He Stole My Cab (Benedict Cumberbatch Fanfiction)

Chapter Thirty Three

Along the centre of the table were dishes full of steaming food, everything from roast potatoes and a succulent leg of lamb to quail and asparagus. My mum had put a lot of effort into this meal but then again everything she does is for show; this enormous house with two people living in it, her clothes or the way everything was pristine and clean. Everyone starting to eat, helping themselves to everything on the table and a content silence fell on the room with only the scrapping of a knife against a plate disturbing it.

“So Benedict what is it that you do?” My father boomed from the head of the table. Everyone in unison turned their heads towards him each with a quizzical look on their face. Benedict put down his knife and fork, whipped his mouth with a dazzlingly white napkin and turned to my father “Well currently I am in acting” he said politely. Mum’s cheeks were bright red at this point and she turned to dad and muttered something to him. “That’s him? The detective? No!” and dad starting roaring with laughter a look of realisation on his face “Well of course I can see the connection now, good on you lad we all enjoy watching Sherlock, very much so don’t we Susan” my mum’s cheeks seemed to be radiating heat as they glowed a deep dark red, guess I know where I got that trait from…

 A general chat started round the table with a variety of things being discussed from business (of course) and I have to say I was very impressed with Benedict’s input into the conversation, which nearly all of it went right over my head and I just sat there nodding along with the occasionally “I completely agree”.  “But surely David with the current state of our country’s finances they should spend more time focusing on encouraging savings and less expenditure then spending our money on pointless operations to please the nation” Benedict said rather heatedly and I watched noticing how much he used his hands when he spoke, emphasising each point with a lot of hand waving. “Totally understandable approach which would no doubt work but too keep the current government in power they must seem as if they are doing something, not merely saving money” Said James “Well I don’t know dear boy…” started my dad.

I turned to Derek, who was on his phone under the table, “Well I haven’t missed this one bit” He said, sliding his phone into his pocket. I laughed in agreement “So how long have you been with Mr Cumberbatch?” Derek said turning to me, his head resting on his hand “Nearly four months now” I said smiling as the words seemed to warm me up on the inside. “Here comes the bride all fat and wide” Derek sang in a very chorus like voice. I punched his arm “Don’t be ridiculous” I said almost half heartedly as I pictured walking down the aisle with Benedict at the end with his brilliant full smile in a fitted suit, a little flower on his lapel which matched the ones in my bouquet... As inviting as that seemed I knew that it was way too early to even consider that but the idea did send butterflies through my stomach.

Just then mum came through the door (I have no idea when she left) carrying a gigantic plate with dessert on it. Crème brûlée. My favourite. Derek pulled out his phone again as a small chiming noise indicated he had a text. “Yes” he muttered. “Just to let you guys know” Derek began – “Theresa pass me the red wine… please”  James added from across the table after my eyebrow raise – “Oli is going to be coming over in a little while”

Oli. Did he say Oli? The wine slipped from my hand before I had a chance to react the room was full of shouting “Theresa, you idiot, this suit was so expensive and you’ve ruined it!” Called James, jumping up as the cascade of wine poured onto his lap. From the other end my mum was calling to him to get a cloth and salt quickly and they both hurried from the room. My dad picked up his whisky and titled the glass at me as if in a toast before finishing the glass “Ghastly suit anyways” he said setting down the glass and winking at me.

I finished my desert quickly and waited for Benedict to finish before excusing us both from the table as I wanted to show Benedict my room. I took his hand and led him up the staircase then up another set of stairs further down the corridor. “Originally this was a servant staircase” I said then noticing Benedict’s expression added “Obviously way before we bought the house” I said rolling my eyes and he laughed along with me. My room was just how I remembered it; the walls were a light green with a few shelves hung up against it, my bed was on the centre of the back wall and the surrounding furniture was white; a white wardrobe with glass doors, a white desk with photos on it and a white dressing table with a silver hair brush perfectly in line. On the shelves were many of my dance photos and trophies and Benedict picked each one up examining the engraving on it, his eyebrows raising as he read each of the first place medals forming lines along his forehead.

I sat down at my dressing table and felt incredibly nostalgic as I looked at my reflection in the mirror and remembered how I would sit here each night as my mum would brush my hair before bed and told me stories.  My favourite was about a sailor who discovered a mysterious island and all the animals he met there…

“As big as 16 elephants all standing on top of each other with yellow fangs and hundreds of eyes. His skin was purple and had an oozing quality to it as though it was really a liquid. The problem was that his skin was so sticky that if anyone touched him they would get trapped and sucked into through his skin” It’s no surprise really that I now I love to write story books but I wonder what brought about my mum’s drastic change to fictional stories?

I was brought out of my thoughts when I heard Benedict snorting behind me and I turned to see him examining a picture in his hand. Oh no. I recognised that frame this was not good. “Benedict…” I said beginning to stand up and creep towards him but with every step forward that I took he took one back. “Benedict hand me the picture” I said, trying to sound authoritative but failing as a huge smile was plastered across my face. “No way am I giving this back” he said his smile only growing wider. He pulled out his phone “Don’t you dare” I said pointing a finger at him. With a sheepish smile he slowly pointed the camera up at the picture. That’s it.

I took off across the room and jumped onto the bed and then launched myself onto his back. “Benedict. Give. Me. The. Picture” I panted whilst gripping onto his hands. He laughed hard and the sound was contagious as I started laughing too as he spun us both around the room, frantically trying to take a picture on his phone. Finally he tripped back on a rug and we both fell onto the bed. As quickly as I could I spun around so I was sitting on his chest and managed to pull the photo out of his hand. “Haha I win!” I shouted triumphantly holding the picture high above my head. “Well this is hardly fair” Benedict said pouting. I stuck out my tongue at him and looked at the picture in my hand.

It was taken when I was about 7 years old and it has got to be one of the most embarrassing photos ever taken in history. Firstly there is my eldest brother holding a chicken which is frantically trying to fly away and my brother has a face which is the definition of pure fear; his eyes a tightly shut, his nose scrunched up and his whole head turned away from the chicken. Then there is Derek falling off a pony in the background and Henry laughing at him and then there’s me. Standing in the middle of the picture in full on tantrum mode; my eyes are closed and my red face tilted back, my hair has straw stuck in it and my hands are tightly by my side, my hands screwed up into fists. I’m also wearing the most hideous outfit in the world with a purple and yellow chequered dress and knee high green wellies. Not to mention the fact that my mouth is wide open, mid scream, and looks like a train could drive through it. Why my parents thought taking us to Aunty Julie’s farm would be a good idea I’ll never know.

Using my distracted state to his advantage, Benedict flipped us both over so I was now pinned beneath him, the picture fluttering to the floor instantly forgotten. “I like this much better” he said, running a finger across my cheek, instantly making me feel very hot. He slowly lowered his head to mine, his eyes locked on me, and kissed me slowly propping himself up on one of his arms. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck to pull him closer to me wanting to feel his whole body against mine.

After a few minutes I heard a knock at the door. Benedict, sighing, rolled to the side to be sitting next to me on the bed and just in time as the door slowly opened. A man stepped in with his dark hair complimenting his tanned, olive skin. His thick eyebrows, strong jaw line and piercing green eyes gave him a mysterious look. I jumped from the bed, frantically straightening my hair and smoothing my dress “Oli!” I said in a very high pitch voice.