Fragile

1

I stared up at Sherlock Holmes.

The Sherlock Holmes.

I mean, I'd read about him in the papers and seen him on the telly of course but I never thought I'd actually meet him. Nothing exciting ever happened to me.

In fact, I hardly ever left my flat if it wasn't absolutely one hundred percent necessary.

He must have been deep in thought or something, because he certainly wasn't looking where he was going when he barged into me in the middle of the street. Then again, I wasn't looking where I was going either, as I was too engrossed in the abundance of cracks in the pavement that I was walking down. 

I had left my flat to go to the corner shop to buy coffee and milk, but the shop down the road from where I lived was annoyingly closed, so I had to walk a little further. I was returning from the shop with a plastic carrier bag in my hand when I collided with the world's only consulting detective.

He barged into me suddenly, and the contents of my plastic carrier bag crashed onto the pavement, creating a puddle of milk with small brown specks of coffee floating around in it. I felt a lump in my throat and my hands began to sweat a little. I closed my eyes.

"Oh god, sorry-sorry..." I mumbled, trying to drag my eyes away from the mess on the floor.

"Why are you apologizing? I should have been looking where I was going. The fault's mine" Sherlock's baritone voice hummed through me and I felt slightly defenseless. I wasn't one to swoon over handsome strangers but for this one...I could make an exception.

I looked up at his face and scanned over his features as he scanned over mine. We were intently observing each other. Seconds of silence passed as we both stared. I quietly hoped that no one was watching us, because we must have looked very weird. I watched Sherlock's neutral expression turn into one of confusion, and he frowned slightly.

He must be doing that thing I thought to myself; that deduction thing where he can look at people and tell you your whole life story. Quite cool really.

As Sherlock looked on at me, no doubt making his deductions, I stared right back at him. But I wasn't deducing him, or trying to figure him out, instead I was completely fixated on the eyelash on his cheek.

The eyelash on his cheek.

The eyelash on his cheek.

"You have an eyelash on your cheek" I blurted out without thinking.

Sherlock looked a little perplexed at my choice of words, but thankfully he wiped his face and the eyelash disappeared, I breathed a quiet sigh of relief and felt a little less sickly.

"Sorry, that was rude" I said to him quietly, wishing I was anywhere but where I was.

"No, no it's...fine" Sherlock responded coolly, curiosity playing in his voice. "What's your name?"

I looked up at him, a little confused.

My name? Why does he want to know my name?

"I'm Sherlock by the way" he carried on, obviously noticing my nervousness.

He smiled slightly, as if to try and make me feel better. It didn't work.

"Yeah I know" I chuckled "I've been on your website"

"Oh no that's not my website" Sherlock scowled a bit. "It's my friend John's blog, he writes painfully dramatic stories about our-"

"No no" I cut him off. "Your website. Is there really 243 different types of tabacco ash?"

I watched as Sherlock's eyes practically lit up. He was definitely attractive, beautiful even. His dark hair fell effortlessly around his face and his cheekbones looked as if they were perfectly chiseled into his pale skin. He was really well dressed too, a slim fitting black suit with a long coat over the top. Any other man would have looked over-dressed but somehow he pulled it off. He was kind of like a work of art, and I didn't say things like that lightly.

"I still haven't caught your name" Sherlock's lips curved into a faint smile as he looked on at me curiously.

"I'm Margo"

"It's nice to meet you, Margo" Sherlock held out his hand and I felt the anxiety kick in.

This is why I hate meeting new people.

There was no escape. I either had to shake his hand, run away in the opposite direction or just laugh it off and try to think of an excuse as to why I act like such a freak. Seconds felt like hours as I tried to evaluate all the options I had and the possible outcomes of-

My thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock pulling his hand away.

"It's alright" he said with a smile.

What?

"But I didn't even say anything"

"Well, no you didn't literally say anything but I could possibly write a book on everything that your expression and body language is screaming at me" he chuckled.

"A book? About me? I'm really not that interesting Mr Holmes" I returned his smile, cringing slightly at my bad joke and making a mental note to not make jokes in future.

"Please, call me Sherlock" he replied.

"Well, uh, Sherlock" I mumbled "It's been great meeting you but I should really-"

"Of course, see you around Margo" Sherlock answered graciously, taking the hint.

I started to walk away but I was stopped by the detective who called after me. I turned around to face him and he smiled at me.

"Listen" he started "If you ever feel like going out for a drink or watching a movie or if you need someone to help you solve a crime...I'm quite good at the latter"

He handed me a small slip of paper with a few numbers scrawled on it before smiling and walking away in the opposite direction.

What the hell was that?