Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Six

They rode together in the back of a black cab. Neither spoke. Instead they sat looking out at the dark streets through streams of rain against the window. The cab stopped on Baker Street. Margaux climbed out. Sherlock leaned forward and handed the driver money before climbing out after her. They stood together outside 221B; Sherlock took off his long, dark coat and draped it over Margaux's bare shoulders. He walked up to the door, she followed.

III

Inside the flat was warm and Mrs Hudson had vacuumed, Sherlock could tell. He wondered if John was back yet. Probably not. He seemed to hit it off with one of the guests at the museum; yet another woman to add to the list of girlfriends Sherlock couldn't quite remember the names of. He removed his scarf and loosened his bow tie before walking to his desk and closing the pages of research that he no longer needed.

"Well, thank you," said Margaux, catching Sherlock's attention. She took his coat off and lay it gently on the couch.

"What for?" he asked.

"Well where to start? Thank you for... letting me stay here tonight with you and John. Thank you for... lending me your coat. Thank you for... Quite literally saving my life on that balcony."

"Saving your life? I was saving my own, you just so happened to be the first thing I grabbed on the way down."

"It's okay to admit that you care," Margaux laughed. "You're not losing any points for caring."

Sherlock paused. He shut his laptop and looked up at Margaux. "I saved you because that's what I do."

She sighed and stepped towards him, "You didn't just save me, Sherlock. You threw yourself in front of me like a shield. Why can't you just admit that you're not completely made out of stone?"

"You're trying to create something that isn't there, Margaux."

"Attraction is human."

"Attraction is stupid. Weak. A waste of time–"

"I'm not stupid. Weak, maybe."

"Why would you be so eager to call yourself weak?" His eyes burned through her as he tried to figure her out.

Margaux laughed in disbelief. She didn't think she could be any more transparent. "Because for some reason my heart beats in my bloody throat every time you look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like this, right now," she began. "This face, these eyes, the way you're looking at me right this second..."

"I'm simply looking at you." Sherlock walked across the room into the kitchen. "It would be rude to not look at the person you're talking to."

"But see you're not denying it. Because you can't deny it." She followed him.

"What do you want from me, Margaux?" Sherlock turned around quickly, startling her. "Do you want me to tell you you're different? That I've fallen in love with you and that I just can't bare not being around you?" He stepped closer to her and cupped her face in his hands, his voice deep and slow as he spoke. He walked her backwards to the kitchen table, lifting her onto it and pressing his body between her legs. He grasped her hair in his fists. "Do you want me to kiss you?" His lips were close enough to touch hers. "Undress you? Take you right here on this table? Because I could."

There was silence. Margaux's breath quivered.

"Because I'm brilliant at pretending to feel," Sherlock finished. He stepped away, leaving her breathless.

Margaux gulped, bringing herself back to reality. "Of course, how could I forget, you're a 'sociopath'. And I suppose the fact that your pupils dilated when we were face to face, the fact that your pulse sped up... that's all just a sociopath mastering the art of involuntary biological reactions? Which is physically impossible to do by the way."