Sentiment Is A Chemical Defect

Chapter 3

When I entered my flat, I was greeted by torturous silence. I took in the sight of clutter and dust in the living room. I sighed at the mess. This was a major disadvantage of not having a parent constantly cleaning up after you. Although, no parents definitely had it's advantages: I could eat and sleep whenever I wanted and not have my parents nagging at me but, it could be very lonely.

"We need a cat or something," I muttered into the empty room.

I dropped my bag onto the old, worn sofa, it's black leather was marked with aged. It must have been as old as me, just like every other piece of furniture in the flat.

I discovered I was hungry so I wandered into the kitchen in search for something to eat. To my pleasure, I found the fridge replenished with microwavable meals. I selected one and put it in the microwave. As I waited for my macaroni and cheese to cook, I let my mind wander...

"I'm sorry."

Eron Demarcus Holmes did not seem the type to apologise or even regret his actions. I shook my head. That boy was becoming more trouble then he was worth. Each time I encountered him, he managed to baffle me even more than the last time and I'd only met him three times!

The microwave pinging shrilly stopped my train of thought. Eron was pushed to the furthest corner of my mind and he didn't cross it for the rest of the evening.

I ate my meal peacefully, got ready for bed, read a book until midnight then slept blissfully.

I was awoken by clattering in the kitchen. It took me a long moment to pull myself out of a sleepy daze. My parents were home! I excitedly hopped out of bed and put on my fluffy, white rabbit slippers then floated into the kitchen, smiling like a kid on Christmas day.

My grin dissolved when I discovered who was actually cooking in my kitchen wearing a fresh, white shirt with a navy tie, his school trousers, a pair of black high-tops and a black hoodie thrown over the top. Smart-casual. I wondered if he dressed like that every weekend.

"What are you doing here?" I growled with my arms crossed over my chest.

Eron briefly looked up and gave me charming smile like it was normal to be cooking in a stranger's kitchen.

"Morning to you too, sunshine," he responded sweetly, I could detect the irony in his voice.

"What are you going here?" I interrogated.

"Cooking."

"Is it normal for you to break into people's houses?"

"Your parents let me in."

I scoffed, "They wouldn't let you in."

"Looks like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed..."

"Where are they then."

"They left just before you woke up. They didn't want to wake up. They seem like lovely people," Eron told me.

I got a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. I was hoping I'd see them...

"You need to leave," I told him sharply.

"We need to go see Lestrade. He's meeting us at the morgue to look at the victims," Eron said, ignoring my command.

"The corpses?" I asked, feeling morbidly excited.

Eron nodded. He glanced up and smirked as he took in the sight of me wearing Winnie the Pooh pyjamas and no make up. I couldn't help but blush at his gaze.

"I better get dressed," I said quickly as I rushed past him.

"Wear something relatively smart and professional and less cutesy," the boy laughed in good humour. I felt myself go even redder.

Something smart and professional, I could do that. Except, the only thing I owned which was relatively smart was my school uniform and that hardly looked professional. But, it had to do.

I put on my school blouse and black skinny jeans, throwing my leather jacket on over the top. I brushed my shoulder length brown hair and proceeded to apply my eye make up. When I was done, I looked in the mirror one last time. In an ideal world, I'd have time to straighten my hair but, I felt bad keeping Eron waiting any longer.

Not that he cared.

I re-entered the kitchen to see Eron munched on a plate of scrambled eggs he had cooked. To my dismay, he hadn't cooked me any. My stomach rumbled slightly in complaint.

Don't worry stomach. I'll fix this!

I strode passed the Holmes boy. He seemed to do a double take and I watched him out of the corner of my eye watching me scavenge the cupboards for breakfast. I gave him my most deathly glare and he soon looked back to his plate. I smirked to myself in congratulations.

Eventually, I settled for a few stale custard creams for breakfast- a decision I instantly regretted as they tasted foul.

"I should have cooked you some," Eron finally said, breaking the silence.

"I don't like eggs," I lied, discretely discarding the stale biscuits.

"It's the thought that counts," he muttered with a shrug.

"When  do we have to meet Lestrade?" I questioned.

"About..." he looked at his watch, "An hour ago."

"An hour ago?" I exclaimed. I didn't like being late if I could help it.

"Relax. I planned on being fashionably late," he told me nonchalantly.

I looked at him. He wasn't acting as he did in school. He was being less Sherlock, less uptight and insulting. I was going to point that out but decided against it. I didn't want him to turn on me again. Not just yet.

"Stop it," Eron ordered, looking a bit miffed.

"Stop what?" I asked innocently, standing up a little straighter at his sharp words.

"Trying to figure me out. I can hear your brain going into overdrive from over here." This, I took offense to.

"Please, I have you sussed up already. You're a lot more transparent than you think, Holmes," I told him mustering as much venom in my voice as possible.

"Oh yeah?" Eron challenged, rising to his feet.

"Yeah," I said.

"Pray, do tell me. I could do with a good laugh," he spat harshly.

"You know exactly what I'm going to say and everyone knows exactly what you are," I told him matter-of-factly.

I found myself pushed against the kitchen counter, Eron's hands either side of me, his palms placed on the surface.

"And what's that?" he whispered. His expression softened and he grazed my cheek with the side of his hand, "A scowl's not a good look for you."

My throat went dry and I pushed him away.

"Personal space," I mumbled.

"Of course," he said, looking away like he was ashamed and taking a step back.

I was dangerously close to kicking him out but I really wanted to see corpses in the morgue despite my bipolar partner. If John Watson can do it, so can I.

"We'd better go," I said and without a word, Eron followed me out of the house and we walked to the morgue in pure silence.