Sherlocked (BBC Fanfiction)

Chapter 16 - Out With Reason, In With The Season (Part 3)

We'd been arguing lately.  Change that to constantly.  Nothing seemed to go down without a fight here at 221 Baker Street anymore.  I began questioning why I moved in in the first place.

I sat in the silent morgue, reading on my phone.  Sherlock was dissecting the liver of a deceased drunk.  Occasionally I would hear the quiet exhale of his breath or the soft clink of his scalpel on the metal table on which the liver had been placed.  I kept my knees up to my chest and my sweater wrapped firmly around me.  The A.C. always seemed to be cranked up too high.  I tried to keep myself concentrated on the words on the screen but they kept dragging themselves to Sherlock.  For the longest time I watched him carefully dichotomize the half-decayed liver and set aside a small chunk.  He then poured some type of solvent over it.  The piece of liver began foaming and a marginally green-hued gas emanated from it.  His eyes caught mine and he glanced over.  I looked away.

“You know, I could be at home,” I said, breaking the continual silence.

“Then I’d be alone,” he replied monotonously.  No emotion in his voice at all.

“Well isn’t that what you wanted from the start?”  I accidently found myself muttering.

“Christ, Jordyn,” he respired and I heard the startling clank of the scalpel on the operating table.  “Just let me do my work.”  Standing up without a word, I left the morgue.  This was how our disputes routinely went.  I walked out the door, the sound of my converse tapping on the linoleum.  Turning the corner abruptly, I ran face-first into a chest.  Feeling the ache of my still marginally broken nose squish under pressure and the immediate warmth, I stumbled back.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I heard an Irish accent tell me.  Hands on my shoulders then.  Looking up, I stared up into swampy brown eyes.  They were almost muddy.  Long lashes, a sort of darkness that surrounded his eyes, and liquid irises.  Like molten chocolate. 

“Uh,” I murmured, my eyes fixed on his.  Finally I blinked a few times and realized I had run into somebody.  “It’s fine, it was my fault.  I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No, no, it was completely my fault,” he said, his Irish accent beautifully mingling into my ear canals.  He flashed me a quick smile and went to step around me.  I stepped the same way by accident.  Then we both stepped left.  Then right again.  He smiled again and put his hands on my shoulders, moving me left while he went right.  I continued walking, only to find myself tripping over his foot.  Landing onto my knees on the linoleum, I dropped my phone.  “Oh my God, I am so sorry!”  The man exclaimed and picked me up, his hand caressing my elbow.

“Nope, my fault,” I mumbled and got to my feet.

“Can I…buy you coffee or something?  To make up for almost killing you.  Twice,” he laughed quietly but it felt like a lion roar straight in my ears.  I felt compelled to answer but my voice wouldn’t come to me.

Finally, after a moment of my obnoxious, gawky, and ungraceful staring, I replied, “Um…sure.”

“Would you like to go now?”  He asked and crossed his arms over his stomach.  He donned a dark cardigan and button down shirt underneath with dark jeans and boots.  He had dark, dark brown hair that waved up and to the side, a rounded nose, and full lips.  I felt captivated by his swampy eyes.  He linked, his long lashes brushing his cheeks.

“Alright,” I found myself saying.  He gestured forward and we began walking to the stairs.

“I don’t even know your name,” he said to me, sticking his hands in his pockets and turning his head to look at me.

Feeling paralyzed under his beautiful gaze, I responded with, “It’s Jordyn.  Jordyn Watson.”

He smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling at the sides.  He had dimples.  “Jordyn,” he pondered.  “I like it.  A lot actually.”