The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Twenty

Silence reigned again. He heard the man's feet shift.

"Well?" Sherlock said.
An arm lashed out. Sherlock blocked it, warned by the rustle of clothing and rush of air. Gripping the younger man's shoulder to confirm his height and position, Sherlock stepped forward and slammed his palm into the man's solar plexus. The breath whooshed out of him in a strangled cry, and he sagged, barely staying on his feet. Still gripping his shoulder, Sherlock struck again, this time to the side of the man's neck, just above his collarbone. Like flipping a switch, the other man collapsed boneless to the ground, out cold.

Sherlock sighed. Another loyal minion welcomed into the ranks. How disappointing. Scowling over the stupidity of youth, he removed the handcuffs from the inside the young man's uniform and cuffed him to the ladder. He tossed the handcuff key into the darkness and heard it ping off the wall. Next, he tugged off the man's boots, then proceeded up the ladder. When he reached the top, he found Vivian waiting for him a short distance away. After the deep darkness of the passage, the ambient light from the city almost made it seem like midday.

"Took you long enough," Vivian said. "I was about to come back down."

"No need. He wanted to have a chat before I knocked him out."

Her brows knit together. "Did you nick his boots?"

"Yes. He annoyed me." Sherlock chucked them across the rooftop in opposite directions. They bounced and tumbled across the cement before rolling to a stop.

"Right. So, where to next?" A gust of wind whipped through her hair, sending the red tendrils dancing. She made a smart profile in the half-light with his Belstaff coat on, feet spaced apart, body braced for action. Sherlock blinked, certain his vision was failing him. He took a step closer. He'd just hauled her down a dark, dank alley. Unidentifiable muck stained her shoes and ankles. A streak of dirt crossed one cheekbone. And she was smiling.

Warmth cascaded through Sherlock like he'd been doused with liquid sunshine. Vivian wasn't upset. In fact, she looked rather the opposite. His fingers twitched, dissatisfied. They wanted more than just visual confirmation of her pleasure. They itched to trace the curving line of her lips, to feel the physical proof of her smile. He froze at the foreign sensation and dug his fingernails into his palm. The prickling pain grounded him, and the compulsion faded.

"What?" she asked, shifting beneath his stare.

Sherlock studied her a moment longer, then shook his head. "You really are unusual." He'd told her so before, back at Brackenwood, when she'd made a quip about him tossing her into the muddy pond as being the most fun she'd had all week. He hadn't known what to make of her then. He still didn't now. This woman not only liked trouble, she was trouble. A warning bell tolled in the back of his mind, but it was a vague, distant sound, and he ignored it.

Vivian's smile widened into a grin. "You say such lovely things."

His mobile chimed. He pulled it out of his trouser pocket.

You're being childish, brother mine. -MH

Sherlock bit back a snort. More like the other way around. He powered his phone off without replying. "Turn your mobile off," he told Vivian.

"What? Why?"

"To prevent us from being tracked by GPS."

She shot him a horrified look, then quickly turned hers off. "Who the hell is after us?"

"No one you want to meet."

"Thanks. I gathered that already."

"Good. We need to move." Without any warning, Sherlock broke into a run across the rooftop. While they really did need to leave, running also prevented more questions. The longer he could put off telling Vivian who was actually after them, the better. Slim though it was, there was still a chance he could figure out a way to prevent her from meeting Mycroft, or at the very least buy them some time. Interrogations with Mycroft Holmes were never pleasant.