Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*

Chapter 41- Intellectual Stand-off

Millie's POV

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"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"I could ask you the same question," retorts Sherlock, straightening up and adjusting his coat.

Emily takes a step towards him-

"You followed me. Why?"

"You met up with him. Why?"

She laughs, coldly, and turns around, pacing across the room with agitation-

"You don't need to know my reasons. Because they don't involve you. But you followed me. I want an explanation."

Sherlock scans her quickly, pressing his lips together in silent analysis.

It's very silent.

"We followed you," I say, when Sherlock doesn't answer and Emily looks like she wants to hit him, "Because we thought that he had something on you- something he was using against you. We wanted to know what it was, so we could help you and-"

"And you could use it in your game," she spits, seeing through my poor attempt at concealing the blunt truth. 

"Yes."

John glares at me, and hisses:

 "Subtlety, Millie".

"I'm sick of it. I'm sick of your games, all of you, Moriarty included. It's gone too far, it's all consuming."

I blink at the anger in her voice, surprised. Yes, we followed her, but surely that doesn't justify such hatred? 

"No," breathes Sherlock, his eyes narrowed at Emily, walking around her in a slow circle, "No, not even you-"

She suddenly stops looking angry, and a strange emotion flits across her face. She freezes up, calculating his message, and they watch eachother without blinking; an intellectual standoff.

"Why?" asks Sherlock, his voice laced with distaste, mild shock and condescension.

"No. Stop it, Sherlock. It's not like that at all. Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't think I am being ridiculous," he says slowly, continuing his circle around her. She looks very uncomfortable at his gaze.

John looks at me, confused. I'm a detective, with above-average deductive skills, and even I can't piece together the situation.

"Yes, you are. I know what you're implying. You're wrong."

"Why are you showing such resistance, then? My prompts should make you scathing, or perhaps provoke a humorous response, but no... you're uncomfortable."

"Of course I'm uncomfortable, you're pacing round me, staring at me like I'm a pariah, making stupid accusations," she says sharply.

"What accusations?" asks John, bewildered.

They ignore him, and continue their standoff.

"You're lying, Emily."

She finally snaps:

"He's the man who was ultimately responsible for my sister's death, and you're implying that I'm harbouring some form of sentiment towards him?!" she hisses, roughly grabbing his sleeve and pulling him towards her so that they are face to face.

Sherlock pauses, looking at her with what can only be described as utter contempt.

"You've forgiven him."

She wasn't expecting that.

She lets go of him, and takes a step back.

"Wait, hang on, time out- Sherlock, you're not saying-" says John, looking at him disbelieving.

"That is precisely what I'm saying."

"No, I haven't. You're wrong, Sherlock. I hate him-"

"I know you. But there's something else, isn't there?," he says, his voice and pace picking up as he latches on to the clues, like a case- "Your conversation. It started off cold, calculated, but it progressed... "I want you to be interesting"...You could have said anything in response to that: retorted with a quip, and insult, something derogatory, but no, you fell for it. You paused, Emily. You went quiet. And then there was your body language. It was tense throughout, up until he delivered that line, and you relaxed your stance, just for a second, involuntarily."

"What do you mean I fell for it?" she says, her skin a shade whiter than it was prior to Sherlock's unexpected deduction.

"Oh for god's sake, Emily!" he shouts, angry in his exasperation, "This man is Richard Brook, a tourist, a criminal, an IT technician, Molly Hooper's love interest, gay, dead- he's an actor. He can put up virtually any smokescreen, and ensnare anyone who gets too close, and they fall for it, every time. You're no different. Like you said, this game, it's all consuming. He won't ever stop, Emily. And that was all it was- an act. Can't you see that?"

Emily's face has resumed it's blank, unreadable expression.It is the same mask she wore when she pulled the trigger on her sister, when she came back from torture, when she saw that our prison had been obliterated along with two hundred workers-

It is the barrier to her emotions.

And then she speaks, her voice utterly monotone-

"Fine. I fell for it. Like everyone else. I was wrong. You were right. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Sherlock stops, the frenzy from his deductions fading as he assesses the new situation.

I don't know much about human behaviour, but I know that now is not the time to speak.

"Are you happy, Sherlock?"

 She looks at him steadily, her grey eyes focused and clear. When he doesn't respond, she turns away, and leaves the room.

We listen in silence to the noise of her feet on the stairs, and then all is still and quiet.

I find myself in a strange situation.

I like Sherlock, I really do. As someone who struggles with social interactions, I am one of the few people with an insight into his mindset. I relate to him. But what he did just then- that was mechanical. He dredged up and laid out emotions I don't think Emily even knew she possessed, then cut her down, in front of us, verbally slashing each mistake she had unknowingly made. I find myself speculating whether Emily did possess any feelings for Moriarty, or whether Sherlock actually made a very serious mistake. She said: "You were right." But her voice was thick with venom and precision; she was making a point. Can anyone feel anything other than hatred against the man who put her through thirteen years of agony, and manipulated her so viciously?

I pause, torn.

John hasn't said a word. Sherlock still looks stunned.

I turn around.

And I leave.

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