Welcome to Baker Street

25. Flames

A few weeks later

It is a chilly November day, and Sherlock comes back to Baker Street after wandering around the city for hours, lost in thought. When he walks through the door of his flat, his nostrils instantly catch an intense smell of smoke. He gazes at the flames on the other side of the living room and gapes.

"What happened to the fireplace?" He blurts out.

Giulia, who is sitting cross-legged on the carpet, looks over her shoulder and smiles brightly at him.

"You mean the fact that it is currently hosting a fire?" She points at the warm glow in front of her.

"No, no, no. Bad idea. It's completely wrong." He rushes to her.

"I'm quite sure this is its primary function."

"There's no time for jokes. Put it out, now," he shouts angrily.

She does a double-take at his furious reaction and protests, "No way. It took me half an hour to light it up like this. What's the problem?"

"My secret supply," he replies tartly.

"Your what?"

"My cigarettes. I always keep an emergency packet inside the fireplace." He hurries towards it, stretching out his arms. She quickly pushes him aside, away from the burning embers.

"Don't touch, you'll get burned," she warns as if she were dealing with a child.

"No problem. I'm already boiling with rage." He glares at her.

"Calm down, alright? I found your cigarette pack before starting the fire," she says serenely.

"Thank goodness. Where – is – it?" he spells out.

She grins and casts an eloquent glance at the fire next to her.

"I thought it'd be an excellent fuel and threw it into the flames."

Sherlock gives a helpless look at the fireplace and murmurs lividly, "Right now, I loathe you."

"You're very welcome," she replies as if he had just thanked her. "I can save your lungs anytime."

"Why did you do that? Why are you like this?"

"Worried about your health and life expectancy, you mean? Oh, I don't know: it might be a collateral effect of being human," she retorts with a wry smile, quite acquainted with his peculiar ideas about sentiment and feelings of any sort.

"You, you—" He struggles to contain his anger and bites down on his lip. "Please, leave me alone," he eventually hisses.

"Sure. I'll let you contemplate the reaching of your goal." She stands up and heads towards the door.

He doesn't even turn to her when he asks, "What goal?"

"Ten days without smoking. Be proud of yourself." She takes one last glance at him before leaving the room, moving out of the threshold to let John in, overloaded with grocery bags.

"What a pleasant warmth," he exclaims. "It's about time someone lit up that fireplace."

"Not you too." Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"I'm glad to finally receive the right reaction. Thanks." Giulia smiles at him before descending the first steps.

John frowns at her. "Why are you leaving?"

She nods in the direction of the detective. "He wants me out of his way."

Watson sighs. Knowing Sherlock, he must not have been too delicate in his request for personal space. He scowls at his silent flatmate, asking, "What happened?"

"She burned my cigarettes," Holmes groans, sinking into his armchair.

"Didn't she know that Mrs Hudson has a lot of wood?" John replies sarcastically.

"I'm not in the mood, John."

Watson sits down in his armchair across from him.

"Seriously, though, was it in retaliation for something you did to her? Did you read her diary again?"

"It's not the case, but even if Giulia and I were at war, why would you assume I started it?" Sherlock glowers at him.

John rests his back against the seat and smirks. "Because I know you. Both of you."

Two hours later, Sherlock goes downstairs and opens the door of 221C without even bothering to knock. A sense of déjà vu assails him: Giulia is sitting in the middle of her tiny living room, legs crossed, facing the flames crackling in the grate. She did it again.

"You are genuinely attracted to fire," he points out, walking closer. She doesn't turn around, not even when he stops right behind her.

"I like playing with it, always have. There was a fireplace at my house when I was a child in Rome. I used to spend hours in front of it, just staring at the flames. It was calming and hypnotic."

"Fire can be dangerous."

"And fascinating. Some of the most beautiful things on Earth are also the most dangerous. Ironic, isn't it? You can't even admire the beauty of this world without the risk of leaving it for good." She closes her eyes and lets the warmth of fire caress her cheeks.

They stay quiet for a while, listening to the pleasing crackle. Then Sherlock breaks the silence.

"What's your idea about murder?"

This time, she turns to him and raises a brow with a sarcastic grimace. "Look, you can be very irritating sometimes, but I'm not planning to kill you."

"I didn't say about committing a murder."

"I see. You mean, what are my thoughts about being a victim, then?" Her ever-present sarcasm colouring all her phrases.

"That's why I find it difficult to deal with people: no one ever understands me," he moans. "I'm actually here to extend an olive branch. Now, please, try to focus: would it upset you to walk into a crime scene?"

She pauses for a second. Even though she joined her flatmates in the secret agent's case, and she has already spent several weeks living in Baker Street now, she realises that she never considered the idea of tagging along to a crime scene.

"As far as I'm not directly involved, I don't think so." She shrugs with a smile.

"Excellent, because that's exactly where we're going," he says and sticks his head out of the door, calling out towards the staircase, "John, get ready. We're all leaving."

Watson appears on the landing. "Where to?"

"Lestrade texted me: a new case. Take your coat."

"No, Sherlock, wait. Do you really think this is a good idea?" Watson hints at Giulia's involvement and argues, "Remember what happened last time? Terrorists, shootings, explosions, lives at stake, to mention just a few aspects."

Giulia turns towards the detective. "He has a point."

Sherlock shakes his head.

"First, never agree with him: you only encourage him. Second, if I recall correctly, your presence proved quite useful." He forces himself to mutter that vague compliment before walking to the front door. He stops with his hand on the handle and abruptly spins around to face Giulia.

"John was right about one thing, though. I should warn you: it might be difficult and possibly dangerous."

She gives him a determined look. "Do I look scared?"