The real fall

Chapter Eight

"Nothing that concerns you." I snap, trying to take the box from him. His frown deepens and he shakes his head. "Well now I want to look so let go." He orders. I glare at him and he glares back before wrenching the box out of ny hands. I swear and cover my hands with my eyes as he takes off the lid. There's the sound of paper rustling and then silence, before I hear him laugh. It's a wonderful sound. He pulls away my hands and I look down at the floor mortified. "You have cut out EVERY article featuring me?" He chuckles. I nod meekly and he continues to laugh before stopping when he realises how embarrassed I am.

He shoves the box back under the bed and swivels so that he's looking at me. He cups my face and smiles. "It's..... what do you people say? You say it when you see puppies.... sometimes kittens too...." he murmurs.
"Cute?" I guess. His face lights up and he nods. "Yes. It's cute." He says, before letting go of my face and standing up. I rest a hand on my chest to try and steady my heart which is beating at an extremely rapid rate. He walks around my room as I pack, studying the little trinkets and pictures that I have before coming down to sit next to me.

"Are you nearly done?" He yawns after a while. I roll my eyes and walk I to the bathroom to collect my toiletries. I grab two of my douvets and pillow cases for his bed as I doubt he has any spare himself. I also pack - in a separate bag, my suitcase is practically bursting at the seams - a blanket, some books and notepads, and the box of chocolates on my desk that I forgot to open two days ago.

We carry it downstairs and I ignore my mother yelling at me as I leave the house. Sherlock hails a taxi and stuffs everything in the boot before sliding into the back and pulling me with him. The drive is quiet and I try to think of something to say. "So -"
"Shut up. Uhm - please. I'm try to think." He snaps. I close my mouth and only speak again when paying and thanking the driver and getting out.

"Sherlock where should I put my bags?" I call.
"Bedroom." He calls back. I sigh and lug my luggage into the room and throw it on the bed. I then search the house for a vacuum. "What are you doing?" Sherlock asks from the living room sofa. "Trying to find a - AHHHH!" I scream. Sherlock is beside me in seconds and asks what's wrong. "Dead rat dead rat dead rat." I gasp, stumbling away from the small cupboard. Sherlock sighs and picks it up by its tail before throwing it out if the window and washing his hands. I stare at him, mortified, and he just smiles.