Book I : Fantàsticque :: The Estranged Trilogie ::: A Sherlock Fanfiction

III. Second Impressions

Her smile had not vanished.

Lestrade suddenly jolted and cried out, "Arrest her!" The woman was holding a static device of some sort. She must have expected the inspector's reaction - her eyes twinkled and her lips pursed in an amused way.

"No," Sherlock declared. Lestrade stared at him as if he were out of his mind.

"Are you insane? We have to handcuff her; she is obviously dangerous!"

Sherlock gave a chuckle and shook his head at the Detective Inspector. "You really think handcuffing her will do you any use? How simple you all are. Do as I say, and let the woman talk."

Lestrade heaved a sigh and stood back, officers with confused faces following his lead. Sherlock nodded in a mockingly polite fashion towards the female in front of them.

"Pleased to meet you, Francesca Dela Cruz Arlington, it's simply delightful to see you again." Blank stares, wide eyes, and finally a collective gasp rose from the room as murmurs of Sherlock's a traitor filled the room.

The Miss Arlington in question, seemed pleased.

"Oh, so I made such an impression? You relieve me, Monsieur. I was afraid you would dismiss my card so harshly," the woman replied.

John was the first to speak up. "I'm sorry, to interrupt this happy gathering and all... but uh, Sherlock do you, perchance, actually know her?"

Sherlock seemed genuinely bewildered.

"Oh, John, did she really make such a fleeting impression? We both knew something was off when that reporter approached us, reporters are rarely so nonpersisting in their job, we would know. They are like dogged fleas to a flame, the ants to sticky sweet and that reporter, was nothing at all like a reporter. And reporters don't give cards. She did. This card," Sherlock said, holding up a white rectangle of cardstock up in the air. Everyone craned their necks to catch a glimpse before he whisked it away. "The very same card with her name on it. Blonde wig, was it?"

Francesca raised an eyebrow. She was waiting. And Sherlock gladly complied.

"Sharp facial features, especially that straight nose of yours. Accent, how you use the term monsieur. Obviously French. Striking choice of dress, Miss Arlington, a man's blazer over a black dress with a hefty price tag? You come from a well-endorsed family but you don't see them anymore, do you. Agile stance, you are ready to defend and attack at any moment. I wouldn't doubt your fighting ability or your vigilance. You, are in fact armed right now."

Some officers were creeping up from behind her, meaning to arrest her. Francesca pulled the nearest assaulter into a headlock and cocked her gun to his forehead.

"Armed with both gun and dagger. And not afraid to use either." The other officers jumped back and left their unfortunate buddy to whimper and panic.

Sherlock gave a short 'ha'.

"Now to the reason why the people in this room see you as a criminal. You travel all over the world, searching for answers. But answers to what, Miss Arlington? A higher power? Divinity? Life? So much trouble. But surely, simple threatening won't do much. Your victims need motives to play this game of secrets and lies. They need incentives, your very own secrets. Ohh, you, Miss Arlington, are the classic good-girl-gone-bad. Something happened at home, did it not?"

Francesca winced a little.

"You don't care what happens when your victims' lives are ruined because you are addicted. To this lifestyle, this gambling and you cannot resist the temptation. You are nervous now. No more teasing facade, no more little talk. This is the real game now. And don't you just know, your lip quivers despite your strong resolve and your breaths are nervous. Your hand is shaking ever so slightly and the gun will definitely not shoot straight in between the two halves of his cerebrum like you usually would do. In fact, you don't intend to shoot at all. Why? Because you came here for help."

The department was silent, as if all of these people were hanging on to every last word of his.

Francesca was the first to shatter the quiescence. She sputtered out a choked sound and a low chuckle. Francesca dropped her expression to that of a serious one and shoved her hostage away, leaving him to scramble. She snapped her gun back into the holster hidden by her blazer.

"Oh, you're good, Monsieur Holmes. But not good enough. Not...good...enough." Francesca dug into her blazer and dangled a petite burlap bag from her index finger by a delicate thread. She threw it at Sherlock who caught it and studied the exterior meticulously before folding it away, unseen, in his hand.

"You're right, Sherlock Holmes. I did come here for help."

"And I. Am. Not. Interested."

"I do think you would want this case, don't live to regret your choices, Monsieur." Francesca's blue eyes were beginning to grow desperate and her voice, edgier.

"Come on, John. This is too dull for my attention." Sherlock pivoted on the spot and stalked back towards the door again.

John gave Francesca an apolegetic wave and a nervous half-hearted grin before scurrying after his companion.

Francesca was disappointed, yes, but determined. The officers immediately approached her with handcuffs. Four were holding her back and a fifth was working on the handcuffs messily, worried that she might suddenly strike him at any time. One pulled the pins holding up her hair, allowing the raven waves to spill around her shoulders, framing her angular face.

"He's back again. Him. Fantàsticque. Back to the world, Holmes," she sung out, tantalizing smirk playing at her features again.

Sherlock stopped short at the doorway.

"Ah, so you do remember."

With these final words, Francesca was led away, handcuffed and restrained in case of any sudden attacks by her. The resulting silence was overwhelming.

"Sherlock, what- what was that?" John inquired. Sherlock stared at Francesca's and the officers' dwindling bodies.

"Intriguing...second impressions."

And so, they left the Yard.