[COMPLETE] 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕀𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕨「Sherlock」

032; You Call Yourself A Free Spirit

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"I WANTED TO TELL YOU THAT I APOLOGISE FOR THAT I HAVE put you through for these past gruelling months. I would- I would like it very much if you were to stay and continue assisting John and myself at Scotland Yard. You've become one of the very few friends I have ever, really, truly had, and I want you to know, before you go, that I-"

"Sherlock, please. We've held up these people for too long, they've been kind enough to give us the time that we need-"

"I care about you a great deal."

The train's cabin rocked and swayed as it rattled along the tracks, barrelling toward Glasgow. It would be a long five and a half hour trip before she would begin to see the familiar landmarks. Scenery whizzed by Julia's window, light flickering as they passed into a tunnel. Her attention pierced through the glass, replaying the instant that Sherlock had practically pleaded for her to stay in London. His grasp had been warm and tight, his commonly astute gaze full of desperation. It had been excruciating, leaving him behind, but what could she have done? Perhaps if Mr. Holmes had been sincere from the get-go, long before she had been given the opportunity to go home, she would have considered staying behind. Had Sherlock told her that he still believed saw her as someone he held close to his heart, she would have perhaps stayed... or so she believed.

Would she have still accepted Mr. Moriarty's generous offer if Sherlock had spoken up beforehand? Running a hand over her face, she took a quick breath and returned to the book in her hands, trying to focus on the paragraphs upon its old pages, a hand finding the silver band dangling from around her neck and holding it tightly. Music drowned out the constant clatter of the rails, her foot instinctively pumping the invisible piano pedal beneath her table. The seats that faced her were empty, aside from a younger woman whose brown eyes were fastened to the screen of her mac laptop. She glanced up from her book and caught her just looking away, proceeding to quickly type. Her chocolate-brown curls, although not nearly as dark as Sherlock's, fell around her shoulders, her form dressed in a pale blue-and-white striped blouse, tucked into her black slacks, sporting a pair of knee-high heeled boots, similar in fashion to her own.

She was beautiful. Julia's attention fell back down upon Iris Murdoch's The Sandcastle, its cover worn from years of use and handling. One of her aunt's novels, no doubt, given the slightly bend spine and previously-folded corners. It was an old story, written back in '57 about a middle-aged man who falls in love with a brilliant young artist. As much as it bothered her, the idea of unrequited love and adultery, Julia was still ensnared by Murdoch's way of putting words together. It was almost as if she could reach out and touch the very surfaces that the woman described. Her words and descriptive were so vivid that they were nearly palpable. The rosette glanced up a second time, finding the woman's gaze trained upon her once again, only this time it remained upon her.

Her brown eyes softened. "Are you doing alright now?" she asked, referring to her slight meltdown at the beginning of their journey.

Julia felt as if she had turned three different shades of scarlet then. "Much, thank you," she murmured softly, nodding and attempting to force out a smile. The pair peered at one another for a few seconds too long, before finally Julia returned to Murdoch's lovely but woeful story. Alas, she found herself unable to return to that natural flow of words and closed the book, setting it to the side and turning on the IPod that Jim had been so kind to offer her as a parting gift. That man was spoiling her without relent, it seemed, and she fully suspected there to be more surprises along the way. That was just who he was: unpredictable. Julia was still trying to decipher whether or not this was a good thing. Eventually she would have to draw the line.