Can't Love You {Sequel to "Not Sherlock Holmes"}

Chapter One

Benedict's POV

She steps into the boat, which is very much military grade. It's strong; sturdy looking.

Veronica, though, she's not rough. In fact, she's soft. Her face, her expressions, her voice, her hands.

Her movements are easy. But it's not just her grace. It's the embarrassed flush of her cheeks. It's the innocence of her smile and heart, but the evident pain in her eyes. The fear. The look of eyes that have seen far too much in the last few hours.

She's so young, and that's my problem. My only problem. The only thing keeping me from running to her now, sweeping her up, and taking her away, away from everything, away from all of this, away from here.

These feelings have been contained until just minutes ago, when I kissed her in a moment of spontaneity. Now, though...

I feel Steven breathing in my ear, but I don't move. I remain rooted, and he whispers to me.

"Distractions, Mr. Cumberbatch. What did I tell you about them?"

He's seen me watching her. What must my face look like? I wipe whatever expression on my face clean. I turn to him, my expression now placid.

"My life is not your business, sir." He prickles.

"I'm only saying. You want to survive? You must control your emotions." Before he has even finished his statement, I have him by the shirt, and I shove him against a wall.

"You wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for me. Say one more thing about Veronica, and I swear, you will never go back to what remains of your family alive." His eyes widen.

"You wouldn't." At this, I smile grimly.

"You want to test that theory?" Steven shakes his head quickly, and I release him.

I turn to face in front, and Officer Marsh is staring daggers at me.

"Is there a problem, sir?" I shake my head. My back is straight, and I am completely confident. His gaze lingers on me for a few more seconds before he moves on.

"Alright, on your boat now!" Our group moves up as everyone fights to get on board first. I hang back, though, and Steven stays with me, although for the life of me, I do not know why.

Soon, I'm next, and I clumsily stumble aboard. It's not a big boat, but I suppose there aren't many of us. Maybe about 20 on each boat.

Most people are meandering; wandering around on deck. I take the opportunity to explore the place.

The deck is small, but it appears that the interior of the boat may be deeper. There's a small door which appears to lead below deck, and I open it, peer inside, and slip in. I'm in a narrow passage, and there are more small doors every few feet. Ahead, I see a small kitchen. I head in that direction.

There are 2 people in the kitchen, and they're cleaning up from the evening meal.

"Hello," I greet, and both men, slightly overweight, look up.

"What are you doing here?" I play it cool, and I casually lean on the counter. I spot a pair of scissors, and I zero in on them.

"I was just lookin' about, you know," I say, shrugging, like it isn't a big deal. The one cook scowls, and the other continues about his business.

"Well, we don't like to be bothered. We'd like you to leave." The man speaking looks away for a moment to throw something away, and I take the opportunity to quickly grab the scissors. I slip them into my pocket and make for the door.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to bother. Have a lovely evening!" The cook grumbles, but continues cleaning, nevertheless.

I scan the narrow hallway for a bathroom, and I open each of the doors and peer in, not finding one. A uniformed man is coming in my direction, so I wave.

"Sir, where can I find a bathroom?" The man rolls his eyes and leads me to the correct door. I smile. "Thank you." He grunts in reply.

I slip into the bathroom, which is small, tight. I feel claustrophobic. But I shove those feelings aside. I look into the small, bent, cheap looking mirror at myself. My tangled black curls are in my eyes, and I impatiently wipe them away. I run my fingers through my hair to try to brush out most of the tangles, and then I take the scissors out.

And I begin to cut my hair.