Eye Contact *ON HOLD*

Ghostly Killer

Once back on the street, the soldier and detective quickly caught up with the girl, who seemed dreadfully furious. They joined on either side of her, neither speaking a word. Her hands, though balled tightly at her sides, shook just slightly, one of the only signs of her barely contained rage, the other sign was her face. Her expression was extremely dark. Her eyes remained focused on the sidewalk before her, although Sherlock could plainly see that such focus was very forced. Her eyebrows scrunched close together, and her mouth seemed in a permanent frown, only shifting as she chewed hard on the inside of her lip to keep herself from screaming. She tasted the copper sting of blood on her tongue, but it didn't calm her rage. That detective had infuriated her more than anyone had in a very long time. His demeaning comments, the looks. She was bloody pissed off, and the mood wasn't going to go away soon. A muscle in her jaw jumped as they rounded a corner, and Sherlock looked at John.

"Mind running in and getting some coffees for all of us, John?" he asked the soldier, jerking his head slightly at the corner cafe they were next to.

John looked at the shop and back to the detective before the girl, who had stopped with them but still dared not to look at the men. "Uh, yeah, sure I'll, um, just..." he trailed off slightly after pulling out his wallet and seeing the lack of any quid.

Sherlock sighed. "You still have my card, don't you?" he asked.

John's eyebrows shot up as he remembered. "Ah, yes, right here actually," he murmured, sliding the card smoothly out of one of the pockets in the leather. "Do you, um, want it back?"

"No, I was actually thinking you could use it to get the coffee. Black, two sugars, please," the detective made his order. "Maggie?"

She blinked a few times before slowly looking at the soldier who watched her intently, waiting for her to say what she wanted.

She cleared her throat. "Um, just tea for me, thanks. Two sugars and a splash of milk," she said quietly, looking back to the sidewalk. A leaf rolled by her feet, carried by the unseen force of the wind.

"Great," John said. "I'll just go get that. And you'll be...?"

"We'll find an area out here," Sherlock answered, nodding his head toward the group of outdoor tables placed around the cafe. John pursed his lips, nodding, before turning and entering the small establishment.

"So, where would you like to sit?" Sherlock asked, putting a hand on Maggie's shoulder. She looked around the tables and spotted one in the farthest corner, near a small alleyway. Choosing it, the girl walked forward at a quick pace, leaving Sherlock's hand hanging in the air. He dropped it and followed behind.

She sat with a hard expression, her face becoming expressionless as the man sat across from her, folding his hands on the table.

"You can't hide your anger from me," he said quietly. In her mind, she cursed the man before her. His deductions, as she now saw, could be rather annoying, although she imagined her anger was plain to almost any person. She was never great about hiding emotions. "Rant, if you must," he murmured, leaning back and waving his hand in a throwaway manner.

"I don't have the need," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm fine."

He smirked. "Dimmock's a prat."

"You fucking bet he is," she spat. "That man pissed me off quite well in the few moments I enjoyed his company. He could at least act civil. We were trying to help out the prick."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully, as if understanding.

"He bloody well listen to what we're trying to tell him," she said. "Otherwise he's damn useless. I wanted to tell him to piss off so bloody badly after the way he was talking to me, and the way he was to you." Her fists squeezed in frustration.