of course you do. You went on a pathetic slump in this story, which probably crushed their nonexistent hope that they placed in you. They probably think you've died. Or hope you did. Me: Shut up. I originally set out to put this one up faster, but I'm getting a lot of time taken up by school, as well as a lot of brain juice- Watson: … Brain… juice? Me: Yeah. Brain juice. So, as I was saying, school has a nasty tendency to deplete a lot of my brain function- Holmes: Isn't that the truth? Me: UGH! I'm trying to write an author's note for Doyle's sake! Just go ahead and do my disclaimer and then GET OUT OF MY ROOM! Or do you want another bloody nose, Watson? Holmes: I am still terribly sorry for that, old boy…
Me: But what did we learn from it? Watson: That your home has more than one picture box, so fighting over the bigger one is pointless. Holmes: And that the picture box is not at all pleased when all of its controller-rectangle's buttons are pushed down all at once. Oh, and that you scream in frequencies of ultrasound when agitated! And you take the term 'throw pillow' rather seriously- Me: T.T Just disclaim. Quickly. Watson: Miss Knightshade does not own the literary characters of us, nor does she own the dashing actors who portray us in the long moving picture show. The idea for our two characters and a couple of others she uses all belong to Sir Doyle. Holmes: The woman is just creating a story using our charming, good looking, intelligent selves because she can. She does not own us, period, but she does own a now broken picture box. And herself, as she hasn't been abducted by suspicious persons yet. And she owns a psychotic, unintelligent beast she calls a dog. And some modern technology she won't let me take apart to examine. And many books. But that's basically it.
… They had something to do with my stupid television. I just know it. Anyway, I apologize again for how long this took. I'm still not very sure where I'm going with this. Chapter Three/ Trois -I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-
He'd carried her into the living room and laid her gently across the sofa, careful not to jostle her too much.
"Perhaps if we got some water…" Emilia suggested, feeling rather awkward. In fact, the entire evening-no, the past two weeks had been awkward.
Not for the first time she wished that she'd cut her losses and broken herself out of prison instead of appealing to Holmes, who was proving with startling efficiency that he was indeed the most insufferable man she'd ever encountered. And when the majority of your life had been spent moving from place to place, meeting petty thieves who enjoyed nothing better than to annoy people in between jobs, that was saying something.
How one man could be so brilliant and infuriating at the same time was inconceivable. Honestly. No personal boundaries, a disregard for privacy, those stupid tests he challenged her with, and his general nosiness. And there was nothing more she detested than nosiness. Her business was her own. Period.
She'd figured that as a partner-sort of- to the detective would mean crime scenes, but she honestly hadn't betted on a gruesome murder to be their first assignment. Maybe a nice, blood free stealing of precious artifacts. Or a simple lost old woman who couldn't find her way back to the asylum properly.
But no. Of course she would happen across a disgusting butchering of what was supposedly a human being. Once again, luck was on her side.
"Yes. A good bucket of water to the head should do it nicely." Holmes said helpfully from the doorway, keeping guard over the body while waiting for the Scotland Yard to show up. He was crouched next to the body at an alarming proximity, and Emilia figured that if she were to barely poke his back he'd go toppling into the carnage face first. Not that the thought was tempting her.
"Holmes." Watson warned in a thoroughly agitated voice as he continued to try to revive Mary.
"Or one could simply slap her." The sleuth added, sounding quite pleased at the idea.
"Holmes!"
"Just making a suggestion, don't be so touchy." She saw his back straighten as he stood, turning to give a glance in her direction. "Hawkins, get over here and take a look over the scene yourself before the Yard messes everything up."
Emilia scrunched up her nose, but walked back through the open doors to stand by his side. His chocolate brown eyes gave her a sharp look. "Well?"
Emilia hiked up her skirts so that she could walk around the body easier, and Holmes gave her something of a smirk.
"You wear men's trousers under your skirts often?"
"On occasion." She huffed defensively. "It's bloody difficult running in a dress."
"Oh, I know." He grinned in amusement, and she frowned at the comment, raising an eyebrow.
"…I'm not going to ask."
"That's a first."
Emilia kept herself from sticking her tongue out at him and forced herself to look at the body once again. "He was dragged here." She announced.
"Oh, bravo."
"Shut up. Please. At least we know he was killed somewhere other than this alleyway." She added testily. She made a gesture at the body, "May I?"
Holmes raised a brow. "Be my guest."
With a little surprise he watched her bend over and gingerly dip the tip of her finger into the pool of blood, muttering all the while. When she removed it, she announced, "The body's been dead for at least two hours. The weather's mild today, plenty warm. But his blood is quite chilled. So either he was kept in someplace very cold, or he's been lying dead in a gusty alleyway for a few hours."
Though he was pleased at the remark, Holmes kept his face impassive as he nodded to her. Popping his head through the doorway, he addressed his friend inside. "Watson, do check with your kitchen staff to see who was the last to look outside and when- excluding the actual finding of the body. Oh, and hurry and revive your lady. We're to question her before the Yard does."
"You're taking on the case?" Watson frowned.
Holmes blinked before rolling his eyes. "No, old boy. I'm just going to ignore the fact that a body was found at your doorstep while I was present."
He looked back to Emilia, who was gently flicking the bloody clothing. "It's expensive, but not worth it. Probably didn't even know that his silk shirt had cotton weaved through. Poor fellow was probably hustled."
"Gullible, wealthy, young," Holmes listed, memorizing what he could deduce about the young man based off what laid before him. "Handsome. Married, but having an affair."
Emilia looked up and quirked an eyebrow at him. He sighed. "Ring hidden in his pocket. Not bloodied, which suggests it was concealed there prior to his murder. The fact that it was a single ring and not in a box tells that he wasn't planning on proposing today, and he hardly seems the type to take the band off for manual labor. Thus implying that he was married and seeing a mistress who knew nothing of it." He gave her a look that he would indeed admit was smug. "Odd you should miss that."
"I hadn't gone through the pockets yet." Emilia gave him what was best described as a pout, her auburn hair brushing into her face in the breeze.
Flicking it out of her face, she fingered the black rose in the body's lapel. "There's blood under it. So it was tucked in there after the killing. The black's obviously symbolic, but the-"
Suddenly Holmes grabbed her hand and- despite her protest- pressed her fingers against the man's chin so that it fell open.
"God in heaven, Holmes!" she snatched her hand away, wiping it on her pants. She looked quite green, he noted happily. "That's disgusting!"
"So says the woman who was poking around in his blood only moments ago." Holmes shrugged. "And believe me, I'm about to embark on something far more foul."
He leaned over toward the mouth and took a deep sniff above it. Emilia's nose crinkled. He came up, looking a tad nauseous. "Yes, well, he hasn't been drinking lately, nor was he drugged most likely."
"… Um … I'm going back inside now." Emilia said, looking mildly disturbed as she unfurled her skirts, stepping away from the body. She held the hand that had touched the dead chin away from her body. "And I'm going to scrub my hand before I catch some disease."
"Pity." Holmes quipped as he watched her stalk off, smirking involuntarily. He cocked his head slightly as he observed her retreating form, beginning to ponder something.
Why was he so intent on setting her off at every moment? He certainly didn't want her to run off- he'd get stuck with the blame for it and probably be hauled off to prison. And he couldn't lie to himself, being alone with Nanny at Baker's Street would probably be unbearable. And, those few times when they weren't fighting, they'd actually had an impressively intelligent conversation that he'd found quite stimulating. Of course, that conversation had led to another large quarrel, but still. It had been interesting.
As he watched Emilia scrubbing profusely at the kitchen's sink and muttering different curse words, the reason why he felt so compelled to annoy her to death became quite clear in that moment.
It was simply entertaining. Even better than bothering Watson, who had indeed bickered with him before, but never so intensely.
Emilia wiped her hands on her skirts when she was satisfied that they were clean, still mumbling angrily under her breath. She turned and looked up as Holmes swept into the kitchen, apparently done with examining the body.
"Used enough soap, have you, Hawkins?" he asked innocently, raising an eyebrow to her.
She glared at him, "Yes, but I did save you some to wash your mouth out with."
"Woman, I merely inhaled the man's breath. I didn't lick him."
"What a relief, I was worried about you trying that." Emilia replied dryly, "However, I was referring to use it as a remedy for that string of profanity that escaped your mouth."
Holmes sighed, "What are you talking about? I haven't sworn-"
Emilia walked by right at that moment and suddenly slammed the heel of her boot into his shoe, hard. Holmes yelped and let loose a long list of unmentionable words under his breath.
"What in the name of Queen Victoria Reginald-" Holmes started, hissing, but Emilia cut him off.
"Next time, use something else other than my hand to poke about a corpse with." Emilia informed him, sounding detached. Not angry, but not pleased either. Like she was somewhat amused with the pained state of his toes, but unwilling to admit it.
Holmes scowled as she exited the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder and adding, "And I'm telling Mrs. Hudson that you've been using foul language in front of me again."
Stiffening, he glared at her as he made his way out of the kitchen as well, refusing to limp. "You are not!"
Watson looked up as the two came into the living room, one after the other. By the smug look on Emilia's face and the glare Holmes was shooting in her direction, he guessed that the two either just had a fight, or were about to embark on one.
Oh, bother.
"Really, Watson. Is Marry still unconscious?" Holmes gave his companion a knowing look. "Or did you slip her some narcotics when we were out back? I can't blame you for wanting her to stop talking for a period of time."
Watson narrowed his eyes at Holmes. "When she wakes up, she may be catatonic."
"What a pity."
"Holmes." The word was infused with warning.
Seeing the seriousness in his friend's eyes, Holmes immediately backed down considerably. He put his hand to the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly. "The Yard will be here soon. I'd rather be the one to interview her first when she awakens. We should take her to Baker Street, and let her wake there."
"Do you have a carriage waiting?" asked Watson.
"No," said Holmes, looking mildly annoyed. "Because someone wished to walk here." He sent a look at Emilia, who rolled her eyes.
"We'll just hail a carriage." Watson said quickly, hoping to put out the spark before it hit the fuse.
Emilia spoke up, "Someone has to wait and meet the Yard."
"Right then. Watson and I will take Mary, and you can receive them. After all, you're on such friendly terms with them." Holmes deadpanned.
"No, because you and I can't be a hundred feet from each other." said Emilia impatiently. "Watson can take Mary and we'll both stay here."
"But I don't want to have to deal with the Yard." Holmes frowned. "They have approximately the same intellect as a toasted muffin. All together."
Watson internally groaned, making an extremely hard decision. But he knew what had to be done.
"Holmes, you and Emilia take Mary to the rooms, and I'll wait for the Yard. I need to examine the body myself anyway."
The two turned to stare at him, waiting patiently for the moment he would quickly come to his senses and take back what he'd just said. When he didn't, Holmes's mouth became a thin line. "Are you sure, old boy?"
A sigh escaped Watson's throat. "Yes. Just don't experiment on her, or dangle her halfway out the carriage window, or leave her unattended on a park bench to see if the homeless come after her." Here he gave Holmes a hard look. "Please."
"Or," he turned to Emilia, "Take anything from her person."
Emilia pretended to look affronted. "Who? Me?" She took that moment to innocently and discretely place a crystal figure back onto the counter it had originated from, instead of up her sleeve. She smiled sweetly.
Watson sighed, stroking his mustache with two fingers- an old nervous tick that hadn't appeared until the faithful day he met Sherlock Holmes. "Alright then. Go on."
With an extravagant mock-salute, Holmes opened the front door, inviting Watson to carry his fiancé out.
Watson frowned. "You're not going to help me?"
"Why? Are you implying that Miss Morstan has recently become heavier? Do you suggest that she is, in fact, fertile?" Holmes smirked, unable to help himself.
Watson's right eye muscle twitched, and Emilia's eyes widened, "Mary's with child?"
"There could very well be a bun in the oven." Holmes nodded solemnly, replying in a conspiring tone.
"For the love of-" Watson took a deep, hissing breath. "If you so much as whisper the lie that Mary's pregnant again, I will… I'll… I'll.."
"Hit me with your cane?"
"Box your ears."
"Ah. That sounds serious."
"Quite. Now help me lift her, because you very well know I have a bad leg."
With a 'heave-ho' from Holmes and a lift from both, the two were soon trying to navigate the hallway with Mary in the air: Watson lifting her by the arms and Holmes at her feet. Emilia walked at a glacial pace behind them, watching with an amused expression as the two men tried to avoid breaking Watson's possessions.
"Watch out for the vase!" Watson said in warning, trying to make things easier for Holmes- who was forced to walk backwards.
"No need to worry, Watson, I'm sure that-"
There was a shattering of crystal that broke his reassurance, as the forewarned vase toppled to the ground.
"Terribly sorry." Holmes grimaced and kept walking. Though Emilia could swear that under his breath he muttered, "Ten points!"
After a few minutes, they'd successfully carted Mary to the side of the cobbled street, and eventually hailed a proper cab. With a few grunts and a lift, Mary was situated in the back, her head lolling against the side wall. Emilia climbed in afterward, sitting next to her. With a final nod to Watson, Holmes came in as well, taking the seat across from then.
"Remember, Holmes." Watson said anxiously. "No dangling."
"Or sacrificing to the homeless. Righto, Watson." He replied with a faint smirk, to which his friend rolled his eyes just before the carriage jolted forward.
The ride back to Baker's Street was a mostly silent, uneventful one. Holmes busied himself with counting the number of bumps in the road from his home to Watson's, while Emilia subconsciously found herself tapping out the rhythm of the cobblestones on her knee. Mary, ignorant to the tension in the air, remained unconscious.
Holmes critically regarded one of the women seated across from him, trying to dissect her thoughts. Her face was pale now, her blue green eyes dark as they surveyed the world outside the window. A good portion of her bun had fallen, leaving the waves of rust to fall in places to her shoulders. Altogether, she looked disheveled.
Finally he spoke. "When was the last time you saw a dead man, Hawkins?"
She glanced over at him for a second before returning her gaze to the window. "A few years ago. My area of-" here she smirked slightly, "- expertise does not usually dip into the unseemly world of manslaughter." She turned to look at him, straight in the eye. Holmes shifted in his seat slightly, her gaze a bit unnerving.
"Have you ever killed a man, Holmes?" she asked, looking completely serious.
Holmes sucked in a breath, though his face remained impassive. "Yes. Sometimes one finds oneself in a situation where it's inevitable. Where they would kill you unless you kill them. It's justified in that way."
"And what if…" Emilia trailed off, her eyes still locked to his brown ones. "What if it's not entirely justified?"
After clearing his throat uncomfortably, he spoke, quirking an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
Emilia sighed. "Nothing, just forget it. I was just letting my mind wander to past thoughts. Best to keep them unsaid."
He spoke again, unable to pass up an opportunity to learn more about her. She was a puzzle, and puzzles were meant to be solved. "Have you ever killed before?"
She was silent for a moment, looking back out the window again. "Yes."
"Might I ask-"
"I thought a bloke raped a friend. When he came after her, I killed him without finding out all of the facts. Turns out it had been co-sensual. I told myself I'd never act without thinking everything through again. Actually, it's probably better that I found that out early on. I probably wouldn't be so good at what I do had I not learned that the hard way." Emilia interrupted him, still looking out the window. "And that was the only time I killed in a way that was 'unjustified'. Though I suppose our meaning of the word differs in some ways."
Holmes hesitated, unsure if in this moment he was meant to console her or something. Assure her that mistakes occurred. But the look on her face and the lack of words he had for the situation stopped him. Instead he coughed again as the carriage pulled up to 221B Baker's Street, hopping out eagerly after opening the door, letting the solemn mood dissolve.
When he looked up, back into the carriage, he found himself looking at the set, composed face of Emilia Hawkins- not the girl he'd found in the carriage who'd been so much like the one he'd met in prison. She climbed down before he could offer her his hand- he was suspicious about whether she would have taken it anyway, had he done it- and they both stared contemplatively at the ever-still unmoving Mary Morstan.
"Well." Holmes said, his tone brisk. "I suppose I'll grab her arms, you grab her legs."
Emilia looked up and over at him. "What? You can't carry her yourself?"
"Blasted skirts of hers make everything difficult, and we have to pull her up multiple flights of stairs, Hawkins."
"Fine. But how do you suppose we get her out of the carriage?" Emilia sighed, rubbing her temples.
"I guess that throwing her would be out of the question?"
"Decidedly so."
A sigh escaped Holmes's lips. "Roll her, then."
Emilia nodded and went over to the other side of the carriage, opening the door and attempting to push Mary through to Holmes's side. She ended up tumbling face first towards the street, narrowly missing the curb as Holmes snagged her arms, pulling her into a lifted position with her legs hanging onto the carriage seat.
"Hawkins- Hawkins!" Holmes said in alarm, as the angle she was in was very inconvenient for all purposes of holding her upright. "Grab her legs- quickly!"
Emilia launched herself across the seat and eased Mary out before Holmes dropped her on her face. "Got it!"
"Right, then. Ease her up the stairs." Holmes instructed as they edged closer to their lodgings.
"Sideways?"
"That's probably best."
At a slow pace the two managed to hoist Mary up the concrete steps to the front door, which was opened by a very alarmed Mrs. Hudson.
"Mr. Holmes, what on Earth did you-"
"I assure you, Nanny, this is most definitely not my fault." Holmes snapped, groaning in frustration as he pushed past the older woman, Mary and Emilia still in tow.
"Now we'll just spread her out on the kitchen counter!" he announced.
Mrs. Hudson gasped. "You will certainly not! Put Dr. Watson's young woman in a proper bed until she comes to."
Holmes began to protest, but upon receiving the evil eye from his landlady, relented. "Oh, very well. Come on, Hawkins."
And so they managed to half lift, half drag Mary up the steep, carpeted stair case until the halfway landing between flights, where they dumped her unceremoniously as they took a breather- both panting heavily.
"Are her skirts inlined with lead?" Holmes demanded, glaring at the unconscious lady's clothes disdainfully.
"How on earth is she still unconscious? It's been thirty minutes! Is she dead?" Emilia huffed in frustration, leaning against the wall behind her.
"No. But I will say one thing for Miss Morstan. When she is knocked out, she is decidedly so." Holmes replied, taking up her arms again with the air of a martyr, gesturing for Emilia to do the same with her feet.
A good ten minutes later, Mary was sprawled out on Emilia's bed, and her two human lifts were sitting tiredly on the wooden floor.
Emilia leaned her head back against the wall, letting loose a deep sigh. Her gaze flickered over to Holmes, who was in a similar position, but not resting his arm on his knee. "Do things like this always happen at dinners you go to?"
"Not necessarily. About twenty percent of them go off without a hitch." Holmes replied, sweeping his hand over his face and ruffling his hair in the process. Emilia laughed quietly, and Holmes looked over at her with a slightly baffled look on his face. Her laugh was actually a quite pleasant sound, when truthful.
"Well, as my first dinner in a while- one that I've actually been invited to by respectable company, no less- I must say, Holmes. Life with you will hardly be boring." Emilia smiled, looking up at the ceiling distractedly.
He gave her a sharp look, "Did you just admit that you'll remain in my…" His what? Home? He snorted at the thought. His confinement? That would go over well. Reminding her she was his charge.
"With me?" he finally decided, though it was mildly bewildering to himself why he chose something that sounded so… personal. Holmes might have shuddered at the thought.
Emilia looked over at him, confused. His expression was calculating. "Well, I-"
"John?" A weak voice came from the bed, and Holmes broke eye contact with her, raising himself off the floor. With a sigh, Emilia followed, walking up to the bed and sitting on its side, next to Mary.
Immediately Mary grabbed her hand, and Emilia forced back the reflex to swat her hand away, unprepared for the sudden contact. "Mary, how do you feel?" she asked, concerned but calculating.
"I… I… Mr. Holmes, might I have a glass of water?" Mary asked hoarsely, her voice a mumble.
Holmes gave a brisk nod, walking out of the room toward the stairs, all the while yelling, "Nanny! Miss Morstan has awoken, and I know you'll flail me if I neglect to tell you of her change in consciousness! NANNY!"
A breezy chuckle brushed past Emilia's lips, but the startled look in Mary's eyes never stopped.
"…Mary, what's wrong?" she frowned.
Mary blinked up at her, the grip on her hand tightening greatly. "The… man.. in the alleyway…"
"… He was my brother."
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Well, there you have it. The long awaited update! Once again, sincerest apologies Dear Readers! Life seemed to get in the way for quite a while! And this is kinda short, but I wanted to get it out there. Well, I guess page-wise it's nearish to the same, but a lot's dialogue, so word-wise… Anyway…
I thought you all should know that I am now in possession of a rather nice double-billed detective's hat of the sort Holmes wore in the olden days! And adore it I do! Even more than my Draco Malfoy wig.
I'm an odd individual.
And if you want this individual to update, then REVIEW!
PLUSHIE WATSONS AND HOLMESS TO ALL WHO REVIEW!
(voodoo push pins optional) Holmes: Woman, I don't think that's the plural of my name…
Watson: Ooh, try 'Holmesi'.
Me: Facepalm. But hooray for vast quantities of snow that cancel all forms of education and work! LE WHOOOP!
REVIEW! All the cool Holmesi lovers are doing it!