Charlie Magnussen wasn't your ordinary, run-of-the-mill daughter of a notorious billionaire. She was special. Like her father, her memory was as acute and unfailing as the many languages she spoke.
Unlike her father, however, Charlie was on the run...
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"How can you say that?"
The smirk on Sherlock's mouth disappeared, and even in the darkness of the remote little cottage, he could see the hurt settling over Charlie's eyes. The crease in his forehead deepened.
Charlie's hands clenched at her side, and it was all she could do to keep her gaze riveted on the despicable detective. "I'm just a game to you, Sherlock. Just another case. Just another way to pass the time." Her eyes dropped away, and he had to strain to hear her next words.
"You're a robot and you'll die that way," she whispered.
His gaze travelled slowly up and down her shadowed face.
Charlie could feel the ache building in her throat, but she mustn't cry. Not again—never again. "Why do you treat people like dogs? Y-y-you don't even treat dogs that way."
She put a hand to her blond head and tightened her frustrated fingers around the strands. The dam inside her was ready to burst thanks to this unfeeling, infuriating man. Where could she run to now? There was nothing left. No peace in the silence, no sanctuary in the sound of the crickets or the whistling wind through the mountain trees. This cottage, her only place to escape the chaos that was her life, had suddenly turned into another place to leave thanks to Sherlock Holmes.
She landed a weak fist on his chest as tears stung her eyes. He flinched. She hit him again, and his eyes remained pinned on her.
She couldn't take him anymore! "Don't tell me about my Uncle John, don't tell me about my mother. I'm done with you. I'm done with everyone!"
Charlie made to turn but before she could, Sherlock reached out and grabbed her upper arm. She tried to pull away, but his hold was firm. She stopped struggling and forced herself to look up into his eyes. And what she saw made a tear slip down her cheek.
The darkness of the cottage did nothing to veil Sherlock's tightening jaw or the way his hand shook as he gripped her arm.
"Don't leave again," he said slowly. "I... I don't want you to go." His hand slid down her arm and gently held her petite wrist, as his other hand reverently wiped the stray tear from her flushed cheek. "You can't keep running from your problems. They'll find you. They always will."
She shook her head and tried again to pull away. "They'll forget me eventually."
"I won't forget you."
Charlie stilled and blinked up at him as she met his gaze. "Only because you failed to bring me in and you hate that," she replied. "I doubt you even have a heart? You're more like my father than you know."
Sherlock flinched and dropped his hands to his side. "I do have a heart."
Charlie scoffed, side-stepped around his tall frame and grabbed her knapsack from the bed. She unzipped the bag as she rushed to the dresser drawers to stuff her few items inside.
Flinging the knapsack over her shoulder, she marched to the back door of the cottage where Sherlock stood. But he didn't move.
"Get out of my way," Charlie said through clenched teeth.
He drew back his shoulders. "No."
Her eyes narrowed. She had to get out of there before they came. She could feel her temper rising. "I said move it! I'm done with you."
"No."
Her breath came in sharp rasps. If she screamed for help, who would save her? Only those who wanted to kill them both. Not only would she put her own life in jeopardy, but it'd be a surefire way to get Sherlock killed too.
"I'm sorry," he whispered suddenly, his gaze never leaving the contours of her face.
"What?" She shook her head. "Since when are you sorry for anything? Robots don't have emotions remember? They don't apologize. Isn't that what you said?"
He took a deep, steadying breath, his lips twisting. "What have you done to me?" he whispered.
Charlie repositioned her knapsack on her shoulder. "What I've done to you? Get out of my way."
Sherlock vehemently shook his head. "I can't let you leave." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the window. He slowly moved the heavy curtain a crack as the moonlight cut a sliver of light through the black of the cottage.
"Screw off!" Charlie yelled as she tried to unhook her hand from his.
His eyes narrowed, and before she could pull out of his hold, he grabbed her shoulders and thrust her face into the break in the curtains. "They're here. They've surrounded us and I guarantee they've already called for reinforcements on account of how well you keep squirming out of their reach. They're waiting for you, Charlie."
He pulled her away from the window and pushed her backwards until her shoulders hit the wall. And setting his fists on each side of her head, he growled into her face. "Now, tell me again to screw off!"
Sherlock's face was so close to hers, she could feel his breath fan across her cheek. Suddenly, the quietness of the little cottage was suffocating. She put a trembling hand on his chest. He was much too human as he gazed down into her eyes. Not a such a robot after all.
She felt him shiver beneath her palm. What was happening?
"Please stop," she begged.
"I can't." His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her brow and a tingly sensation rushed through her.
His heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat was making her dizzy. What was wrong with her?
What was wrong with him?!
Charlie's voice cracked with emotion. "Let me go. You can tell them I seduced you too." It almost hurt to say the words."Then you can go back to your life, Uncle John, Mrs. Hudson. . ." His hand came down and he lightly stroked his thumb over her chin then her lower lip. His eyes fastened on her mouth in the darkness.
"I'm not letting you go, Charlie Magnussen. I've waited too long." His breath came in rapid staccato.
