ACADEMIA
Pictures "You have her pictures You have her pictures You have her pictures Everywhere You're covered in stitches You're covered in stitches You think I can't see them But I know they're there…" Sia – Pictures Holmes drank the searing hot coffee in a few gulps, slammed the cup back on the tray, and said, "So, do you have an idea as to why Lady Sheffield may have claimed her jewels were stolen?" He sat in his desk chair, looking at me expectantly, picking up his violin and playing it with his calloused fingers. I stood beside him at his desk. I had to keep myself from saying, 'Of course not', by putting my hand to my mouth in mock concentration. "Well, yes, I have an idea, but what do you think?" I must try and turn the tables on him. "I asked you first." Drat. "I asked you second." "For god's sake woman, tell me what you think." He strummed a few notes, shifting his gaze, looking past me, his eyes wide and unseeing. I thought for a moment. Why would a well-to-do woman want to pretend her jewels were stolen, and practically frame someone else for the crime? "She wants the attention." I felt like that was a legitimate guess. "Rich women get bored, maybe her son ignores her?" "That is always an option. What else?" Holmes stroked some more notes from his violin, one by one. "She is…maybe she needs the insurance money? Maybe she is in debt?" "Another good option. But not the real reason. What else?" "I don't know. It seems like such an elaborate charade to go through for something unimportant. What could she possibly be thinking? Is she protecting someone?" "That is another clever scenario, but I'm afraid that it is not the true reason behind her actions." "Would you care to enlighten me? I've already told you what I think; obviously it's not the answer you were looking for." "Did you read the news article?" "Yes, briefly. Should I read it again?" He reached behind him without looking and held the folded newspaper out toward me. As I reached out to take it, he pulled it back again, just out of reach. I sighed in irritation, my hand still held out in the air between us. I had half a mind to reach out to try to take it from him. Just as I was coiling my muscles to spring at him and wrench the paper from his grasp, he handed it out toward me again. This time, it was I who did the snatching, and turned away from him to read the article over again. "Be sure and pay attention this time, or I shall have to fire you." He stood up to wander over to his bow, finally deciding to play the instrument correctly. "I should be so lucky." I mumbled loud enough for him to hear me. "How can you say that? You have only been working for me less than a week and already you are getting too big for your breeches. You've wounded me to the quick." He turned to me with large brown eyes, what my grandmother would have called 'hound dog eyes,' and gazed at me pathetically. He topped off his show by playing some mournful tune. I gave him a look that said how truly sorry I was, indicated by the severe rolling of my eyes, and lifted the paper in front of me. "Robbery at Michelle's! Lady Niles Sheffield's jewels stolen during dinner! Detective Arthur Lestrade of Scotland Yard reported that Lady Sheffield, wife of the late Lord Niles Sheffield, was robbed of her jewelry during a visit to the Ladies' room at Michelle's restaurant yesterday evening. Lady Sheffield reportedly retired to the fainting couch where she fell unconscious for several minutes. Upon her awakening, Lady Sheffield's diamond necklace was missing right from off of her person. The Ladies' room attendant was searched and interviewed but found to be an unlikely suspect in this curious crime. No other suspects are in custody at this time, but Detective Lestrade is emphatic that an arrest will be made, and soon. "This criminal is adept at thievery and misdirection. Anyone who was at Michelle's at the time of the robbery who noticed anything unusual should come forward immediately. Any leads will be dealt with accordingly." The poor victim, Lady Sheffield, had her own message for the public: "Any woman who values her safety and belongings should have the utmost awareness of all the goings on around her at all times. No one is safe, if someone of my station could be robbed in the middle of a crowded restaurant. I hold the perpetrator of this crime in the highest contempt, and it is my wish that once apprehended, he shall be punished to the fullest extent of the law. It is my personal belief that women should take care to keep their valuables at home until this criminal is off the streets. I hope dearly that I may be the only victim of this terrible thief's intentions. The article continued with very little information about the theft. There was no mention of Sherlock Holmes being at the restaurant at the time of the crime, or that he was on the case. Maybe Lestrade was trying to keep the details of the investigation unknown. I lowered the paper briefly, before scanning it a third time for any missed information. "What do you make of that?" asked Holmes. He paced about the room, teasing notes from the chords of his instrument. "Well," I sat down in the wing-backed chair I had occupied several times in the last few days, "she obviously wanted to make herself known. She was not ashamed of being robbed, she seemed keen to alert the public as to what had happened. I would think that a woman of her position in society would be embarrassed about the theft, instead of openly declaring her role as the victim of a robbery." "Your line of reasoning is sound. It is odd that a woman of her status should make such a fuss about being robbed, but then we come to our original question. What are her motives? Why would she lie about being robbed?" "Are you absolutely sure that she is lying?" He snorted, "I have no doubt of it. Are you questioning my methods?" "Of course not, I would not dare insinuate that you were wrong." My voice dripped with sarcasm. "I just thought it might be a good idea on my part to make sure your logic is sound. You question me, why can't I question you?" "Because…" and he stopped playing long enough to berate me, "I am the detective, and you" and at this he pointed his bow straight at my chest, "are my lowly assistant, doomed to dwell in the wake of my brilliance, and take my word as law." "If you want my opinion, and you have said several times that you do, than you must deal with my thought process and that comes with questioning everything, even the things we think we know to be true. How else can you come up with the answer except to examine all of the evidence, and from every viewpoint?" He gazed at me, his face completely inscrutable. I felt slightly embarrassed at being so forward, but what did he expect? He had put me on the spot. "And besides," I rose from my seat and approached him, his bow now held by his side instead of as the symbolic weapon he had used moments before, "just because I question you does not mean I think any less of you. Consider it a compliment; I am simply making you work to prove your case that much harder." I had no idea where this sudden inspiration seized me from, but I knew I had intrigued him. He would never admit it, but I had. I could see the gears of his mind working as I looked into his dark eyes. I felt warm all over and unconsciously tugged at the collar of my dress and, without thinking, pulled my sleeves up to show my delicate wrists. The movement was pure habit, but I noticed how his eyes darted to the left, as thought he was forcefully trying to keep himself from looking at my exposed flesh. Why should he care if I pull up my sleeves? The man answered the door in his dressing gown without a shirt. Propriety was obviously not something he valued. That much was clear when he had broken into my room and rummaged through my belongings. I used the tool he had used on me before to put me on my guard, I invaded his personal space. How long would he let me get away with challenging him? It would be interesting to find out. I stepped closer, closing the gap between us, from six feet to three feet, and then just one. I looked up into his face; I did not have to tilt my head far at all because he was not a tall man. I liked that about him, his presence was full of such magnitude that one forgot how short he was. I was almost his height, how tall must he be? Surely not over five feet ten inches, I was five foot five inches myself. I was usually ashamed of my height, I felt so unfeminine, being so tall. Grandma Ninny had said men like petite girls, and I was nowhere near petite. As soon as I had reached about a foot away from him, he turned, and I mirrored his movements. He still faced me, but situated us now so that my back was to the wall instead of his. We had circled each other, and now I was the one whose personal space was being invaded. I knew it amused him to make me uncomfortable, and I also knew that he probably intended to punish me for my cheek. It did not bother him that women and men who were not their husbands or kin were not supposed to ever be so close to one another. If Mrs. Hudson had happened to walk in, she would have thought he was being untoward, but I knew better. He always had a reason for everything he did, even if that reason was completely oblivious to everyone else around him. He simply leaned towards me, looking at my face with his piercing gaze, calculating his next move. I backed up as far as I could and felt myself bump into a table against the wall behind me. That sudden movement seemed to break the war of wills we were in, and I turned back to see what I had knocked over. "Oh, I'm sorry." I saw a few things had tipped over, a candle, a stack of books, and a picture frame. I set about putting everything to rights when his hand suddenly reached out to stop mine from setting the overturned picture upright. I never considered that it had been face down to begin with. His touch was so light that I had not understood what he did not want me to do, and just placed the picture back up without realizing what he meant. I only saw the picture for a split second, but it was enough to register what it was. I saw the profile of a beautiful woman, her hair curled and placed attractively at the back of her head. I noticed that she was wearing kohl around her eyes, giving her a mysterious, alluring stare. Her face was immobile, but she looked like she would be very animated in person. It was as if I noticed all this in slow motion before his hand came down on the picture, placing it face down. For a moment, I was afraid I had angered him, but then I realized that hardly anything could really anger him. He was so unemotional. Nevertheless, I knew I had unsettled him at the very least. "I'm sorry." I mumbled. I had seen what he did not want others to see. I had encroached upon his true personal space without even realizing it. I felt like I had seriously invaded his privacy even though I had simply looked at a picture that was framed, presumably meant to be seen. I swallowed slowly, drawing up my courage. I still had not looked at him. "Who is she?" What on earth was I thinking? Why did I have to be so nosy? Besides, I knew very well who she was. "Someone that I used to know," was all he said. I knew that was the end of the conversation. He turned quickly away in retreat, and I knew I should move away from the picture as hastily as I could. His back was turned to me, and he began playing the violin again. For some reason, I felt like I should put my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. I did not dare do such a thing, but my arm still twitched from the thought. I laced my fingers together, staring at the ground and bouncing on the balls of my feet. I let him play for a few moments before I asked him, "Do you wish to continue our discussion or should I return later?" "Nonsense. Why would you want to cease our discussion, are you feeling ill? You look a little peaky." He was trying to ruffle my feathers to change the subject. "I'm tired." "You are always tired." "You are one to talk. You hardly ever sleep." "You don't see me moping about with hooded, sunken eyes. Do try to take more care of yourself. All those years of lack of sleep are beginning to wear on you. Those dark circles under your eyes have become permanent." If he had wanted to upset me, he had succeeded, and I was more than prepared to fight back. "Not all of us have such stimulating habits to keep us awake. Do try to take more care of yourself. We wouldn't want you to become over excited, now would we? That twitch will become permanent if you don't watch it." Hah, I had him. Of course, he knew I had discovered his weakness, but I doubted he knew exactly how observant I had been. Now I knew what that twitch in his left hand really meant. I never knew my voice could sound so venomous. I almost frightened myself with my ferocity. Obviously, his drug habit bothered me more than I thought it did. I actually made him turn around to look at me with my statement. He had no idea I was so observant. I think the comment about the twitch reached him through his clouded ego. "Well now, so she does bite back." His manner was easy but his eyes had a sharpness to them. He drew his bow across the violin, causing a shrill sound to erupt that hurt my ears. I had not exactly hit a nerve, but I had surprised him. He was obviously unused to being surprised. "Only when backed into a corner." I was as angry as a wet cat. "I'll keep that in mind." He was still trying to remain aloof, but I had gotten to him. He went silent, and suddenly his demeanor changed, as though a thought had occurred to him. "You really need an avenue to channel that ferocity Miss Keaton." He caught me off guard again. What was he on about? "Excuse me?" I wasn't offended, not anymore. I was more confused than anything. "As my assistant, you may occasionally find yourself in a somewhat…difficult situation now and then. Watson knew how to handle himself, but you, as a woman, have no idea how to defend yourself if the situation calls for it. What would you say to me teaching you ways in which to channel your anger into protecting yourself, and maybe even attacking someone else?" "What on earth do you mean? Are you talking about, like, fighting? Hitting and kicking?" I was dumbfounded. A lady never, ever, raised her voice, as I had done just now, and especially never struck anyone. Ever. Not even if her life depended on it. "Let me put it this way, you either listen to me and allow me to teach you manners with which you may be able to defend yourself whenever the occasion calls for it, and it will call for it; or, you can forfeit your position as my assistant. I have no use for anyone on whom I cannot fully rely. If I have to constantly save you from certain unsavory situations, it would hardly be worth it to me now wouldn't it?" "How often do you have a need to physically defend yourself? Is it really that often?" I was in shock. He turned to me, put down both his violin and bow on the carpet, and stepped toward me, tugging at his shirt he had thrown on while I was retrieving his coffee. I was briefly taken aback, and stepped away from him. I was not afraid, only embarrassed at his quick movement toward me. He paused within a few feet, and pulled down the right side of his shirt, showing his upper right torso and shoulder. There I saw a savage, heinous looking scar etched into his flesh. It looked like it had been agonizing to acquire, and I gasped, my hand to my mouth. I swore, "Oh my god!" Until that moment I had only caught glimpses of his toned chest, but now, when he had opened his shirt, I got a full view of the injury he had sustained in one of these 'unsavory situations' he often participated in. "Do…do you really mean, that I…I should be able to help you, to defend myself in situations that injured you that badly? How on earth could I do that?" "That was an especially dangerous scenario. I do not intend to ever find myself in a similar situation, but I must insist that you agree to undergo instruction if you are to continue assisting me." He was serious. I stared at him numbly. "Okay." What!? What was I saying? Take it back Catherine! Had I lost my mind? He released his shirt, "Fantastic. We begin this evening." Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Hudson entered without asking permission. "Pardon me Mr. Holmes, but Miss Keaton has a visitor." My eyes went wide, "Who could it be? I don't know anyone here in London." My nerves immediately set in. Meeting people always made me anxious. "He's waiting in the parlor." She gave me a mischievous look; for some reason she wanted Holmes to know that I had a caller. "Very well, I'll be right down." I turned to Holmes, "Are we still on for what is it? Training? This evening?" "If that gentleman caller of yours doesn't steal you away." His face was back to his aloof nonchalance, though I was willing to bet he was curious about my visitor. He just didn't want to show it. I sighed, "We'll figure it out later then." I turned and left, closing the door behind me. I went into my room, making sure Chester was not up to mischief, and decided to take him down with me. If the man did not like my dog, I would not like him. I straightened my hair, patted my cheeks, and bit my lips to bring a bit of color to my usually pale face. I carried Chester down the stairs, completely unaware of who could possibly be calling on me. As I entered the parlor, I saw the handsome Nathan Perry, the manager of the fish market I had virtually destroyed. Oh good Lord! Was he pressing charges? "Hello Miss Keaton. I see you are well. And who is this fine gentleman?" He stood with his hands holding his gloves in front of him. "Th-this is Mr. Chester Rochester, at your service." My gaze darted between Chester and Mr. Perry, my eyes wide, awaiting his response. "It is a pleasure, Mr. Rochester," he took Chester's paw, and shook it gently. This touched my heart in a small way. My mother always said you could tell how a man would treat children by the way he was with animals. "Miss Keaton, I have a favor to ask of you." His bright grey gaze sent butterflies fluttering through my abdomen. "Y-yes sir, whatever I can do to help. I did cause a great deal of mischief at your establishment." Oh dear, I hoped I had not gotten myself too deeply into trouble. He laughed gently; it was a nice laugh. "This is not about that Miss Keaton, it rather pertains to you. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner tomorrow evening?" Author's Note: Ooh, cliffhanger. Muahahaha. You know how I love those. I'll make you all a deal, if I get five reviews, I will post a great one-shot of Catherine and Holmes as soon as I get the reviews. It's a long one too, it just doesn't necessarily follow my plot-line. I still think you'd like it though. I guess you could pretend it happened within the first month of their meeting, a day or so before the first chapter even. Whatever you want, just REVIEW. I have been getting some great input from my loyal frequent reviewers, and that's been awesome, I really appreciate it. On a side note, I need some help with some information about England. Could one of my British viewers help me out? What I need to know is: What is the weather like? In the summer, fall, winter? Does it snow often? How cold does it get? How do you guys celebrate Halloween, or is that more of an American thing? My only experience with British culture comes from (you guessed it) reading novels; ie. Harry Potter. I've got a great idea for a possible one-shot and I'd like some expert advice from folks who live in Britain. Are there any special Christmas traditions? Foods or otherwise? Is mistletoe a common tradition? (wink, wink) Thanks again for reading my little story, and I really hope to hear from you all, -Herstorian
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