Setting
Default Location for 221B Baker street
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London, England is a part of 
221B Baker street.
2 Characters Here
Renée Quinn [83] "I Often feel as If I am made to understand, but not to be understood."
William Sherlock Scott Holmes [78] "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research."
Start Character Here »
- 84 posts here • Page 1 of 4 • 1, 2, 3, 4
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John got up out of his chair moving over to the window taking small sips of his tea. Over the last five days moving trucks had been coming in and out, but he had never actually caught a glimpse of the new person who was moving across the street.
"Sherlock, I think we should go introduce ourselves to the new neighbor." John spoke without turning around from the window, rolling his eyes when Sherlock didn't answer him. "Sherlock, are you listening to me?" It wouldn't surprise him if he wasn't. John walked over to him closing the laptop and taking it away from him. "Lestrade will get us if he needs us and in the mean time we don't have a case, so, up you get, we are going to go be neighborly. Like normal people."
Renée came in and out of the house moving box after box, she had unpacked most of the things she had but there were still boxes scattered here and there throughout the flat. She moved outside to grab the last box, it was a small one with nothing important inside, she tucked her hair behind her ear, jumping when she noticed the two men standing in front of her. "Hello." She smiled softly at the two of them.
"Hello." John smiled back at her. "We live just across the road. My name is John Watson, and this is Sherlock Holmes." Renée carefully balanced the box on one hand shaking John's, Afghanistan or Iraq? She couldn't quite decide. "Renée Quinn." She smiled again a little more timid. "Was it Afghanistan or Iraq Mr. Watson? You just hold yourself like a soldier, and your hair...and the only wars we have been aiding in is Afghanistan and Iraq." John raised his eyebrows side glancing at Sherlock, he had asked him the same thing when they first encountered eachother. "Afghanistan." She nodded slightly.
"I have the kettle on, would you like to join me for tea?" John accepted the offer before Sherlock could speak up and decline it, making up some excuse like they had work to do. Renée lead them into the flat, it wasn't large but it wasn't small by any means, and was fairly well put together for someone who had just moved in. "Excuse the mess, I haven't quite cleared all of the boxes." Her medical degree sat in the middle of the table, she put the box she was carrying down on top of a few others moving it out of the way.
"You're a Doctor?" John looked at her, she couldn't have been more than twenty-four, twenty-five, she was becoming quite the interesting person. "Yes, I graduated when I was nineteen." Renée replied softly going into the small kitchen bringing out the tea, she set a cup in front of John and one in front of Sherlock who she had barely interacted with. She offered John sugar but her refused. "Sugar, Mr. Holmes?" It was the first words she had spoken to the man, her hands started to shake slightly; anxiety. Without really thinking about she placed her fingers on her collar bone; defense mechanism.
Both of the men made her a little on edge, but her past was the reason for that, however Sherlock made her more on edge, it was like his blue eyes could see right through every barrier she had put up, people often said they felt the same way about her, but she wasn't used to feeling like an open book anyone could read.
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Sherlock was sitting in his chair, avidly staring at the screen of the laptop, anxiously awaiting a case, as usual. He noticed John get up and move towards the window, glancing at him for a split second, his movement stirring him from his fixation for only a moment. "Sherlock, I think we should go introduce ourselves to the new neighbor," John said, but Sherlock pretended not to hear him. He wasn't feeling much like being neighbourly today. "Sherlock, are you listening to me?" he asked, and Sherlock continued to ignore him, hoping that he would drop the subject of meeting the new neighbour. Then, John came over and shut the laptop, taking it from Sherlock's hands. Sherlock gave his friend a surprised glare, half annoyed that he'd done it but half impressed that he had the gall to do so, though John had become more and more like that the more they were together. "Lestrade will get us if he needs us and in the mean time we don't have a case, so, up you get, we are going to go be neighbourly. Like normal people." Sherlock rolled his eyes, still not in the mood, but he knew that John would do nothing but bother him until he agreed. So he nodded, silently agreeing to John's wishes.
The two crossed the street, waiting for the new neighbour to come back outside, Sherlock noticing that there was still a single box left. From the way that it was packaged up, he assumed that it didn't have anything of much importance inside of it. When she finally did come out, she tucked her hair behind her ear but jumped when she noticed the two of them standing there. "Hello," she stated, smiling at them. "Hello," John replied, smiling back at her. "We live just across the road. My name is John Watson, and this is Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock had his hands in his pockets, and he rolled up onto the balls of his feet before putting his weight back on his heels, already not amused by being there. The woman awkwardly balanced her small box in one hand and shook John's hand with the other. "Renée Quinn," she said, smiling again. "Was it Afghanistan or Iraq Mr. Watson? You just hold yourself like a soldier, and your hair...and the only wars we have been aiding in is Afghanistan and Iraq." This comment instantly grabbed Sherlock's attention, and he caught the side glance that John had made toward him, giving one back before clearing his throat. "Afghanistan," he replied. Sherlock was intrigued at this point and thought that maybe John had had the right idea about 'being neighbourly,' but he shook the thought quickly from his head, his dark curls moving slightly on his forehead.
"I have the kettle on, would you like to join me for tea?" she asked. Sherlock raised his finger, his mouth open to respond, but John accepted the offer before Sherlock could even manage to. Knowing John, Sherlock assumed that he had done so because, in most cases, Sherlock would have made up an excuse of any kind in order to get out of something like this. He smirked slightly as Renée led them inside. Sherlock immediately began looking around the flat, looking for anything unnecessarily out of place, but he couldn't seem to find anything. He did, however, notice her medical degree on the table, which shocked him slightly to say the least, but he didn't show it. "Excuse the mess, I haven't quite cleared all of the boxes," she said, setting down the box in her hands on top of a few other boxes.
"You're a doctor?" John asked, looking at her. Sherlock figured that she had to be in her mid-twenties, from her looks alone, and he was fairly impressed at her achievement. John seemed to be more impressed than Sherlock, but that was typical of him. Anything of that sort seemed to amuse John to some extent. "Yes, I graduated when I was nineteen," she said before going into the kitchen. Her latest comment sparked Sherlock's interest quite a bit, but he remained silent for now, something that was somewhat unusual for his character. She came back out to them with the tea, setting a cup in front of John and one in front of Sherlock. John refused the sugar that he was offered, then she turned to him. "Sugar, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, and he immediately noticed her shaky hands. Anxiety, he thought to himself. Then she placed her fingers on her clavicle. Defense mechanism.
"Two sugars, if you please. And if I may ask, is it Generalized Anxiety Disorder or more of a Social Anxiety Disorder that you suffer from? Your hands are shaking: a definitive sign of an anxiety disorder. Placing your fingers on your clavicle is a defense mechanism for you, from what I can tell," Sherlock mentioned absentmindedly. John glared at him, and Sherlock glanced over at him, noticing his look. "Not good?" he asked John quietly.
Hex Code: #B22222
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"Two sugars, if you please. And if I may ask, is it Generalized Anxiety Disorder or more of a Social Anxiety Disorder that you suffer from? Your hands are shaking: a definitive sign of an anxiety disorder. Placing your fingers on your clavicle is a defense mechanism for you, from what I can tell," Renée watched Sherlock carefully, as he spoke, his body language only shifted slightly, more superior, god complex perhaps? she couldn't quite tell, but his facial features didn't change no emotion, no sign of emotion since she had encountered him, sociopath? it seemed like a good guess, the right deduction. She watched as he leaned over to John. "Not good?"
John didn't seem overly impressed by Sherlock's inquiries, Renée on the other hand found him one of the most intriguing people she had come across, and didn't mind the question he asked, it wasn't a nerve for her. "Generalized anxiety." Renée replied softly moving her fingers from her collar bone it made her feel open, but he pointed out she had done it and when people did that she felt foolish and became more aware of it. "I've had it my whole life, you learn to live with it." Renée never truly had though, her brother tormenting her all of the time, and her fathers outbursts, Renée was always anxious, always scared of everything, but family, was something she wasn't to keen to talk about.
"You're a Doctor to, aren't you Mr. Watson?" Renée had answered Sherlock's question and found it alright to change the subject. John seemed rather shocked at this point, Renée often forgot it wasn't normal for people to do that, to know things they couldn't possibly know. John cleared his throat. "Please, call me John." He started softly. "Yes I am a doctor, how did you know?"
"There is scaring on your fingers, to small to be from when you served, but not big enough to have been a burn, or any other significant injury, its from learning how to suture up wounds, every Doctor always cuts themselves at least once. I still catch my fingers from time to time." John leaned back in his chair slightly glancing at his fingers, sure enough there were scars from his time in medical school, and Renée was quite right about what she said. "How do you do that?"
"I observe the things people deem as unimportant, body language, changes in the voice, facial cues, eyes. When you have all of the pieces a simple deduction and you have all of the answers you need." Renée answered as if it were the most common thing in the world. "Did you take anything else in university?"
"Psychology and Sociology, they don't teach you that though." Renée said hinting at the observation and deduction comment she had previously made, she found most people thought it was a party trick that Psychology students learned just because they could. Renée moved back into the kitchen to bring out some biscuits, she noticed John exchange another glance with Sherlock, just like the one he gave him outside.
When John finished her got up and looked around Renée simply stayed in her seat glancing at Sherlock every so often, she could feel him watching her and it almost made her smile, he seemed to have predator like instincts but they were graceful in a way, and though she felt anxious around him, she also felt safe. "Is this your Mom?" John asked, it was the only picture Renée had of her mother, and was the only picture of any of her family, her breath hitched slightly and she looked down for a split second, feeling almost like she was going to break, she looked over at John with a classic smile.
"Yes it is." She replied softly, her voice shaking every so slightly. "She passed away when I was nine, respiratory infection, that turned into multiorgan failure. Could never figure out why, still trying." John apologized, but Renée shook it off, her smile faltered when she thought Sherlock was watching John, and when John turned his back.
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"Generalized Anxiety," she replied, removing her fingers from her collar bone. "I've had it my whole life. You learn to live with it." Before Sherlock could explore more, she turned to John, changing the subject, probably to avoid dwelling on it. "You're a doctor too, aren't you, Mr. Watson?" she asked. Sherlock was indeed impressed. She didn't seem to be a sociopath per se. Highly intuitive and highly aware, maybe. Sherlock couldn't quite put his finger on it, and that fact almost made him itch. "Please, call me John. Yes, I am a doctor, how did you know?" Sherlock was interested in her answer, also wondering how she came to the conclusion. He knew how he had, but she was different than most people. It made Sherlock feel slightly out of his element, but he didn't dare show it one bit.
"There is scarring on your fingers, too small to be from when you served, but not big enough to have been a burn, or any other significant injury. It's from learning how to suture up wounds, every Doctor always cuts themselves at least once. I still catch my fingers from time to time." she stated matter-of-factly. Sherlock could see John's surprise as he looked at his own fingers. "How do you do that?" John asked, and Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes at the question.
"I observe the things people deem as unimportant, body language, changes in the voice, facial cues, eyes. When you have all of the pieces a simple deduction and you have all of the answers you need." An impressive answer, Sherlock thought, curiosity biting at the back of his mind. He was interested in learning more about this Renée woman, but he was still a bit unsure about the situation in general. He never did fit in to most social circumstances, so he was never sure how to go about things like this. "Did you take anything else at university?" John questioned.
"Psychology and Sociology. They don't teach you that though." "Of course not," Sherlock interjected, finding that the time was right enough to do so. "They wouldn't teach something like that in a college course, or any course for that matter. It is not something that can be taught; it is something you are simply born with, John. You should know this. Come now." Renée simply moved back into the kitchen and John gave another glance at Sherlock.
When John finished his tea, he stood, looking around the flat. Sherlock was watching Renée, not even discreetly, and he would catch her occasional glances towards him. He was studying her, and from what he could tell from her body language and the way she looked at him when she did, she was seemingly doing the same to him. "Is this your mom?" John asked, breaking Sherlock's train of thought. Sherlock noticed Renée's breath catch in her throat for a split second as she looked down at her lap. "Yes it is," she said, and Sherlock caught the unsteadiness in her voice. Deceased, he concluded. "She passed away when I was nine. Respiratory infection that turned into multi-organ failure. Could never figure out why. Still trying." John apologized, but she seemed to just kind of shake it off.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Sherlock added, and John gave him a look that seemed to be a mixture of shock, confusion, and slight amusement. Sherlock knew that John knew that he didn't normally react in such a way when it came to social implications. Sherlock glanced at John, a straight expression on his face, before looking down into his tea. "However, know that you may never figure out the answer, and it may be better that way. Sometimes there are things we just can't know," he said, taking a sip of his tea. John rolled his eyes; Sherlock had been so close to being sympathetic.
Hex Code: #B22222
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"However, know that you may never figure out the answer, and it may be better that way. Sometimes there are things we just can't know,"
Renée sighed slightly at what Sherlock said. "You of all people should know Mr. Holmes, when you're used to having all of the answers, you will never be at ease if you can't answer something, even if its one little thing." It was true, Renée had come across a few intelligent people, and all of them faced that same problem, what do you do when you, someone who has all the answers all the time, doesn't have an answer? She knew no one would figure it out, another thing without an answer.
It was late in the afternoon when they left, they had talked about a lot, Renée had been thankful the topic of family ceased after they spoke about her mother. As they were leaving Renée wished them both a good evening, but as John started walking away she shared a lingering glance with Sherlock, as if they were both trying to find the key, find the thing that would crack the other open, it seemed they were both the biggest mystery to one another.
"Have a good evening Mr. Holmes." Renée smiled at him a sincere smile, knowing it wouldn't be the last she saw of him, he was a mystery to her, and clearly she a mystery to him, and from what she could tell Sherlock Holmes didn't enjoy an unsolved mystery.
It had been almost a month and as Renée had originally assumed, she spent a lot of time around the two men, it seemed to become a day to day thing where they would share afternoon tea either in their flat or hers, but it was mostly in theirs as Sherlock always had something he was doing in that kitchen of there.
When she walked in through the front door she could hear the familiar sound of Sherlock's violin, it was one of the many things he did when he was thinking, but going through the list it was definitely her favorite. "Good afternoon Mrs. Hudson." she greeted the older women who she had become quite fond of. "I'd be careful dear, John says he hasn't murmured a word all day, you never know how he will act on days like these." Mrs. Hudson shook her head slightly as if Sherlock were a troubled child, Renée simply said she would be cautious.
When she came into the flat, Sherlock was standing by the window violin in hand, she wasn't sure if he was aware she was there but she just assumed he did, John however wasn't there. Renée quietly moved into the kitchen where there was a note:
Renée,
I've just gone out for a while, I will be back soon.
JW
Renée put the note back on the table and did a quick scan of the room for anything out of the ordinary, but there didn't seem to be anything for her to find, John had put the kettle and tea cups out for her since she could never find anything in the place. She quickly made the tea bringing it over to the small table that was by the two chairs. "Sherlock, the tea is ready." Renée spoke softly like she normally did, the first words she had said since she had come in, she crossed her arms for a moment when he didn't respond and watched him carefully, he seemed tense, she could see it in his shoulders, and he was never stressed when he played his Violin, the instrument relaxed him, just like the piano did for her.
She moved closer to him hesitating before gently placing her hand on his shoulder, she almost flinched when the music stopped, worried he would grow angry with her, worried he would lash out, the thought caused her to quickly pull her hand from his shoulder.
"I'm sorry..." She murmured slightly, like she had done something terribly wrong. "You're stressed...Maybe I can help?" Her voice was shaking slightly and had grown softer than normal timid, her hands had started to shake as well, but she wanted to help, if he was stressed it was probably about a case, and maybe he could bounce ideas off of her, he usually bounced ideas off of himself, however, Renée always gave him the option to bounce ideas off of her.
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"You of all people should know Mr. Holmes, when you're used to having all of the answers, you will never be at ease if you can't answer something, even if its one little thing." Sherlock pondered shortly on her statement. It was true, yes. When he didn't have an answer to something, it dug deep down into his core. It made sense.
When they were leaving, Sherlock and Renée shared an enduring stare, like the two of them were trying to figure out one another but were both coming up short. "Have a good evening, Mr. Holmes," she said, a sincere smile crossing her lips. "And to you, Ms. Quinn," he replied. The woman was a mystery to say the least, and Sherlock knew deep down that he would be seeing quite a lot of her. He didn't like an unsolved mystery.
Sherlock had a lot on his mind, though playing his violin made him feel a bit more at ease. He figured that at some point soon, Renée would show up to the flat. John had already left to do whatever it was he was doing, and Renée was over almost on a daily basis. He heard the door to the flat open but decided to ignore it, continuing on in his music. Sherlock heard Renée making tea and whatnot in the kitchen. John must have left the kettle and teacups out for her, he thought to himself, the notes from his violin bouncing fluidly throughout his home.
"Sherlock, the tea is ready," she said. She hadn't bothered to say hello, and she rarely did. Sherlock figured that Mrs. Hudson must have told her that he was having a quiet day so far. He didn't respond to her, his music carrying on. He wanted to play a few more notes, get a few more thoughts placed perfectly into his expansive mind. Then, he felt her hand on his shoulder, and his bow stopped mid note, resting on the strings of his instrument. She quickly pulled it away. Impulse. It was an impulse on both of their parts really. He stopped when interrupted, and she pulled away because she was unsure of the situation.
"I'm sorry..." she said, her voice extremely soft. Sherlock turned towards her, looking down at the young woman before him. He could see the unsureness behind her brilliant blue eyes. He pursed his lips slightly. "You're stressed... Maybe I can help?" Her voice was becoming shaky and softer than usual, and Sherlock noticed the shakiness move to her hands. He wanted to smile, but it came off as more of a smirk than anything else. "Stressed, yes. Let's have some tea," he said, putting his violin away and walking past her toward the chairs. He carefully dropped two sugars into his tea and stirred it quietly, his facial expression concentrated; however it wasn't the tea he was concentrated on.
Renée had just sat down to her own cup when John walked in the door, a few grocery bags in hand. "Sorry, Renée. Had to make a quick run to the supermarket. Just a few things," he said, going to the kitchen to put things away. "I see you've got him away from the violin," he added, and Sherlock glared in the direction of the kitchen. "He hadn't said a word all morning," John huffed as he entered the living room where the two were sat with their tea. "Yes, well, some of us are trying to figure out important details," Sherlock snipped, unamused by John's nitpicking. Sherlock didn't care to talk when he was thinking. The violin helped him think.
"We got a case, and it's a pretty interesting one, I'd say. Sherlock's had his head wrapped on it since we caught wind of it," John stated, pouring himself a cup of tea. Sherlock glanced up at John again, wondering why he was sharing that information with her. Sherlock didn't think that it had concerned her, but apparently John seemed to think that it did in some manner or another.
Hex Code: #B22222
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"Yes, well, some of us are trying to figure out important details," Renée seemed to react more to the sharp tone in Sherlock's voice than John did, that was one thing she knew Sherlock didn't understand about her, knew he didn't know why she never mentioned her family and whenever any one tried to ask about them she changed the subject, but she also knew he would at some point figure it out.
"We got a case, and it's a pretty interesting one, I'd say. Sherlock's had his head wrapped on it since we caught wind of it," Renée saw how Sherlock seemed rather confused as to why John was telling her that information, but Renée had noticed how Sherlock's personality changed ever so slightly when he was around her, she wondered if John had noticed as well. "I'm sure Sherlock is capable of figuring it out." John nodded in agreement, but spoke again. "Aren't two geniuses better than one?" As true as John's statement was, Renée was smart but still not as smart as Sherlock was, he could figure things out in seconds that would take her minutes, it was small things like that, that set the two apart.
"I'm still surprised you got him away from that violin, no one can do that, not even his own brother." John looked over at Sherlock, while Renée looked down, John made it seem like she was special, special to Sherlock, special to the world, she couldn't see it. Renée stood up barely touching her tea her appetite failing her as well.
"Well, I must get going, I have to get to the hospital." Renée wished John a good night moving past Sherlock, she gently rested her hand on his shoulder again, more of a comfort this time, a sort of "I have faith you will figure it out" gesture, then she disappeared down the stairs without another word.
John watched Sherlock for a few more moments leaning back in the chair. "So, how did she get you away from your violin? I've lived with you for years now, I can't do it, Mrs. Hudson can't do it, Mycroft can't do it." John knew he was pushing his luck with this one as Sherlock was very enclosed very personal, but John go curious as well.
The night had been an easy night for Renée, a few broken bones, a few people with the flu nothing to severe. She finished signing some charts handing them back to the nurses with a smile. "Doctor, there is a trauma coming in, a gunshot victim, three minutes out." Renée nodded heading towards the door where the patient would be coming in, when he came through the door the paramedics started barking his stats at her, six gunshot wounds, he was in rough shape.
She was so focused herself that she hadn't noticed that John, Sherlock, and Lestrade had also come in. She rushed around from side to side in the trauma bay, directing nurses here and there and listing off medications as if it were second nature for her. Renée walked out of the trauma bay when the man stabilized. "Doctor, the police are here they would like to speak with you."
"I will be right there." Renée replied quickly jotting a few things down on the mans chart, she turned, stopping momentarily when she saw Sherlock and John, part of their case then. it wasn't an overly hard leap. Before she could start speaking a man walked through the door, Renée looked over him once, he was obviously a man with power, and a powerful man she didn't want to upset.
"Hello little brother." The man spoke smirking at Sherlock as he did so, John seemed to simply roll his eyes which made Renée a little uneasy, the man standing before her must have been Sherlock's brother, John had mentioned him earlier that day, but other than that, Sherlock never spoke of him.
The detective who Renée knew was Lestrade, seemed to ignore Sherlock's brother, and stepped forward reaching out his hand, she had never officially met the man. "Dr..?" He started hesitating as he didn't know her name, Renée smiled at him. "Quinn, but please call me Renée, everyone else does." Renée knew why he had asked to speak to her, he wanted a run down on the mans condition, if he would make it, and so on.
"The man was shot six times in the chest, one bullet is dangerously close to his heart, when the rest of the testing is completed our cardiovascular surgeon will take him to the OR to repair the damage, his left pupil is blown, he has a brain bleed, our Neurosurgeon will be looking after that, if all goes to plan he should make it out, however we do not know the extent of the brain damage at this time."
"Keep in mind Dr. Quinn, this is a matter of national security, that man has information we need, that I'm sure not even Sherlock could find." Renée kept herself from smirking at the man before her. "I assure you, we are doing everything we can."
"Doctor, he's bleeding out." Renée heard the words and her heart seemed to drop, there was no way you could stop that after it started, he was hemorrhaging, she moved back into the trauma bay listing off another list of medications trying to stop the bleeding trying to keep his heart going. "How long has he been down?" The Nurse just gave her a look, of he's been down to long, Renée knew that, she could feel herself close to exhaustion, when the Cardiovascular surgeon came in he just stopped.
"Dr. Quinn, he is gone, call it." His tone was sharp, and order not a question not an option. Renée hesitantly stopped what she was doing, she turned catching Sherlock's eye before looking at the clock. "Time of death...12:30am." she walked over to the man doing a quick search of him, finding a piece of paper that might be of use, she walked it over to Sherlock and the others handing it to his Brother who's body language had changed considerably.
"Its numbers, nothing of use." His eyes narrowed at Renée. "Aren't you a little young to be a doctor?" shifting her weight slightly Renée looked down at the ground. "I graduated when I was nineteen with a PhD in three different specialties, I can guarantee you I am as well trained as anyone else in this hospital." Renée looked up at him. "And yet you are still as incompetent as the rest of them."
"Mycroft!" John snapped at him, Renée simply looked down again. "Dr. Quinn, go get cleaned up, I will handle the police." Renée did as her supervisor told her to do, but she didn't get cleaned up, she went to the music therapy room where they had the piano sitting down at it she started to play.
It must have been about an hour when the door opened, she had turned off her pager. Renée played a few last notes before standing up and turning, she thought it was going to be John, but instead when she looked up it was Sherlock standing there. "Sherlock...How did you find me?" She almost mentally beat herself for that question, it was a stupid one of course he found her, it wouldn't have been hard.
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"I'm sure Sherlock is capable of figuring it out," Renée said, and John nodded in agreement but spoke up. "Aren't two geniuses better than one?" "John. Are you implying that I am incapable of figuring this out on my own? You of all people should know that I am quite capable," Sherlock stated, giving John a sarcastic smile and glancing briefly at Renée before clearing his throat. I'm still surprised you got him away from that violin. No one can do that. Not even his own brother," John reiterated, changing the subject. Sherlock picked up on the fact that John's comment seemed to have made Renée feel somewhat out of her element. "Well, I must be going. I have to get to the hospital." She stood, wishing John a good night and resting her hand on Sherlock's shoulder again. He looked at her hand for a brief moment, and in a split second she was out the door and on her way.
"So, how did she get you away from your violin? I've lived with you for years now. I can't do it, Mrs. Hudson can't do it, Mycroft can't do it," John asked, and Sherlock gave him a look. "It wasn't entirely purposeful on either of our parts, John. She was attempting to get my attention, as she had made tea and it was waiting. When I did not respond to her, as you know I so often do when I am lost in my thoughts, she came over to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. Physical contact, John. That is what pulled me away from my violin. In that instant. It was unexpected and took me off guard. None of you have ever done something of that sort in order to pry me from my musings on the violin. You all attempt to talk to me. She did so too, at first; however, unlike the lot of you, she refused to be ignored at that point in time. That is how she 'got me away' from my violin," Sherlock said blatantly.
When Sherlock and John got the call that one of Mycroft's agents had been shot, they immediately were on their way to the hospital he was being transported to. Sherlock, realizing that it was the same hospital that Renée worked at, hoped that she wouldn't be put on this specific case. When they arrived, they met up with Lestrade and the three of them made their way into the hospital. They seemed to have entered just after the victim, and Sherlock noticed that Renée was, indeed, the doctor assigned to the case. Of course, he thought to himself.
When Renée saw them, Sherlock could tell that they had most likely just barely gotten the agent stabilized. Just then, Mycroft entered the building, and Sherlock took a deep breath, preparing himself for what would most likely end up to be the worst. "Hello, little brother," he sneered, a smirk running across his lips as he greeted Sherlock. Glancing towards John, Sherlock caught the backend of an eye roll. Ever since he'd found out about Mycroft's involvement with Moriarty, John had a hard time tolerating Mycroft's presence. Lestrade exchanged quick formalities with Renée as she stepped over to them all, and she did her best to quickly explain what was going on.
"The man was shot six times in the chest, one bullet is dangerously close to his heart, when the rest of the testing is completed our cardiovascular surgeon will take him to the OR to repair the damage, his left pupil is blown, he has a brain bleed, our Neurosurgeon will be looking after that, if all goes to plan he should make it out, however we do not know the extent of the brain damage at this time."
"Keep in mind Dr. Quinn, this is a matter of national security, that man has information we need, that I'm sure not even Sherlock could find." Sherlock scoffed at his comment, rolling his eyes. "I assure you, we are doing everything we can." Sherlock could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a smirk trying to escape onto the expression Renée was wearing. "Doctor, he's bleeding out." "How long has he been down?" The group of them followed Renée into the room. She was making every attempt to save the agent. When one of the surgeons came in, he didn't even bother. " Dr. Quinn, he's gone. Call it," he said, and Sherlock could hear the bite in his voice. As Renée stopped, she glanced at Sherlock for a brief second before looking to the clock. "Time of death: 12:30am."
Renée came up to them with a piece of paper they had found on the agent's person. It's numbers. Nothing of use," Mycroft snipped. "Aren't you a little young to be a doctor?" His tone was condescending, one Sherlock knew all too well from growing up with his brother. Renée was on the spot, and she looked uncomfortable, which, for whatever reason, bothered Sherlock. "I graduated when I was nineteen with a PhD in three different specialties, I can guarantee you I am as well trained as anyone else in this hospital." "Renée, you don't have to expl-" Sherlock started, but he was cut off by Mycroft's next comment. "And yet you are still as incompetent as the rest of them."
"Mycroft!" John snapped, and Sherlock watched Renée's demeanor change completely. Her supervisor requested that she get cleaned up, suggesting that he deal with the police. She walked off, and Sherlock felt uneasy. "Mycroft, that was completely out of line. You know as well as the rest of us that there was no helping your precious agent," Sherlock stated, his tone hard beneath his words. "I'll be leaving you, then. I have nothing more to say," Sherlock said, shirking Mycroft off.
After wandering for a bit in an attempt to find Renée, he heard the faint sound of a piano. He found the room that the sound was coming from. Music therapy. Understandable. He opened the door to see Renée playing. She played her last couple of notes before standing up. She turned towards Sherlock and seemed surprised to see him, of all people, there. "Sherlock... How did you find me?"
"I quite understand the comfort of music, especially in stressful or complicated situations. I'd like to personally apologize for my brother, Mycroft. He had no right to speak to you in that manner. His words were absolutely unacceptable. You're a wonderful doctor, and we all know you did everything possible to save that man's life. That's all anyone could ask for," Sherlock said, closing the door behind him. He moved over to the piano bench, sitting down on it, facing away from the keys. "Besides. I'm sure I can figure out the information that the agent had. Especially with you to help me," he said, looking down at his hands, his fingers interlaced, forearms resting on his thighs, causing him to lean forward slightly.
Hex Code: #B22222
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"I quite understand the comfort of music, especially in stressful or complicated situations. I'd like to personally apologize for my brother, Mycroft. He had no right to speak to you in that manner. His words were absolutely unacceptable. You're a wonderful doctor, and we all know you did everything possible to save that man's life. That's all anyone could ask for," Renée shifted slightly at Sherlock's words, every time she lost someone it hit her hard, and the words Mycroft had used were the same words her Father had used so long ago. "Besides. I'm sure I can figure out the information that the agent had. Especially with you to help me,"
"It's not a big deal, My Father has always treated me the way Mycroft just did. I'm used to it," Renée regretted her words as soon as she said them, shifting again, she was so tired, her body ached so badly she felt as if she could just collapse. Renée cleared her throat to respond to Sherlock's second statement, thankful she had something to change the subject from her slip up about mentioning her Father.
"The numbers were in the pattern most skip codes use...they skip every three words usually I've never seen someone use it for numbers, I suppose that agent knew he was going to die, and became resourceful as people normally do in their last moments. I'm surprised your brother didn't notice it, but I wasn't going to point out he missed that, I could tell he didn't like me very much..." Renée walked over to the piano bench sitting beside Sherlock, it gave her a chance to rest, but also gave her the perfect escape route from Sherlock figuring anything else, if he couldn't clearly see her body language, her movements, he wouldn't be able to read her, or at least hoped he wouldn't be able to.
Renée let the room fill with silence, since Myrcroft had spoken to her the way he had Renée could feel the anxiety rising in her chest, and it shocked her that she was managing to keep her hands steady, doctors have steady hands. She thought to herself trying to keep herself calm, she wasn't quite in the mood of having an anxiety attack, especially not when Sherlock was with her.
"I'm sorry, about this afternoon." Renée started, it had been eating away at her since she had left, John's words. "John made it seem as if I was special, a special case when it came to you...I'm nothing special, and I just..." she stopped turning on the piano bench so she was facing the keys, she didn't know why she was even talking, she was just making a fool of herself. Renée began to play again still managing to reach the keys even with Sherlock sitting beside her.
"I've always wanted to learn the violin you know. I admire people who have. I never liked the estimating where to put your fingers, I would get frustrated when it didn't sound right. I tried to calculate where to put my fingers, I quickly learned you can't use science when it comes to music, its a science in itself, with its own rules and formulas."
Renée sighed at the memory, the first time she had picked up a Violin was because her Mother played, and Renée wanted to be like her mother. "My brother would always make fun of me, he has never been very smart, but the one thing he did better than me was play the violin, it drove me to hate the instrument for a while. My brother hated the piano, so naturally I took that up."
Renée stopped her playing resting her hands gently on her lap. "My Mother played the violin, my ninth birthday, before she died, she gave me one, told me she knew how it frustrated me but believed I would figure it out. I promised her I would."
Renée laughed slightly at her own behavior. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I do that when my anxiety levels are high...but you probably already knew that."
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"It's not a big deal, My Father has always treated me the way Mycroft just did. I'm used to it," she said, and by her facial expression, Sherlock knew she regretted sharing this information with him. She shifted, clearing her throat before continuing. "The numbers were in the pattern most skip codes use...they skip every three words usually I've never seen someone use it for numbers, I suppose that agent knew he was going to die, and became resourceful as people normally do in their last moments. I'm surprised your brother didn't notice it, but I wasn't going to point out he missed that, I could tell he didn't like me very much..." Sherlock held back his urge to let Renée know that he obviously knew how skip codes worked, but he decided it was better to keep his mouth shut on that specific subject. "I'm not shocked he missed it. From what it seemed like, he was going to dismiss just about anything you gave him or said to him, regardless of the possible importance of it. And whether or not he likes you doesn't matter, and you shouldn't care in the first place. John and I like you, very much, and Mrs. Hudson likes you. You have people. My brother does not have to be one of them," Sherlock said.
Renée took a seat beside him, probably in an attempt to hide her body language, movements, etc. Sherlock knew exactly what she was doing, but he turned his gaze slightly in the direction away from her, trying not to observe her too closely. She already was feeling like she was being put on the spot by his brother, he didn't need to add to that. Silence filled the room for quite some time, and Sherlock just focused on breathing and thinking. His thoughts were interrupted by Renée's voice. "I'm sorry, about this afternoon. John made it seem as if I was special, a special case when it came to you...I'm nothing special, and I just..." "Please, don't sell yourself short, Renée. John and I usually do not acquaint ourselves with people who don't have special qualities. Or at least, I don't..." he said, correcting himself. As he finished speaking, she started playing again, her fingers moving lightly and fluidly across the keys.
"I've always wanted to learn the violin you know. I admire people who have. I never liked the estimating where to put your fingers, I would get frustrated when it didn't sound right. I tried to calculate where to put my fingers, I quickly learned you can't use science when it comes to music, its a science in itself, with its own rules and formulas." Sherlock turned around, facing the keys as well. "I've always admired people who can play the piano well. Your brain has to work in two separate pieces at once, each piece reading a different set of music, yet they are reading it together and sending those signals to corresponding fingers. It really does take a special talent," he said, glancing at her with a slight smirk on his face. He cleared himself as he caught himself caught in his smile.
"My brother would always make fun of me, he has never been very smart, but the one thing he did better than me was play the violin, it drove me to hate the instrument for a while. My brother hated the piano, so naturally I took that up." Renée stopped playing, placing her hands in her lap, Sherlock's eyes following them. He cleared his throat and moved his eyes to the keys on the piano. "My Mother played the violin, my ninth birthday, before she died, she gave me one, told me she knew how it frustrated me but believed I would figure it out. I promised her I would." Sherlock found this commendable in a way. "Maybe someday I can teach you how to play," he said, staring at the keys. "However, in return, you'll have to teach me how to play the ivory keys."
Renée laughed slightly. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I do that when my anxiety levels are high...but you probably already knew that." Sherlock smiled softly at her remark. "I may have," he said, turning to face her. He couldn't help but feel compelled to know this woman more. She was utterly fascinating, and he couldn't figure her out. "Sometimes, though, when your anxiety or stress levels are high, you," he paused, clearing his throat again. "You have to be somewhat daring." He turned her face towards him with his hand, leaning in and kissing her briefly. He pulled away quickly, standing up and turning away from her. "I apologize. That crossed some sort of line, I'm sure. I don't know what came over me." He clasped his hands behind his back, still facing away from her.
Hex Code: #B22222
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"Maybe someday I can teach you how to play," Renée smiled slightly, looking over at him when he said she would have to teach him to play the piano in return. "I think I can do that." She replied looking back at the piano.
She listened closely as Sherlock spoke, he himself seemed to be on edge, she couldn't figure out why though. She turned her head to look at him again when he placed his hand on her cheek, his touch was warm, it made her feel safe. When he leaned in and gently kissed her, Renée relaxed considerably, but it was only a brief moment and then Sherlock was standing his back to her, hands tightly grasped behind his back.
"I apologize. That crossed some sort of line, I'm sure. I don't know what came over me." Renée smiled slightly to herself standing up, she quietly moved over to him, she stood so close to him there was only about an inch of space between their bodies. Sherlock was quite a bit taller than Renée was, being so close to him caused her to have to tilt her head to make eye contact with him.
"Don't apologize, you didn't cross a line." Renée kept her eyes fixed on his for a few moments, trying to figure out what was running through his head, she rested a hand on his chest, his heart was beating fast, probably as fast as hers was. "I would probably be more upset, if you didn't do that again." because they were standing, Renée had to get on her tiptoes, and even then she had to tilt her head slightly, she hesitated for a moment, Sherlock was a sociopath, a textbook one at that, the whole situation confused her, yet that didn't stop her from bringing their lips back together.
The kiss lingered this time, causing Renée's lips to tingle and her heart rate spike just a little more, she couldn't recall the last time she felt that safe, she didn't think she had ever felt that safe, and she didn't want the moment to end. When they did break apart, Renée remained on her tiptoes for another minute. "We should get back...the others will begin to wonder where we are." Renée finally spoke, it was a whisper more than anything, she leaned forward again, this time simply brushing her lips across Sherlock's, before she hesitantly moved away from him, heading towards the door, she knew he followed behind as she could hear his footsteps.
"There you two are." John seemed relieved, as if he was worried something had happened to them, he looked Renée over once and gave her a worried look. "Are you feeling alright Renée? You are very flushed and your breathing is uneven." Renée had to do her best not to smile, she was sure Sherlock would want that a secret from everyone. "Yes, I'm alright, just anxiety, I'm also fairly tired and sore, its been a long shift." Renée replied, the one time her Anxiety had actually been useful to her. "Do you need anything?" John asked, he still seemed fairly concerned, and anyone would be given the fact they didn't have all of the information. "No I should be alright soon."
Renée could feel Mycroft gazing at her, if you could call it that, he was more glaring at her, shifting between herself and Sherlock, it made her a little bit nervous. "I think its time we all head home."
Renée almost growled turning dropping the bow looking at Sherlock, she was flustered and upset, he seemed to be rather amused by her difficulty with the instrument. "This is a waste of time, I haven't played one right note in the last hour. John was out again, Renée decided that was for the best, she frowned going over to where Sherlock was standing, she held his bow and Violin out to him.
"Show me again, please?" She asked clear frustration in her voice, she was convinced she would never get the hang of it.
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Sherlock could hear Renée stand, the bench at the piano creaking ever so slightly as she moved. Then she was in front of him. She was quite a bit shorter than he was, and he looked down at her with his eyes, keeping his face forward. Her head was tilted upwards so that she could look up at him, her eyes shining slightly under the fluorescent lights. "Don't apologize. You didn't cross a line," she said, and Sherlock took a deep breath in through his nose. Their eyes were fixed on each other. "I would probably be more upset if you didn't do that again." There was a touch of hesitation on her part as she got to her tiptoes before she pressed her lips against his. He put his hand gently on her waist, pulling her into him a bit more. His heart was racing; he hadn't felt like this before.
She pulled away, and Sherlock cleared his throat, removing his hand from her waist and clasping both of his hands behind his back again. "We should get back...the others will begin to wonder where we are." He nodded quickly in agreement. She quickly brushed her lips against his again before heading to the door. Before she caught the handle, he grasped her arm gently, turning her towards him. He kissed her again, and when he pulled away, he opened the door, motioning for her to exit first, smiling broadly as he did so.
"There you two are," John said, sounding relieved. "Are you feeling alright Renée? You are very flushed and your breathing is uneven." Sherlock had to try not to laugh at John's comment. Apparently he was slightly more apt to hiding it than she was. "Yes, I'm alright, just anxiety, I'm also fairly tired and sore, its been a long shift." "That it has. I'm sure my brother was no help either," Sherlock snipped, glaring at Mycroft. "Do you need anything?" John asked Renée. "No. I should be alright soon." Sherlock smiled slightly, looking down at his shoes, his hands clasped behind his back once again. "I think it's time we all head home. Sherlock nodded, and he, John, and Renée caught the same taxi home. It was slightly awkward on the ride home, as John was clueless, Renée seemed like she was about to burst out giggling, and Sherlock didn't know what to feel.
Renée dropped the bow again. "This is a waste of time. I haven't played one right note in the last hour." "'Practice makes perfect.' Or so they say. Even with practice, many people are still awful at things," he noted. She frowned and walked over to him, holding out his violin and bow. "Show me again, please?" He could hear the frustration in the tone of her voice. "Let's take a break, shall we? We could make some tea, relax for a moment, and then resume when you are feeling a little less frustrated. As you should know, you don't learn an instrument in one day." He took the violin from her, gently setting it into its case.
Her turned to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "It'll come to you," he said. He leaned in, kissing her. He cupped his hand along her jawline, his fingertips resting on her neck. "Ahem?" Sherlock pulled away abruptly, looking over to see John standing in the doorway. He hadn't even heard the door open. Sherlock cleared his throat, and without a word, he quickly made his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "Tea?" he asked, not directing the question towards anyone really. Once the kettle was on, he leaned on his hands on the counter, focusing on his breathing.
Hex Code: #B22222
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Renée rolled her eyes at his comment crossing her arms. "Let's take a break, shall we? We could make some tea, relax for a moment, and then resume when you are feeling a little less frustrated. As you should know, you don't learn an instrument in one day," "I would have liked to have at least played one note right," she let out a sigh when Sherlock took his violin setting it into its case, she smiled ever so slightly when he placed his hand on her shoulder.
"It'll come to you,"
Renée rolled her eyes again, this time in a more sarcastic manner, smiling when Sherlock kissed her, Renée moved closer to him. "Ahem," Renée jumped slightly while Sherlock pulled away from her, she looked past Sherlock to see John standing in the doorway. Renée watched Sherlock turn abruptly clearing his throat and going into the kitchen. "Tea?" Sherlock wasn't really talking to anyone.
Renée smiled slightly at John who had his eyebrows raised. "I would like some." She replied turning to take a seat in one of the chairs, she heard John move into the room. "Are we all just going to pretend that didn't happen?" Renée held back a giggle, she found it all rather entertaining. "Sherlock was just teaching me the Violin." she informed John as if it was the only thing that had gone on while he was away, that hadn't been the first time Sherlock and her had kissed since John had been gone.
"It seems you were doing more than just that." John sat down across from Renée practically glaring at Sherlock as he came over with the tea. "How long has this been going on?" Renée looked down at her cup of tea. "Since the mishap at the hospital..." she replied so softly she was surprised John heard her. "That was nearly two weeks ago!" Renée glanced over at Sherlock, she had told him John would be upset if he found out before Sherlock told him. "Why didn't you tell me?" that question was directed towards Sherlock, Renée looked back down at her tea taking a few sips. Silence filled the room though Renée was painfully aware of the staring match that was going on between the two friends, when she finished her tea she stood up. "I have to get to work..."
"Renée sit down, you took the night off." Renée sat back down rolling her eyes. "I may not notice everything, but I'm not oblivious."
"I will make dinner then...while you two talk."
Renée
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"I would like some," he heard Renée say in response. He smiled to himself, grateful to have her there. "Are we all just going to pretend that didn't happen?" John asked. "Sherlock was just teaching me the Violin." Sherlock had to stifle his laugh over Renée's remark. "It seems you were doing more than just that," John said, glaring at Sherlock as he entered the room with the tea. "How long has this been going on?" Sherlock poured himself some tea and stood near the chair that Renée was sitting in. "Since the mishap at the hospital," she replied, so softly that Sherlock almost missed it.
"That was nearly two weeks ago!" John stated, obviously angry that Sherlock hadn't made mention of anything. "Why didn't you tell me?" John asked, the question directed at Sherlock. Sherlock stared into his tea, trying to find the words to say to John. Silence fell over the room as he attempted to find them. "I have to get to work," Renée said as she finished her tea, standing up to leave. "Renée, sit down. You took the night off," John snapped, and she returned to her seat. "I may not notice everything, but I'm not oblivious," he said. Sherlock couldn't help the laugh that came out of him.
"And what's so funny, Sherlock?" Sherlock smiled, his gaze turning from his tea to John. "You're quite oblivious, actually. You didn't notice what was going on. I'm quite disappointed in you, John," Sherlock noted, sipping his tea. "I will make dinner then...while you two talk." And with that, Renée went off to the kitchen, leaving John and Sherlock alone.
John took a deep breath, and Sherlock assumed he was probably trying to hold back his anger. "Sherlock," he began. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was calmer now. "Honestly, John. I didn't exactly know how. I wasn't exactly sure what it was. Now, I'm a little more sure, but even then, I'm not." He cleared his throat, looking into his empty teacup. He set the cup down on the table and folded his hands, placing them in his lap. "You still could've told me," John said, seemingly feeling somewhat hurt by Sherlock not confiding in him the second something happened. "I didn't have anything to say, John. Like I said, I didn't know what this was. And I still don't, completely," he said, glancing toward the kitchen where Renée was busy cooking.
"This isn't like the others ones, is it, Sherlock? You can't do that to her," John said, and Sherlock knew what he was referring to. Sherlock had a tendency to get close and seemingly intimate with women in order to get what he needed out of them, promptly breaking their heart once they were of no more use. "No, John. I don't think so." He looked John in the eyes, hoping that he would believe him. Sherlock hoped that Renée hadn't heard John's last question. He didn't want a single seed of doubt planted in her head about his feelings for her. He also hoped that she would finish soon; he was feeling uncomfortable but knew that John wasn't going to let him leave the situation.
Hex Code: #B22222
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Renée couldn't hear what the two were talking about, and she didn't exactly care to. When she was done cooking, she brought the plates in for the two of them before grabbing one for herself. She didn't say anything really in fact the entire meal was silent, when everyone was done Renée took the plates bringing them back to the kitchen.
She was sitting on the arm of the chair Sherlock was now sitting in and looked towards John who still seemed rather upset with his friend. "John, I'm sorry, we should have told you." John tapped his finger on the chair. "It isn't just this it's every little thing, he knows everything about me, and when anything important happens to him I am the last to know. He could die, and I would probably still be the last to know," John stood abruptly grabbing his coat. "I need some air."
"John, please!" Renée stood up to try and stop him, but he simply pushed past her without another word, she turned to Sherlock with a sigh, she wasn't fond of conflict, especially when she was the cause. Renée moved back over to Sherlock sitting where she had been before this time leaning over so her head was resting on his shoulder. "You need to talk to him when he gets back." she said softly slightly looking up at Sherlock.
Work had been a tedious task over the next few days for Renée, with John and Sherlock still in some sort of argument she was always worried about both of them. She left work heading to their flat like she did everyday, walking up the stairs to the sound of the violin, when she came through the door, John was sitting in his chair facing away from Sherlock, and Mycroft also happened to be here.
"Ah, Renée I hear you're my little brothers newest play thing." Renée flinched at the sound of a very wrong note coming off of Sherlock's violin, even John looked up from his paper and over at Sherlock who had ceased his playing. "Should I just go?" Renée asked looking at Mycroft. "Since, you clearly don't really like me."
Mycroft stood from where he was sitting smirking at Sherlock who had turned around and didn't seem very happy, Mycroft just seemed to have a need to anger his brother. "Oh no, don't go. These two aren't speaking to one another, and Sherlock refuses to speak to me about the case involving my agent that you killed. You're the most exciting thing that has happened in this apartment today."
"How is your Father Renée?" Renée stiffened looking at Mycroft, she couldn't tell if he was trying to make her snap, or test Sherlock, really see what was going on. "He's fine, as far as I know." Mycroft nodded slightly. "Ah, I see you still haven't solved your daddy problems." Renée scoffed crossing her arms over her chest.
John seemed to have gone back to his paper, not wanting to get involved, or simply not caring. "Your Mother died didn't she? When you were little, you tried to save her life working tirelessly to find a cure, you failed...That part didn't surprise me, your intelligence and keen observation skills are proving to be a waste of a gift." That time Renée didn't say a word, she simply looked down at the floor taking in a shaky breath before turning and heading back down the stairs, before she was at the bottom of the steps she was already muffling sobs.
Mycroft turned to Sherlock. "That was too easy." he watched Sherlock for a minute. "Now that your newest toy has left and I have your attention, why don't you be useful Brother dear, and help me solve this case."
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John and Sherlock were still not exactly on speaking terms. Sherlock was playing the violin, ignoring Mycroft, who was in their flat. The door opened, and Sherlock assumed that it was Renée, as it usually was. "Ah, Renée I hear you're my little brothers newest play thing." Sherlock's bow slipped, an awry note coming from his instrument. He turned to face Renée, violin still in hand."Should I just go? Since you clearly don't like me," she snipped, looking at Mycroft. Sherlock was angry but chose to stay silent, hoping that Mycroft wouldn't be his usual self.
"Oh no, don't go. These two aren't speaking to one another, and Sherlock refuses to speak to me about the case involving my agent that you killed. You're the most exciting thing that has happened in this apartment today." "She didn't kill him," Sherlock said under his breath. "Oh, yes, she did, brother dear," Mycroft responded, and Sherlock glared at him. "How is your father, Renée?" Sherlock stiffened at the question, knowing that it was a touchy subject for her. "He's fine as far as I know," she replied. Sherlock looked at her, his eyes almost pleading. He wished Mycroft would disappear. At least that's how he felt in this moment.
"Ah, I see you still haven't solved your daddy problems." Renée crossed her arms, scoffing at Mycroft's comment. "Your Mother died didn't she? When you were little, you tried to save her life working tirelessly to find a cure, you failed... That part didn't surprise me, your intelligence and keen observation skills are proving to be a waste of a gift." Sherlock's expression went from concern to utter shock. Renée quickly turned to leave, and Mycroft stopped Sherlock from following her. "That was too easy," Mycroft said, turning to Sherlock. "Now that your newest toy has left and I have your attention, why don't you be useful Brother dear, and help me solve this case."
Sherlock drew in a shaky breath, his anger over the situation swelling up. He looked at Mycroft, and his glare could have burned holes in his brother's eyes if looks were that powerful. He clenched his fist, trying to contain himself. "Little brother. We all know what you're doing. She isn't the first you've done this too," Mycroft sneered, smirking at his little brother. This pushed Sherlock over the edge, and he clocked Mycroft square in the face. "Don't you say a word about her," Sherlock said, his voice shaky and upset. It almost sounded as if he were going to cry, and he couldn't help it. He was angry and upset, but he'd never felt it this strongly before. His last action caught John's attention. He'd closed his newspaper and was looking at Sherlock. Sherlock glanced at John, straightening his jacket.
He sniffed, trying to contain himself once again. "Oh, little brother. You're going all out for this little show, aren't you? It's very convincing, I must say." Before Mycroft could get another word out, Sherlock punched him again. This time hard enough to knock his condescending older brother out cold. John stood quickly in reaction, and Sherlock looked at his friend again. Her turned on his heel, quickly moving down the stairs. He crossed the street without paying attention, barely avoiding one car and causing another to squeal to a stop. He got to Renée's door and held his hand up, ready to knock, but he hesitated. What if she didn't want to see him? Doubt. What if she blamed him for his brother's words? Guilt by association. Regardless of all the possibilities swarming through his head, he knocked, waiting for her to answer.
Hex Code: #B22222
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Renée heard the knock coming from her door, and stood up on shaky legs from where she had curled herself up against the wall, her anxiety took Mycroft's words and got the best of her. She opened the door not even bothering to wipe her eyes, there was no point, when she saw Sherlock she stood for a minute just looking at him her eyes glazed over from the tears, and new ones forming. She let Sherlock in without a word quietly closing the door, noticing the bruising and swelling on his hand she assumed he had punched his brother and more than once by the look of it.
Renée took his bruised hand carefully, it was the doctor in her, and she cared about Sherlock. "I'll get you some ice." she said, her voice soft and shaky, very fragile sounding, she knew she probably looked very fragile, she sure felt it.
Returning with the ice, Renée gently took Sherlock's hand again, her tears had stopped but her face was still red from the crying and her breathing still labored from the anxiety attack that had shook her moments before, she gently placed the ice over the swelling trying her best not to hurt him, she knew enough from tending to wounds like that on her brother that it was often tender, but Sherlock didn't seem to react.
"You didn't have to hit your brother..." Renée spoke up again, carefully lifting the ice to see if the swelling was subsiding before placing it back. Renée looked up at Sherlock she could see the concern and guilt all over him, it was the first time since she had met the man he had been easy to read. She sighed lifting her free hand gently placing it on his cheek.
"I'm okay." She started. "And don't go blaming yourself for your brothers actions, it isn't your fault." Renée rested her hand on his chest, the way she had one of the first times they had kissed, she watched him for a moment more before resting her head by her hand, still using her other one to keep the ice on Sherlock's hand.
After a few moments like that Renée moved simply to take the Ice off of Sherlock's hand, satisfied that the swelling had gone down she placed the Ice on a nearby table, Sherlock still seemed upset which caused Renée to sigh. She moved back to stand in front of him, it was impossible to tell she had been crying at that point, as her eyes were no longer red and neither was her face, it had returned to its usual pale state.
Renée rested her hand just bellow Sherlock's shoulder, she wanted to kiss him, but she wasn't sure then was the right time, yet she still leaned up pressing her lips to his, she didn't know how else to ease his guilt, to show him she wasn't angry with him, she knew he wouldn't believe her words. She meant it to be only on kiss, but every time they broke apart it was just to draw in a breath.
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When she opened the door, it was obvious she'd been crying and that she was trying to refrain from doing so more. After letting him in, she took his hand gently. "I'll get you some ice," she said shakily, and before he could protest, she'd gone to the kitchen. He sat down, and when she returned to him, she had a pack of ice with her. She gingerly put it on his hand, but it didn't hurt in the slightest. Usually things like this did, but Sherlock was too numb from his anger. "You didn't have to hit your brother..." "He deserved it," he said, his voice not wavering, his expression seemingly stern.
"I'm okay. And don't go blaming yourself for you brother's actions. It isn't your fault," she said, putting her hand on his chest. She locked eyes with him for a moment before resting her head on his chest as well. "He's an arrogant ass. He needed to have a little reality check," Sherlock said, running the fingers of his free hand through Renée's hair. She sat up to check his hand, and the swelling had gone down considerably. She placed it on a nearby table and sighed as she looked at him. "Please, don't sigh at me, Renée. I'm allowed to be angry right now," he noted, giving her a sort of side smile. Her face was no longer red, and she didn't look as though she'd been crying.
"You're not a toy," he whispered, his voice shaking, the sound of it getting caught in his throat as he became upset again. He cleared his throat. "I apologize for how he made you feel." He looked at her as she placed her hand just below his shoulder. She leaned in, kissing him. His hand moved to hold the back of her neck as they kissed. It was more than one kiss. There were quite a few. When they broke apart, he paused, looking away from her for a moment. "Renée. Please believe me when I tell you that you are not just a play thing. I do have...feelings for you. I'm not exactly sure how to deal with them yet, but I'm hoping that I'll learn. Please. Believe me," he said, locking eyes with her for a brief moment before kissing her again.
Sherlock insisted that Renée accompany him back to his flat. Whatever Mycroft had to say, Sherlock would shut down. Reluctantly, she agreed, which was understandable. When they entered, Mycroft was sitting in Sherlock's chair, holding a frozen steak to his face, his eye bruised and his jaw as well most likely. It looked like his nose was possibly broken too. John was still sitting in his chair; he had reopened his newspaper. "You've brought your play thi-" "Shut your bloody trap, Mycroft. Nobody wants to hear your grating voice at this time of day. Or any time of day for that matter," Sherlock said, closing the door behind them. "All I want to know is what you need from me regarding the case. You will make no remark regarding Renée, or I will never help you with anything, ever again. And, 'brother dear,' we all know that you need me." Sherlock had his hands cupped behind his back again, staring at Mycroft.
"You wouldn't da-" "Oh but I would dare, Mycroft. I don't make empty threats, now do I?" He stepped over to the window, looking out of it. "I'm bloody tired of your condescension. Now. What is it you need of us?" "'Us?'" "Yes, us. The three of us. John, Renée, and me. Where is your confusion? Or are you just ignorant?" He turned to face his brother. "Also, get out of my chair," he said, anger in the undertones of his voice. Not wanting to test his brother's patience at this point, Mycroft obliged, getting up and standing next to John. "Right," Sherlock started, moving to his chair and sitting down. "Where shall we begin?" Sherlock smiled, glaring at Mycroft as he did so.
Hex Code: #B22222
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"Renée. Please believe me when I tell you that you are not just a play thing. I do have...feelings for you. I'm not exactly sure how to deal with them yet, but I'm hoping that I'll learn. Please. Believe me," "Sherlock Holmes, did I ever once say I didn't believe you? you seem to forget, I'm a lot more like you than everyone else. I know when people are lying to me, even you." Renée smiled at him, it was a mix between her normal sweet smile, and a little bit of a challenge that she knew one day he would take her up on, then they were kissing again.
"I really don't think this is a good idea..." Renée looked at Sherlock as they headed back over to his flat, all she seemed to be doing was causing problems with everyone, and Sherlock had just punched his brother only maybe an hour and half before, because of her. However, despite her reluctance she did follow Sherlock, keeping a smile from spreading over her face when she saw the state of Mycroft, her original analysis had been correct, Sherlock had hit him more than once.
Renée stayed silent while Sherlock in a way laid out the rules of how the rest of the encounter would go. "Right," Sherlock sat down in his chair, Renée moved to stand beside him, her eyes fixed on Mycroft who surprisingly was holding his tongue. "Where shall we begin?" "I think we should start with the skip code." Renée spoke before Mycroft had the chance, Mycroft seemed to chuckle slightly.
"Oh yes, the skip code, it really does seem to be a whole bunch of numbers." Mycroft said handing Sherlock the piece of paper. "Our biggest concern is the information we lost with that agent. That is your job Sherlock, you need to find out what information he had, and why it got him killed."
"It's a terrorist attack." Renée said more to Sherlock than anyone else pointing at the numbers. "Look, the first two numbers are nine and eleven, nine eleven, and the next numbers are the times both planes hit the twin towers." Renée looked at Mycroft. "This was your agents way of telling us there is a planned terrorist attack. He knew he was going to die, his cover must have been blown. He became resourceful."
Mycroft smirked at Renée. "I guess you aren't as useless as I thought you were." Renée rolled her eyes, Mycroft gave Sherlock the task of finding out where the Terrorist attack would take place before leaving, Renée looked over at John who stood up a few moments after.
"I'm going out, Sherlock do me a favor, if you two get up to...anything, go into a room." Renée let out a small laugh as John disappeared down the stairs. "At least he actually spoke to you..." She laughed a little more smiling over at Sherlock.
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"I think we should start with the skip code." "Oh yes, the skip code, it really does seem to be a whole bunch of numbers. Our biggest concern is the information we lost with that agent. That is your job Sherlock, you need to find out what information he had, and why it got him killed." Mycroft handed the piece of paper to Sherlock as he spoke. Renée pointed at the numbers on the paper. "It's a terrorist attack. Look, the first two numbers are nine and eleven, nine eleven, and the next numbers are the times both planes hit the twin towers. This was your agents way of telling us there is a planned terrorist attack. He knew he was going to die, his cover must have been blown. He became resourceful." Sherlock smiled at Renée's brilliance. She had caught something that Mycroft didn't, and that pleased him greatly. He enjoyed watching Mycroft's expression change from being better than everyone to being surprised.
"I guess you aren't as useless as I thought you were." Mycroft said, smirking at Renée. "Thank you, Mycroft. You can leave now." "Yes, well. Find out where it will take place, Sherlock. The attack." And with that, he left the flat. Just then, John stood. "I'm going out, Sherlock. Do me a favour. If you two get up to...anything, go into a room," he said. "No promises," he said, smiling at him. John shook his head, smiling as he left the flat. "At least he actually spoke to you..." Renée said, smiling and laughing. "He'll come 'round. He always does. He forgives me for everything. Even when I faked my own death and stayed hidden for two years, and he had no idea I was alive. However, that's a story for another time. We need to figure out where this attack is going to take place." Sherlock looked at her as he spoke. He leaned into her, kissing her quickly. "This is a room," he said, laughing, his nose scrunching slightly as he did.
He looked back at the paper, which had some last numbers on it, but they were different than the other numbers. "Hold on. Look here. These last few numbers. They're different. The last six sets of numbers are all decimals with a letter after them. By skip code, that gives us: 51.5056n & 0.0756w." He closed his eyes, racking his brain for an answer. "Got it! Coordinates. 51.5056° North and 0.0756° West. Where is that...?" He searched his mind again, looking for the pinpoint. He opened his eyes once he found it and looked at Renée. "The Tower Bridge. That's where it's going to happen." He looked down at the paper, flipping it to the other side. Blank. "When, though? When?" He stood, thinking. He looked to Renée, hoping for some sort of answer, but he knew she probably didn't have one.
"What's the date?" Before she could answer, Sherlock grabbed his cellphone, checking the date. "The 10th of September. It's tomorrow. They're using the same date. That's why he mentioned it in the skip code. Not just to let us know that it was going to be a terrorist attack but that the date was going to be the same." He grabbed his coat quickly, heading for the door. "Come on! We're going to Mycroft's office," he said, attempting to put his coat on as quickly as he could. He put on his scarf and headed down the stairs. "Sherlock, where are you rushing off to?" "Not now, Mrs. Hudson! Trying to stop a terrorist attack!" he shouted at her as he left. He flagged down a taxi and got in it, Renée behind him, and they were off.
Hex Code: #B22222
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