Sherlock's Shadowy Past - p.7

Irene wasn't looking at him. She was standing only a few centimeters away, but they weren't touching which John was finding rather disconcerting. The music was still wafting over cemetery to the odd group of spectators. He didn't recognize most of the tunes, but they seemed inexhaustible. One melody followed the other with hardly a pause in between.

The folding-chair audience was enthralled, sitting silently for the show. Staring at the snow-topped tombstones as if they were the source of the sound. It certainly seemed like it. Sherlock Holmes was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared among the dead.

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The music was so loud that the beat seemed palpable; reverberating through Violet's bones and seeping into her mouth to taste the sound. She simultaneously felt very small, dwarfed by the enormity of the setting, and very large, spurred on by the beat to be confident. She was glad to have Sherlock's arm around her waist, supporting her and pushing her through the crowd even as her feet faltered in their borrowed shoes. She and Irene had settled, more or less, to the left of the dance floor while Sherlock paid a visit to the bar to collect some of the brightly colored drinks displayed by the people around them. Irene appeared to be lounging on a convenient sofa, but Violet knew better. Irene was looking, watching every move of every person that passed by, looking for some indication that their "target" was nearby. She was in her element. Violet, on the other hand, was feeling awkward and exposed, standing there with her contacts out.

That's when she saw him.

He was leaning against the bar, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding a martini dyed to an unnatural blue. His ginger hair flopped over his forehead slightly, giving him the illusion of drunkenness even though his brown eyes, which Violet knew every speck of, revealed how sober he was. He was looking away from her, towards something mildly interesting across the room. It seemed to amuse him as one side of his mouth tilted up. On anyone else, the smile would have seemed pleasant and jovial, but on him it was cold and predatory. That smile hadn't always seemed so to Violet, maybe her opinion was being colored now by the fact she knew what lurked behind his bright smiles and carefully planned quips. He was still alluring though; still an enigma she wanted to decode. But now he was also the monster under the bed, the person―the thing―that she was terrified to face.

Henry.

"There's our target."

Violet jumped as Irene's voice came from right behind her. She glanced around, trying to follow the brunette's gaze, but her own kept coming back to Henry.

"Where?" she asked.

Irene pointed at the ginger- headed man. "Henry Van Buren. Rich, rather posh, moderately attractive I suppose. But don't be fooled. He's also running an embezzlement scandal, frequents illegal brothels and is a serial rapist, although of course we can't prove any of it. That's what we're here for. We either need to dig up some evidence against him or... dispose of him."

Violet realized that a very undignified squeak had just escaped her mouth.

Irene looked puzzled before elaborating. "Sherly will try first, just his usual deductive stuff, but if that fails then I'll try and get him to go to a hotel with me. If all that fails, that's when  we'd have to call in Crofty's thugs."

Violet nodded mutely.

"Okay, I'm going to leave you on your own for a minute then ― What the hell?" This last was directed outwards as Irene looked up and saw the criminal in question walking purposefully toward them across the dance floor.

"Holy shit." Violet hadn't meant to say it out loud, it just sort of happened.

Irene turned to look at her quizzically just as Henry reached them.

"Violet. Fancy seeing you here."

Violet opened and closed her mouth like a fish before emitting another tiny squeak.

"Hi, I'm Irene, one of Vi's friends." Irene said extending a hand for him to shake (or kiss, should he be so inclined), attempting to come to the blonde's rescue.

"How nice." He said dismissively before turning back to Violet. "So how's life?"

"As opposed to what?" Violet didn't know where he voice had come from, but she was rather pleased that it wasn't shaking... too badly.

The douche bag had the nerve to smirk at her.

Suddenly Violet felt a strong, warm arm wrap around her waist.

"Hey honey." Shocked by the endearment in a very familiar voice, she looked up to see Sherlock's ethereally pale face bending towards her own. She felt an electric warmth spread out from her mouth where it made contact with Sherlock's. It felt like the world was spinning. Sherlock had gone mad. Everyone had gone mad as the world was flipped onto its head. It was wonderful. The kiss was chaste, a brush of lips that was as superficial as a kiss could be, but it made Violet feel giddy. The arm around her waist tightened as her knees weakened and Sherlock pulled his face away, pressing a violet-colored drink into her right hand. She looked at the drink for a moment, some part of her mind recognizing the deliberate irony in the color, and waited for the spinning to abate.

Henry's eyebrows were disappearing behind his ginger fringe, but he stuck out his hand to Sherlock.

"You must be Violet's new boyfriend. I'm―"

"Yes. I know who you are." Sherlock was practically growling. His upper lipped had curled slightly. He looked at Henry as if he was the lowest life form on the planet, the kind of disgusting you scraped off your shoe with a ice-lolly stick because it was too disgusting to touch with your fingers. He looked dark and dangerous with his black curls falling over his forehead, and Henry suddenly looked like a toy poodle in comparison. It was like turning on the light and realizing that the monster in the closet was just a blanket.

Violet was starting to grasp Sherlock's plan. He was pretending to be her boyfriend to establish control of the situation. If Henry didn't know what was coming next, he might let himself slip a bit, and that little bit would be enough for Sherlock. He would be able to read volumes.  Violet slipped one hand up to Sherlock's shoulder to strengthen the idea that they were together. But it also raised an interesting and alarming possibility. Did Sherlock know? She supposed that knowing what Henry was guilty of and knowing that she had been checked into a hospital for nine months, closely followed by a psychiatric facility, that the truth wasn't a difficult leap. Even an average intellect could have guessed that the rapist in front of them had gotten her pregnant. Sherlock had probably known for months.

"You bounce back quickly, Vi." Henry smirked, ignoring Sherlock for now. Violet felt her fingers tighten on Sherlock's shoulder. The arm around her waist gave an answering squeeze. It felt nice, it felt right. Maybe she could convince Sherlock that this was a good disguise for other cases as well.

"Why shouldn't she?" Sherlock asked in a tone that the answer really couldn't interest him.

Henry smirked again. Violet could have laughed. He thought that he, Henry Van Buren, had outsmarted Sherlock Holmes. Well he had another thing coming to him.

"You haven't told him? Well I don't blame you." He smirked again, taking a sip of his drink. "A bit embarrassing really. You should―"

Violet registered the loss of the hand at her waist at the same second that she saw it make contact with Henry's face.

Irene was the first to react, stepping towards Sherlock as Henry stumbled backward before falling inelegantly on his arse. Sherlock was shaking out the hand that had made contact with the other man's nose. He looked wild. His dark curls had fallen from their usual swoop across his forehead and his eyes blazed with a dark fire that made his pale blue irises seem grey-green. He looked gorgeous.

Violet wasn't sure if it was the fact that he had just decked some guy for her or whether  she was just that far gone, but she grabbed a handful of that dove grey shirt and snogged him. Soundly.

She suddenly realized that with the exception of the chaste kiss a few minutes ago, she hadn't kissed anyone since the incident with Henry. And Sherlock was a lot better at kissing at Henry. He seemed shocked for a split second, pursing his lips tightly under hers, but then he seemed to take this kiss as some part of the act, of the case and he relaxed. Arms slid around her waist and his mouth opened up ever so slightly, just enough to allow Violet to reach out an exploratory tongue and lightly touch it to her lip. It wasn't particularly intense, or even very sexy, but Violet felt parts of her brain turn on that had been dormant for a while. The parts that controlled attraction and sex drive, and shut down other bits of her mind.

Then it was over. Sherlock pulled away so suddenly that Violet almost followed those lips. Sherlock looked back at the man struggling to his feet and sneered. He disentangled one arm, but kept the other locked securely around her waist. It felt possessive and... nice.

"Come on Violet." His voice seemed slightly huskier than normal like he had been emotionally amped up by the punching and the kiss... God he was a good actor.

As the left, Sherlock's arm stayed around her waist and Irene trailed behind them. They stayed that way until they were out the door and about a block away when  Sherlock's arm dropped and Irene started laughing so hard that she had to lean against a wall.

"You," she chucked, gasping for breath, "you, are completely," she devolved into giggles for a moment, "completely brilliant! That was... and the kiss! You're amazing."

"Err, thanks?" Violet murmured. She appreciated the complement, but it felt like she was missing something somehow.

"So Sherls," another giggle from Irene, "How was the kiss?"

Sherlock had steeped away from Violet at this point, tugging at his shirt as if straightening it, although his clothes were immaculate as always.

Sherlock ignored her. "Are you alright?" He was look at Violet, measuring her, assessing her, deducing her. Violet found that she liked that gaze. She must have looked fairly dumbstruck though because Sherlock continued. "I wasn't there for all of it. Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?" Then, when she didn't respond, "Irene, did anything happen?"

"You got snogged."

"Besides that."

"Was that your first kiss. I bet it was."

"So."

"It was?" Violet and Irene shrieked together.

Violet's hands flew to cover her mouth as if she could erase the violation that way. "Oh, I am so sorry, I didn't know, I just thought― and then you― but you kissed me first, so I just figured― I'm sooo sorry."

"So you are a virgin! I totally called that." Irene clapped her hands together in a way that was simultaneously devious and childlike.

"It's fine. Really, it's fine." Sherlock was trying to look collected, but his hair was still tousled from where Violet had run her hands through it and collected wasn't working for him right now.

"Anyway," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, "we have what we need now."

"Someone to snog you?" Irene teased and Violet promptly turned pink. Sherlock shot her a dirty look.

He held up a fist. "DNA evidence." He opened up to reveal several hairs on his palm.

So that's why he's punched Henry. Ooh he's good.

Violet didn't realize that she had said that out loud until they were both staring at her, Irene smirking and Sherlock grinning like a child on Christmas morning. Sherlock took the opportunity to  put the precious hairs into a plastic bag while Violet turned scarlet again. Once the evidence was tucked into his pocket, he held out his hands to the two women before him, grasping their hands and swinging them happily.

"Case solved! I'm starving, how about ice cream." Sherlock grinned, turning to Irene and Violet (who was still an attractive shade of pink, he noted) in turn.

"You act like a six-year-old sometimes, you know that, don't you?" Irene laughed.

Sherlock didn't answer he just wiggled his eyebrows at her before tugging the three of them down the alleyway, presumably towards the nearest source of ice cream.

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Sherlock paused slightly. Wondering if he should play the next song he had in mind. It was more modern than the songs he usually preferred, but it had been one of Violet's favorites. She didn't have a favorite song. She had laughed when he and asked and said that he may as well ask her to pick a favorite child. She had just laughed more when Sherlock had pointed out that she didn't have any and then she had explained that it was a figure of speech.

He placed the bow to the strings and began to play "My Heart Will Go On."

The problem is that his heart hadn't gone on. It had stopped. He had kept functioning, but it was more of a torture than a blessing. He just went on although his heart did not. He remembered the exact moment when he had felt it stop. It had lurched and then, just fell... he hadn't felt it since except for these rare moments when he buried himself in music and graves. Still, it hurt too much. He could only face this odd jumpstart of the heart once a year. He could only face her once a year.

Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on.

He stopped. He rested his forehead against the tombstone trying to slow his ragged breathing and quench the wetness that was dripping down his face and soiling the white marble of the tombstone. He knew the words even though she wasn't singing them.

Love can touch us one time, and last for a lifetime, and never let go 'til we're gone.

He didn't want to love. He didn't want to remember, but in the absence of music, his brain supplemented memories.

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Sherlock woke up to a dreadfully annoying beeping sound.  There was the sound of children and echoing footsteps to his right. Needles in his arm and heavy breathing on his left. Hospital then. He couldn't quite remember what had happened. He remembered being at that abandoned amusement park. He remembered that Violet― Oh, God.

Violet.

He opened his eyes and tried to sit up but the needles in his arms were restraining him. He reached over to yank them out, but his hands were stilled by another, larger one. He looked up to the grey eyes of his brother.

"Vi." Sherlock croaked out, his voice didn't seem to be working properly. His throat felt as if a semi-truck had tried to drive through it.

He saw Mycroft's answer in his eyes before the words reached his mouth.

"I'm sorry."

The world was spinning, he was vaguely aware of Mycroft pushing him back towards the pillows before blackness engulfed him.

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Sherlock shifted, head still on stone, trying to escape the memories.

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"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry."

"It's nothing." Sherlock grumbled as he tried to brush away Violet's flickering fingers. There was a reason she hadn't finished medical school and switched to chemistry. She was hopeless with first aid.

Sherlock took a hold of her hands and helped her place the sticking plaster she had ripped off about four times. It wouldn't be very sticky anymore, but he could replace it later. Right now, he had more important things than acid burns in mind.

He wrapped his arms around Violet's waist as she kneeled in front of him on the rug of her apartment. Pulling her in for a kiss, he could physically feel some of the worry leaving her mind. She relaxed into the kiss and pushed her fingers up into his hair. She seemed to have some sort of fetish for his hair, not that really minded, it felt amazing. It almost felt as she was pushing all the unwanted thoughts out of his brain. He let go of those thoughts and instead embraced the feelings that Violet simply seemed to exude as they fell back onto the rug. Together, always together.

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Violet took a tentative lick of her chocolate ice cream. For a man with no sense of personal space, he was standing awfully far away. She realized that she missed the brush of his coat against her arm and the warmth of his body. He was much too far away now even though he was keeping pace beside her.

She really hadn't meant to take his first real kiss with, you know... tounge. Irene seemed to think that it had all been part of the act, even as they dropped her off at her hotel room. Did Sherlock think the same? Did Violet? She wasn't sure what was going on in her own head, so how could she possibly work out what was in that of the man next to her? Especially when he was so freaking enigmatic.

He was repeatedly plunging his spoon into the large cup of chocolate-y goo he had ordered from the ice-cream parlor as he walked her home.

Did he blame her? Had he been saving kissing for someone special? Could she be that someone?

"Sherlock?"

"Hummm?" Was that an invitation to speak or to shut up? He wasn't giving any clues in either direction, just plunging his spoon into the ice cream.

"I'm really sorry. I honestly didn't know. I just sort of assumed..."

"Well you know what they say about when you assume."

Great. From "valuable assistant" to "that girl" to "helpful for the case" to "ass." Nice, Vi, just brilliant.

Sherlock scowled into his ice cream. "No, I don't mean that." He seemed slightly surprised by the revelation. "I really don't." He looked up at her. "It would have happened eventually, I'm sure, for some case or another and... and I'm glad it was you."

Did he really just say that? Oh yes he did. Violet felt her heart do a little victory lap around her chest.

"I just mean that― I don't mean―" Sherlock growled in frustration. "This is so frustrating! I usually know what to say. What people want to hear, what they don't want revealed. But I have no idea what the fuck is going on. I feel like my brain went for a jog and left me behind. And now I'm stuck, talking with you without actually knowing what I'm saying!" He took a deep breath. "I am glad it was you. Not because of any hope of romantic attachment but because I know you." He looked back at her. "I know you won't... You don't expect... You know what I'm not."

Those violet eyes were watching him. He couldn't figure out what they wanted, but they were watching him intently. Her chest was heaving although they had stopped walking quite without him noticing. She didn't say anything.

"When did you get the abortion?"

Violet's breath hitched and she took a little step back. Hurt shot through her eyes and Sherlock immediately wished the words unsaid, it wasn't an emotion he was familiar with.

Violet turned her head away. "A bit of a non-sequitur, don't you think?" She was trying to make her voice sound light, but it wasn't quite working.

"Well I'm much better at facts than kisses."

Violet laughed, but it wasn't her normal, warm laugh. It was cold, lifeless and it didn't touch her eyes. "Well you might want to review that statistic because your kisses might just give the facts a run for their money."

Sherlock blinked trying to figure out if that was a dig to his factual knowledge or a complement to his kissing ability.

"I didn't." She'd crossed her arms now, a defensive position. Violet was usually so warm, so open. Why was she closing off to him now?

"Didn't what?"

Violet snorted. "Get an abortion. I miscarried. I couldn't... I wouldn't have been able to―" She stopped quickly as her voice broke.

There was a trash can  on the sidewalk nearby. Sherlock watched as she walked over and threw the half-eaten cone inside. He did the same, more for a reason to follow her than because he was ready to dispose of the treat.

"Vi, I didn't mean―"

"Yes you did. You meant exactly that." She rounded on him, voice raised, fists clenched at her sides. "You wanted to throw me off, give me some other pain to focus on so that I wouldn't be focused on you. So you could crawl back into your emotional hole and hide." Her voice broke again and she stopped, looked down, unclenched her hands. "Fine. Whatever. Much good may it do you. Just one question." She looked back up at him. Her eyes were full of pain and Sherlock wanted desperately to erase his words that had caused it.

"One question, Sherlock. Was all this, all the cases, the running about, the adventure, did you do all that―" She paused, rephrasing her question. "Did you only include me in all that so that I could help with this case?"

Sherlock's eyebrows creased together. No. Every pore of his body was screaming no. But the problem was that wasn't true. His primary reason for including Violet in some recent cases had been for this. He knew that Mycroft would have him track down the illusive Henry Van Buren soon. He had worked out that it was the same Henry who had featured so prominently in Violet's past. It was why Mycroft had suggested she come along on that first case. It was why Sherlock had forced Mycroft to make that suggestion.

He watched as Violet swallowed. He was used to deducing, not being deduced. But Violet was deducing him now. Was seeing what he was trying to hide. She was seeing he yes in his eyes even as his mouth said no.

Violet let out another small, mirthless laugh and turned away.

"Goodbye, Sherlock. Thanks for walking me home, but I can make it from here."

She was walking away. She was leaving. It echoed with finality.

Meanwhile something very odd was happening to Sherlock.  There was an odd hollow ache springing up in his chest and an odd prickling behind his nasal cavity. It felt like he was spinning although he knew he was standing perfectly still. Still. Still! No, that was a problem, Violet was walking, he needed to be too, or he would lose her, he would lose the only person who―

"Violet." His voice didn't sound quite right, but it was enough to make Violet stop. Not enough to make her turn around and face him, but enough to stop her from moving further away.

"Violet." He said again. His brain was scrambling but he couldn't come up with anything more than her name.

She turned back this time. She was still wearing that wine-colored dress although she had borrowed a black leather jacket from Irene for the post-midnight cold. Her contacts were still out and she still looked stunningly beautiful. He remembered this revelation from earlier in the evening. He remembered the idea playing at the edges of his mind when he watched her work or laugh or... love.

He remembered the way her pupils had dilated and her heartbeat had pounded against his own after the kiss. Could it― no. Violet wouldn't... Would she?

Neither of them said anything as he walked towards her. She had shoved her hands into the pockets of the jacket, the posture still defensive. He stopped about two feet from her, suddenly unsure of why he had come over to her. Her closed off expression spoke of hostility. Something told him that nothing he could possibly say would make her open up again. Nothing he could say would bring aback that open smile and carefree laugh.

So instead of words, Sherlock Holmes chose action.

He placed one hand on either side of Violet's face and kissed her. Only this time it wasn't Violet's tongue that poked out experimentally, it was his. But it was also Violet who pulled away. Not far, just enough to transfer her face onto his shoulder. He felt wetness seeping through the thing material of his shirt and felt her chest heaving but it took him a few moments to realize that she was crying. She brought her hands up and wrapped them around his neck, but it was in need rather than forgiveness.

"Why?" Violet's words were muffled by material and collar bone. "Why did you have to do that?"

Sherlock felt shaky. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

She looked up at him, starry violet eyes reflecting the actual stars above in the water that leaked out of them.

"No." Her conviction surprised her as much as it did Sherlock.

"No, Sherlock. I don't want  your pity. I don't want you if your just― If you don't―" She paused trying to regain her thoughts before pushing herself away. "Goodbye Sherlock."

She walked alone down the remaining block and let herself into her flat before either of them could say anything more.