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

XXIV. The Many Convolutions of Behavior

“What, may I ask, is this?”

A resounding slap of paper on wood brought Sherlock’s attention—which had previously been trained on the morning paper—to the woman that now stood in front of him, fuming.

“Well, your highness, are you going to answer my question?”

“I don’t believe that I’m so inclined as to answer.” Sherlock turned his head back to the paper before setting it down and standing up from the armchair. “Unless, of course, you were under the impression that I was, which, my dear client, would be a horribly inaccurate prediction.”

Francesca, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently on the floor, straightened up and grabbed the file folder to wave it in the air, quite unwilling to take any silly babble from Sherlock today.

“First of all,” she began, rifling through the folder for a specific item, “I am not your client. I do believe we have that nicely set into stone. And second of all—” She paused, at last uncovering the file she was looking for. “—what right did the damn country give to you to just saunter into France and take information?”

Sherlock took the newspaper clipping from Francesca and skimmed the title before flicking it onto a nearby table.

“My birthright, obviously.” Francesca stared at him for a few moments, opening and closing her mouth as if to say something. Her expression morphed from shock to surprise to confusion to anger, all in a space of three seconds. Fascinating, Sherlock thought. He made a note to study more on the effects of shock on human beings later.

“You— you— your birthright. You have got to be kidding me.” Francesca clapped her hands together and adopted an obvious tone of utmost sarcasm and disgust, quite certainly at the end of her fuse with Sherlock’s arrogance. “Oh, why of course. Sherlock Holmes’ birthright to just saunter into France—”

“Actually, it was my homeless network.”

“Oh, forgive me, did I offend Your Highness? Well, it’s Your Highness’ birthright to pry into his work partner’s personal information just for personal use without the slightest consent from said work partner. Forgive me, did I miss anything?”

“Well,” Sherlock said as he sipped the hot tea he had just poured. “I’m not the King of England for one—”

“You bloody well act like it!”

Sherlock held up his hand to pause the interruption. “And I also pried into other people’s private information to get some on you. Details, Arlington. You must keep up on those to keep up on working with me.”

Francesca glared at him for a while longer, as if torn between ripping him apart limb to limb or stabbing him with a kitchen knife, then adopted a cheap sweet smile.

“May I ask why you pried, then? Your Highness?”

“No.” Sherlock set the teacup down. “No, you may not. But seeing as you just indirectly did so, I may as well answer.” Sherlock stood up again and he folded his hands behind his back, towering over the smaller frame of Francesca who was still sputtering indignantly.

“I refuse to work with anyone that has an obscure background, and obscure backgrounds, I do confess, I cannot trust.”

“Your background is as obscure to me as mine is to you. Is that not enough of a compromise?”

“Well, we had all the same resources and openness to snoop on one another, right in front of us. I simply used my resources. You, did not.”