Monday, September 30, 2013

Chapter 2

Disclaimer:  Don't own anyone/thing though I would offer to buy in exchange for free haircuts for life.

“I don’t accept that,” Sherlock said.  
  
“Oh, well, tough luck.  Whoever put me here is probably going to come back to finish the job and if you’re bright, and I’m thinkin’ that you are, you’ll get out of here too.  Ugh, God, you really did chop me open didn’t you?  That’s disgusting.”

“You are dead!” he yelled, his hard fought control slipping once more.  “You cannot be here talking to me at all.  I’ve either gone mad or this is some ridiculous hoax.  You have to be human there is no alternative, stop being absurd.”

She grimaced as she swung her legs off of the table.  She was obviously stiff and still determined to cover what little dignity she had left.  “Please, can I have a coat or a sheet or something?”

Sherlock grabbed his long wool trench coat off the back of a nearby stool and tossed it to her.  She barely caught it but grinned at him thankfully as she shrugged it over her shoulders.  Sherlock looked down, suddenly embarrassed by her nudity.  When a body is dead they aren’t naked, just meat.  Something about a pulse makes things more intimate.  Was there a pulse, he thought.  Reaching out he pulled her wrist from the sleeve and to his surprise he felt a slight flutter.

“Your heart is beating,” he said, “and you’re warmer.  Your temperature has gone up at least ten degrees.  The drug must be wearing off.”

“Drug?” she said smiling as she snuggled back into his coat.  It was deliciously warm and smelled amazing.  She couldn’t pin the scent; leather maybe with a touch of soap, spice, and a lingering whiff of cigarette smoke.  “There is no drug.  You, sir, are in denial and I ain’t talking about the river.”

Sherlock cringed at her awful grammar and resisted the urge to correct her.  “Then explain yourself and leave off that not human nonsense.”

“I told you the truth.  I’m not human and I’m in deep shit so can we leave off this interrogation rubbish and get me the hell out of here?  What time is it?  How long have I been here?”

“You mean how long have you been dead?”

She nodded, waving one hand, the arm of his long coat flapping at his face.  “You know what I mean,” she said.

“If my estimation for your time of death,” he emphasized the word looking at her reproachfully, “is correct then you’ve been out for nearly eight hours.  You were found at 12:15 this afternoon.  I’ve answered your questions now answer some of mine.  If you refuse to admit that you’re human then what are you?”

Her eyes glazed as she did the math in her head.  “So it’s almost six now.  The sun goes down around seven tonight.  Huh,” she trailed off then came back to herself, “Oh, sorry ‘bout that.  Yeah I started calling us ‘nippers some time back but the big wigs don’t like that.  They say it belittles our kind,” she mimicked an aristocratic accent.  “Bollocks to that.  They kinda remind me of you, in fact.”

Good god, Sherlock thought to himself, this is like herding cats.  “And what, exactly, is a ‘nipper?” he asked.

“Nu-uh,” she shot back, “I answered your question now you gonna help me get out of here or you just going to chew my ears off?  I’ll warn you, they’re a mite cold at the moment and they’ll just grow back.”

“You didn’t answer my question at all,” he said, his voice rising in frustration.

Sherlock’s phone buzzed in his pocket.  He turned from the woman, disgusted, and read, On my way be there in 5.  “Alright,” he said, “we have five minutes and then we’re getting the hell out of here.  If Molly asks where the body went, what exactly am I supposed to tell her?”

“I dunno,” she said, “you seem bright.  Make something up.”  With that she eased herself off the examination table and started limping towards the door.  “This the way out then?  I’ll send your coat back here when I get some decent kit on.  Thanks for that!”

“Oh no you don’t,” he said dashing in front of her and grabbing her shoulders.  “You can’t leave me like this.  You have to tell me what’s going on.  If you don’t tell me I will go mad and that is not an overstatement.”  He shook her slightly.  “I refuse to beg but I can guarantee you that I will be very cross.”

She looked up at him.  “Alright, alright.  Five minutes, then I really do have to go.  My name is Vara, by the way.  Not that you asked.”  She grinned.  Cheeky. 

Sherlock took her chin in his large hand and gently tilted her face to the light.  Her eyes literally sparkled.  As in they caught the light like a prism.  “What are those, lenses?” he asked.

“Uh-uh…” 

“Was that a no or a noise?”

“It was a no and a noise.”

“I would ask who hurt you but you don’t appear to be hurt, just dead.  You’re getting warmer though.  You must be over 60 degrees by now.”

“It is a little warm in here.  Don’t you feel warm?”

“No.”  He ran his thumb over her cheek and down across her bottom lip.  “Open,” he said.  She obliged and was fairly certain that if she had been wearing underwear they would’ve ignited.


Doctor John Watson chose that moment to intrude.



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