Alone Protects Me {Sherlock Fanfic}

the third

He told me to sit in the chair which I assumed used to be Dr Watson's, going off of the masked scent of men's cologne and the wearing of the leather where only Watson's body could've very often sat-he had a shorter, stouter form apart from Sherlock's. I began chewing my lower lip in angst as I found as comfortable a spot I could in such an unfortunate turn of events. I hadn't expected to come to Mr Holmes's flat to find myself being retold my life story by a man who didn't even know me.
"Yes, well, where shall I start?" he sighed.
"How about the part where-"
He held up a finger. "Please. Don't start with me, Miss Frill."
I let out a low growl: I might have been startled by him but that didn't mean I couldn't deliberately irritate him.
     "You were married once, only a short time ago. I can tell by the way you hold yourself-still haven't broken that posture he so demanded of you. From that, one can infer that he was a man of high standards which he nor you either believed could ever be fulfilled, but you still tried your hardest. You wanted him to love you. But he left you: he found someone better. But you were still married to him and he knew that if you divorced him he would make your life absolute hell. You knew what he could do to you. You were scared of him and he played on it well.
     "Another telltale sign of your late marriage, is your ring finger. You went away on holiday to the coast with him, where you tanned on the beach, but you left your ring on. There's a distinct tan line from the recently removed ring. The band was removed because you didn't want any reminders that you were vowed to that man eternally. Although he did come home to you on weekends and took you places, obviously. You tried to make do.
     "Also, the piercing holes in your ears. They're stretched as if the jewelry was yanked off; but you wouldn't do that yourself, nor any of your respectable friends, I presume. They wouldn't come near your ears, but only to admire the earrings you had on. So, the only other person you were in contact with was your husband who didn't like the jewelry you wore because it made you look dazzling-he wanted to make sure you were his permanently so he could inherit anything your well-to-do parents would give you when they died." He took a long pause.
     "That could be any number of men in this bloody city, Mr Holmes," I said. "Although, he did have a long, tedious affair, that's not the reason I don't wear the wedding band." I thought I had one on him for sure.
     "No, of course. Why would you be here then?" His eyebrow shot in the air, a smirk forming on his mouth.
     "To help you solve-"
     "Don't trouble yourself with these lies, Miss Frill. It doesn't suit you."
     A disgusted groan escaped my mouth and I rolled my eyes, exasperated.
    "No. Your husband is dead. That's why you don't wear the band. Because you're finally rid of the man you loved and yet hated so passionately. And that's why you're here-because you think your husband was murdered by the same people who killed John four days ago. And the only man in London of decent stature in society that had been murdered within the last month, besides John, is Mr. Steven Rosing Callentine. And that case still hasn't been disclosed by London police, even though they've tried their hardest, although it's not the most pressing case they've needed to handle as of late. And you didn't seem too concerned about it yourself up until now."
     I was infuriated, rising from my chair and huffing. "So where have you been, Mr Holmes? Hiding out here? In your little country home-like an unfortunate sod? You haven't even tried to solve the case yourself. And because of it, John Watson is dead, too. So, I hope you got what you were waiting for." I was gasping for breath, so furious with the man who stood before me.
He gazed at me, still with that nasty smirk on his face. He didn't seem to give a damn that his only real friend was dead; all was about his bloody pride and his being right about me in the end. I wasn't about to let him off so easily.
     "And you, Mr Holmes. I, just as quickly, could make some inferences about you myself. But at least I haven't got half the impudent conceit you have to just lay it all out."
     "Well, if you were a little less careless about how you make yourself out to look, inwardly and outwardly, maybe it wouldn't be quite so simple," he replied spitefully. Straightening his shirt collar, he held out a breath of air and sighed, pompous and arrogant as ever. His feathers were, in fact, ruffled, though. I could tell by the uneasy glance he cast my direction more than once, and the way his gait quickened as he walked the length of the room.
     As he passed me to get to the small coffee table, where Mrs Hudson had quickly skipped in and placed our tea and biscuits, I couldn't help but draw myself up as tall as I could and look him dead in the eyes. His gaze met mine for but an instant, but it was enough to see that there was a certain discomfort in his grey eyes. I could see the battle still wasn't over.
   "Right, now that's out of the way, where were we?" he huffed, as he gathered his wits about him once more.
   "I can tell you where we will be if you would let me speak, Mr Holmes," I replied calmly. "As you said, I do believe the person who murdered my late husband was the same who killed John."
    "Yes, Frill, I know that. But what makes you inclined to assume so?" he asked rather quickly, before I could go on. He was an impatient man and had little time for those who could not explain themselves within half a minute or repeated themselves too often. "If you're as brilliant as you want to make me believe, by rushing in here and combatting my mind with yours - however pathetic your attempt may be - then what evidence or clues have you gathered to prove your hypothesis?" His voice grew strong and booming, stern and somewhat malicious. "Where is the evidence?"
    "If you would shut your mouth for one second and let me explain, then maybe I would have the chance to tell you," I retorted forcefully. "But as long as we keep at this the way we are, with you constantly running your mouth, we'll never get anywhere." I was a mere half metre from his face. I could have slapped him if I chose, but I didn't. I needed him on my side. I needed him to solve this case that I believed was connected with my wretched husband. Even if I didn't have half the evidence I knew I needed for him to believe me, I needed him to trust that I knew what I was talking about. And I certainly needed him to listen.
    His eyes met mine in a stare. They were a silvery green, full of a vibrance and liveliness that I had never seen in anyone's eyes before. Yet those piercing eyes swore of malice and darkness that could kill a person if they stared too long at them.
    "Then I guess this trip was in vain," Holmes said bluntly.
    A pain, that felt as if I had been stabbed in the gut, ran its deathly fingers through my body. My stare into his eyes faltered, and my breath caught in my chest. A sense of desperation coursed through my mind. He was sending me away. And for that one small moment, I felt despair.
   But then I regained myself and shoved all feeling aside. I would just have to do this on my own.
   I brought my gaze back up to meet his and nodded, furrowing my brows in a newfound sense of determination. "I think I shall make due, then. I completely have the means to do this on my own." I wanted to believe this was true. But for some reason, I knew I could not do this without him.
   With my back now turned to him to leave, I thought, How could I convince him to join me? That was indeed a puzzle and a challenge all in itself.
For half a second, I paused, thinking it'd be easy to merely fall on my knees and beg, to play impudent and stupid with him out of desperation. But the better part of me was reminded that a man this arrogant and self-righteous would probably only get in the way.
   I battled within for a moment, attempting to bring myself to leave that house and find someone out there who would want to help me out of sheer kindness. But he truly was my best shot at solving this case.
   One last glimpse at the floor. One last chance to run and put this man behind me and never look back.
   "Mr Holmes," I sighed helplessly, "you're my only hope. I know I can't do this without you."
    With that, I walked out the door, down the steps to the first floor, shoulders sunk and head down. I walked right past Mrs Hudson without a word. As I exited the establishment, shutting the creaking door behind me, I slipped a paper into the crack of the doorframe.
    Unfortunately, I tripped my way down the front steps and my hand landed in the bushes that rimmed the front of the house. I pulled my hand up, and there was a small gash from the branch that scraped me. I turned my head one last time to look at the window which peered down to where I stood. The same one I had seen Holmes look out of not long ago when I first arrived there. There was no menacing face glaring at me this time. Only an empty window which looked into the solemn, dark room above. If Holmes didn't hear the petty remorse in my voice then, it would take a miracle to get him on my side at any rate.