Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Two

She stood on the steps of 221B Baker Street with her arms crossing her thick coat over her chest. The cold had turned the end of her nose pink and her wavy hair was blowing ferociously in the wind. She was shivering, yet still she stood there, staring at the golden numbers on the door, not quite ready to lift the knocker. What was she doing? Sherlock Holmes saw her as another tool in his repertoire, a source of information; to Sherlock, Margaux was nothing more than a device when his brilliant mind hit a speed bump, when he needed a second set of eyes or a search fast-tracked through the database. But there was something about him that compelled her to say yes. Every time. That was why she was standing in the freezing darkness outside his flat. That was why she finally lifted the knocker and tapped it against the door.

III

"So this Margaux..." John began as he sat in his armchair, "There seemed to be a bit of tension there..."

"Did there? I hadn't noticed," replied Sherlock. He was standing in the middle of the flat, staring at the wall which he had covered top to bottom in notes, photographs, clues and maps.

"You could have literally cut it with a knife," John laughed.

"Don't use the word 'literally' if you don't mean 'literally', John, it's irritating. You can't literally cut tension with a knife because tension is a feeling, a non-tangible thing. Cheese. You can cut cheese. Or cake. Or hair. But not tension."

John rolled his eyes behind Sherlock's back. "Fine well, I don't know, there seemed to be..."

"Seemed to be what?"

"There seemed to be some history  there. Did you two... ever..."

"Did we ever what, John? If you could try and finish a sentence, that would be really helpful."

"I don't know, Sherlock! It's weird talking to you about this stuff."

Sherlock spun on his feet to face John. A slight smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth; he enjoyed winding him up.

"Did we ever have sex? Is that what you're trying to ask?"

"Well... yes." John took a sip of tea trying to clear his throat.

"No. We didn't. I'm a sociopath, John, I don't do feelings." He waved his arm dismissively and turned back to the wall.

"So you wouldn't mind if I asked her out then?" asked John.

"Why would you do that?"

John wasn't sure if Sherlock understood that 'out' meant 'on a date'. "Well because she's beautiful, and smart. I think we'd have a lot in common."

Sherlock let out a laugh, louder than he had meant to. John's smile dropped, he rolled his eyes again and took a deep breath as he thought about what to say next. His next words were interrupted by a tap on their open door, and in the doorway stood Margaux.

"It's cold out there," she said.

John offered Margaux some tea. She nodded and watched as he disappeared into the kitchen. She took off her coat and draped it over her arm, walking slowly to Sherlock's side, both of them fixated on the wall of clues. She stood six inches smaller than Sherlock, her eyes just skimming his shoulder as she turned to look at him, admiring the intensity in his face as he studied his work; the clenched jaw, the pursed lips, the furrowed brows sitting heavy over his blue eyes. She looked back to the wall.

"So what is all this?" she asked.

"This man." He pointed to a picture of Bart Mentford, "A wealthy man about to become a whole lot wealthier. Found a piece of Painite while hiking with friends in Burma."

Margaux nodded, listening intently.

"Brings it back, museum offers him a huge deal, he starts receiving death threats."

"Jealousy?"

"No."

"Maybe he stole the Paintite?"

"No. No, no, no, come on, Margaux. You're the only other person brilliant enough to think outside the box."

"Well if you haven't got a clue then how am I supposed to?" Margaux laughed.

"Look at him." Sherlock walked up the picture of Bart and pushed his finger into it. "Something isn't right. But what?"

"I don't know, just give me a second," said Margaux as she began to walk along, examining the clues.

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to escape to his mind palace. He flitted through fact after fact, memory after memory. Nothing. He opened his eyes and turned to Margaux who was smiling.

"What? What is it?" He asked.

"It's obvious."

"What is?"

"This Bartholomew Mentford man. The answer's right in front of you." She laughed again.

Sherlock scanned the wall again, confused.

"He's not Bartholomew Mentford. He's an imposter," said Margaux.

III

John handed Margaux a cup of tea and leaned on the back of the armchair where she was sitting. They continued to watch as Sherlock paced the flat back and forth over and over again, mumbling to himself. She took a sip of tea and gave John a smile, he smiled back.

"But how!?" Sherlock stopped pacing and pivoted to face them.

"Is it really bothering you that much that I figured it out and you didn't?"

"Yes!"

Margaux laughed and shook her head. Sherlock growled and began pacing again.

"I need a cigarette. John, where have you hidden my cigarettes?"

"I threw them out."

"Fine. I'm going out. I'll be back after I've bought and smoked an entire pack." Sherlock walked out of the flat.

"Are you ever going to tell him how you figured it out?" John asked.

"Maybe. For now I'm enjoying the fact that I've outsmarted Sherlock Holmes." She laughed.

John laughed too, moving from the back of the armchair to the couch. "He is an enigma."

"He's fascinating," replied Margaux calmly, then she began to giggle. "Do you want to know something really embarrassing?"

"Go on," John smiled.

"Some time last year, he asked for my help to find something in the criminal archive. We worked so closely for an entire weekend, and after he solved the case..." She couldn't believe she was saying the words out loud. "I came onto him." She laughed. "and he completely rejected me."

"You are joking."

"Nope." She looked down to her tea, swirling the cup gently, watching the light glisten in the reflection of the milky, golden liquid.

She was enamoured by him. John could tell. And Sherlock had rejected her. Was he mad? Well, yes. Still, John was in awe.

"Anyway, I better get going. If you or Sherlock need any more help, just call." She stood up and put on her coat. "It was lovely to meet you, John."

III

She took off her coat and shoes by the front door, making sure to lock it behind her. She poured herself a glass of water and made her way into the bedroom where she undressed and slipped into bed. She covered her eyes and let out a sigh. She would tell him how she figured it out eventually. But right now, she needed sleep. She switched off the bedside lamp and curled on her side. Moments passed in the darkness, the hum of traffic from the street below was the only sound. Until the loud buzz of her phone against the bedside table made her jump. She rolled over and unlocked her phone.

Text Messages: Sherlock Holmes (1).