The Girl Without a Mark

Fire in Her Eyes

Sherlock studied the black-haired woman in front of him. She was petite, maybe five feet two inches, but looked like she could toss anyone her pissed her off onto their ass. Curvy, clothed in simple jeans, black boots, a black leather jacket over a white shirt. Both ears pierced, signs of a lip ring on the left side of her bottom lip, flawless skin, and eyes that showed no emotion save for defiance, like she had been singled out for something she couldn't control and therefore was pretty fiery about it. She was American, going by her accent, somewhere near New Orleans, as she had a faint Cajun French lilt when she spoke. An only child, mid-twenties, suffered a tragedy and moved to get away. Artist, going by the smudge of charcoal on her cheekbone, perhaps her chosen profession.Her posture was defensive, spine ruler-straight, shoulders back, teeth bared in imitation of a smile that Sherlock knew was actually a challenging snarl. But what she was challenging them to, he didn't know as she seemed to be the type to keep it a closely guarded secret, so he then came to the conclusion that it was the very thing she couldn't control and had been singled out for. Her hands twitched, fingers curling slightly, drawing his attention to her fingernails. They were like rounded points, most likely filed that way on purpose (perhaps to intimidate somehow?) as that's not the natural shape nails grow into and there were traces of charcoal on her fingertips, too. There was animal hair on her pant legs, short, pale, almost whitish silver and coarse belonging to a dog she owned.He told her all of this and she merely smiled at him."Now," he said. "Have I got all of that correct?""Nearly, darlin,'" she drawled. "It's not a dog.""There's always something," he muttered."It's a horse.""A horse? Why didn't I know that?""Most people don't have horses unless they have a ranch or breed them or want to use them for pets. I have a horse, but I am keeping it stabled as close to my hotel as possible. I raised it from a foal.""What breed? I'm guessing either a cremello or dapple grey.""Clydesdale, silver dapple.""You're rather small to be handling such a massive horse.""You forget already, darlin,' I raised Iah from a foal. He knows my weight and how I handle him. He listens to me because he learned a long time ago, that I am the one in control.""Iah, the Egyptian god of the moon, associated with Toth. Why?""He is silver-white like the moon, and he is rather wise and smart, much like Toth.""Excuse me," the military man interrupted. "Tooth? A horse, what?""Toth, Doc," I said, smiling in delight at his confusion. "Egyptian god of the moon, writing, science, magic, and speech who is also very wise and smart. Don't ya read mythology?""Not really," he replied. "how did you know I'm a doctor?""Well you carry yourself like a soldier but while your hands are like a soldier they aren't calloused the way a regular soldier's are so, therefore, you must have been either a nurse or a doctor and I really can't see you being a nurse," I added. "I'm observant, sir. Don't read too much into it. I'm not some sort of CIA or MI6 agent. Just a lowly graphic designer.""You're looking for a place to live," the taller one interrupted."Yes, sir, I am," I replied."Good. I'll meet you both at 7, I'll text you the address.""Your name, Sir.""Sherlock Holmes," he replied, sweeping out of the room.