A strong gust of cold evening wind breezed over Evelyn's body. Her red peacoat kept her torso sufficiently warm, but as her hair blew back away from her face, she felt a chill creep down her spine from the neck down. She picked up the pace, watching the light of day melting into the grey glow of early evening. Eve felt a bit like she was racing the sun, trying to get to 221B before the last rays gave way to the dark night sky.
Sherlock had returned from Minsk earlier in the day, and Evelyn as eager to hear if anything had come of the case he was after. The lack of murder in London had driven the blue-eyed detective to look elsewhere. Eve on the other hand, had treated her case of boredom by reading John's blog. His account of the Hope investigation, or as he had titled it, "A Study in Pink," was wonderful. She especially enjoyed his honest portrayal of Sherlock, the genius who didn't know primary school astronomy.
Evelyn skipped up the steps of 221B Baker Street with a smile on her face. Letting herself in with her key, she called a quick hello to her mother before going upstairs to see her sociopathic friend.
Sherlock was sprawled across his chair like a moody adolescent, clad in pajamas and his blue dressing gown. He didn't look over at her as she hung up her coat.
"Good evening Sherlock." She greeted, walking into the kitchen.
"Not at all a good evening." He replied, propelling himself into standing position and following her.
"Case was a bust then, I suppose?" She said, taking out two mugs and putting the kettle on for tea.
Sherlock confirmed her question without answering. Instead, he picked up the mug she always used when she came over, a white ceramic one with a design of black vines and thorns with a few roses going around it. He scowled at the cup as he turned it over in his hands a few times.
Eve plucked it from his grasp and put it back on the counter.
"Oh cheer up, Sherlock. Some heinous criminal always emerges sooner or later."
He groaned like a child just told to go take a bath and flopped back down in his chair. He pulled out a handgun and shot at the smiley face on the wall.
Evelyn yelped in surprise, making Sherlock smirk.
She leant against the doorway separating the sitting room and the kitchen and folded her arms. "Mum is absolutely adding that to your rent."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw his head back, looking up at the ceiling. Eve poured the tea, leaving his cup on the table next to his chair. She selected a book off of the shelf and cuddled up with it in John's chair.
Over the course of the first four chapters, Sherlock got up and paced, jumped on the couch, pestered her, chugged his tea, broke the mug, and pestered her some more. If Evelyn had said she wasn't entertained, she would've been lying.
John arrived home by the time Sherlock was shooting the wall again. Eve didn't even look up from her book as Sherlock shot the wall a few more times yelling "Bored!"
"Has he been like this the whole time?" John asked her, taking away the gun and unloading it.
"It's been quite the show." Evelyn said, laughing.
"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them." Sherlock mused, moving to inspect his handiwork on the wall.
"So you take it out on the wall?" John asked, incredulous.
"Oh, the wall had it coming." Sherlock replied passively, flopping onto the couch this time.
"What about that Russian case?" John asked, taking off his jacket.
"Belarus." Sherlock corrected. "Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time."
"Oh, shame." John said sarcastically. "Anything in? I'm starving."
Eve heard the sound of the fridge door opening.
"Oh..." John said, disgusted, before opening it again. "It's a head." He said disbelievingly to himself.
"So you've met Harold, then?" Evelyn called from her seat.
"A severed head!"
"Just tea for me thanks." Sherlock said blandly.
"No, there's a head in the fridge." John insisted.
"Yes?"
"A bloody head!" John snapped.
"Well, where else was I supposed to put it? You don't mind, do you?"
Eve got up and gently hit Sherlock with her book. "His name is Harold, not 'it.'"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "You're not the only one who gets bored, okay?" She replied defensively, going back to John's chair.
"Got it from Bart's Morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death." Sherlock explained to John.
"I read A Study in Pink. " Evelyn aid to John, who had come to sit in Sherlock's chair. "It was wonderful. Did you like it, Sherlock?" Eve asked conversationally.
The detective was flipping through a magazine. "Um...no." He said.
"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered." John was surprised.
"Flattered?" Sherlock let the magazine fall. "'Sherlock sees through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.'"
"Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that-" John protested.
"Oh! You meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way. Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister or who's sleeping with who." Sherlock said.
"Whether the earth goes round the sun." John added under his breath.
Sherlock threw his head to the side in exasperation. "Oh, God, that again. It's not important!" He insisted.
"Not important..." John leant forward in his seat. "It's primary school stuff! How can you not know that?"
"Well if I did, I've deleted it." Sherlock pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.
"Deleted it?" Evelyn piped up.
"Listen," Sherlock sat up, his voice getting low and gravely in irritation. "This is my hard drive." He indicated his head. "I only put things in there that are useful. Really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish. That makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"
Eve nodded. "I've certainly done that, but maybe not to such an extreme."
John looked between them for a moment before blurting out: "But it's the solar system!"
Sherlock held his head in his hands. Evelyn groaned.
"Oh hell!" Sherlock exclaimed. "What does that matter? So we go around the sun. If we went round the moon or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference!"
"Sherlock-" Eve sat up, hoping to calm him down a bit.
"All that matters to me is the work." He insisted. "Without that, my brain rots!" He ruffled his hair. "Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." With that, he turned around and lay down, ignoring his two friends.
"Sherlock!" Evelyn scolded before turning to John. "I thought the blog was brilliant, no matter what he says."
John gave her a strained smile before getting up and grabbing his coat again. Eve followed, wishing she could placate the doctor.
"Where are you going?" She asked tentatively.
"Out!" He snapped in Sherlock's direction. "I need some air."
John passed Mrs. Hudson on the stairs. She came in with her usual "hoo-hoo!" and gave her daughter a quick kiss on the cheek before dropping some things off in the kitchen.
"Have you and John had a little domestic?" She called to the moody detective.
He didn't answer, choosing instead to stomp across the sitting room to watch John leave the building. Evelyn watched him from near the door. She could see the tension coiled in his body from boredom and frustration. It was hard for him to interact honestly without putting people off. She smiled softly, knowing that he would figure out how to keep his snootiness in check with time and help from her and John.
"Look at that, Evelyn." Sherlock said, still looking out at the London night. "Quiet, calm, peaceful." He sighed. "Isn't it hateful?"
"Oh I'm sure something will turn up, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson replied from the kitchen. "A nice murder. That'll cheer you up." She patted Eve on the shoulder. "Both of you."
"Can't come too soon." Sherlock said.
Evelyn smiled at her mother lovingly and gave her a hug, steering her out of the apartment before she noticed the bullet holes Sherlock had left in the wall. Eve turned back around to face her bored companion.
She took a step towards him, "Sherlock-"
An enormous explosion from across the street blew the windows inward, filling Evelyn's vision with fire as she flew backwards. In the split seconds she was in the air, she saw Sherlock's dressing gown billowing and his hand reaching in her direction. The back of her head hit something hard, and the world went dark.
There was a ringing sound in Eve's ears. She stirred, dimly aware of movement, something touching her, and pain. Lots of pain. Her head hurt. Her body ached. There were small stinging, irritating pains in her hands, her arms, and a few on her forehead and brow.
Evelyn blinked, forcing her eyelids to open. Her vision slowly came into focus and she realized that the blue all around her was Sherlock's dressing gown. He was holding her in his arms, slowly carrying her away from the destroyed sitting room.
"Sherlock...?"
"Don't move." He said calmly.
She obeyed, closing her eyes again and willing the pain in her skull to just go away. Sherlock instinctively tightened his grip on Eve as he took the final steps into his bedroom. He laid her carefully onto the unmade bed. She resisted his movement away from her for a moment, as though she felt unsafe outside of his arms.
He shushed her gently, leaving the room for only a moment to call the police. When he walked back through the doorway, her face broke into a huge, relieved grin. Her eyes were still a bit glazed over, and Sherlock could tell that in her dazed state she hadn't been sure if he'd come back. Sherlock crouched in front of his friend and looked her over for any sign of serious injury. Finding nothing outwardly apparent, he began the process of testing her mind.
The next hours were a blur of Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, paramedics, and police officers asking Evelyn questions, giving first aid, and surveying the scene across the street.
By the early hours of the morning, Eve's disorientation had worn off, and she was left with mild pain from where glass shards had struck her, and an unceasing exhaustion. The paramedics had concluded that both she and Sherlock had escaped the blast without concussions or any serious injuries.
As soon as the last officer vacated the apartment, Sherlock ordered Evelyn back into his bedroom to rest. She protested, saying that he should go too, and that she'd take John's room. Sherlock's only response was to place one of his large hands on her back and push her down the hallway and into his bedroom where he promptly closed the door on her.
"Fine." Sherlock heard Eve grumble from behind the door. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a smirk.
--------------
Evelyn awoke to daylight filtering through the curtains of Sherlock's window and the sounds of voices speaking in the sitting room. She sat up, made a half-hearted attempt at smoothing her hair with a bandaged hand, and made her way out of the bedroom.
Sherlock was sat in his chair, fully dressed in one of his well-tailored suits. He held his violin casually, and plucked out a few notes here and there. Sitting across from him in John's chair was the elder Holmes brother, signature umbrella resting beside him.
"Morning, Spycroft." Eve greeted as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Sleeping in Sherlock's bed now? My, my." He teased.
Evelyn ignored him, moving to the kitchen to make tea. With her back turned, and Mycroft laughing at his own joke, no one noticed the slight flush in Sherlock's cheeks.
"Can't." Sherlock said, changing the subject.
"Can't or won't?" Mycroft asked.
"Can't." Sherlock emphasized the 't.' "Far too busy at the present moment."
"Too busy for what exactly?" Eve interjected.
"Andrew West, civil servant, found dead on the tracks near a station this morning with his head smashed in." Mycroft said, turning to look in Evelyn's direction.
"Let me guess, assassin? Double agent? Your assistant?" Eve asked.
"Can't it just be an accident?" Mycroft countered innocently.
"You wouldn't be here if it was." She retorted.
"The M.O.D is working on a new weapons system: The Bruce Partington Program, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick."
Evelyn barked out a laugh.
"It wasn't the only copy." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "But it is secret. And missing. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." Mycroft finished.
Eve poured herself a large cup of earl grey and came to perch on the arm of Sherlock's chair.
"And you want Sherlock to find the plans?" She asked.
"Well, if you want a taste of what working for me would be like, then please take it on yourself. Here is the file-" Mycroft handed a thick manilla folder over to her as John came rushing up the steps.
"Sherlock!"
The detective plucked a chord on his violin. "John." He replied.
"I saw it on the telly...you okay?" He said, out of breath from panic.
"What, me? Oh yes fine. Gas leak, apparently." Sherlock replied.
Evelyn got up and gave the doctor a tight hug. He spoke into her shoulder. "And you? You okay?"
She pulled back and shrugged, showing him her hands. "A little scratched up, but not horrible."
"Think it over." Mycroft said to Eve before shaking John's hand and leaving the flat.
John sat down on the couch and looked around the room. A cool breeze blew in through the broken windows.
Sherlock's phone rang.
"Sherlock Holmes." He lifted up his head with a pleased smile. "Of course, how could I refuse."
"Lestrade?" Evelyn asked.
"I've been summoned." Sherlock explained to John. "Coming?"
John got to his feet eagerly. "Of course."
Sherlock turned to Eve expectantly. She smiled, grabbing her coat. "Where I else would I be going?"
"I'd be lost without my blogger and...my Evelyn." He said before sweeping down the stairs. John followed on his heels, but Eve faltered slightly.
My Evelyn.
She smiled, feeling a pleasant tightening sensation of nervous excitement in her chest. She felt warm. And happy. Without another thought, she dashed down to catch up with her friends.
----------------
The trio trailed Lestrade down the hallway to his office as he explained a new find. The explosion wasn't a gas leak, but was instead made to look like one, leaving behind only a strongbox with an envelope addressed to Sherlock inside of it. Sherlock picked up the bohemian stationary and examined it, before letting Eve take a look as well.
"She used a fountain pen." Sherlock deduced.
Evelyn held it under the light and studied the handwriting. "Parker Duofold, iridium nib." Evelyn added.
"She?" John questioned.
"Obviously."
Eve handed it back to Sherlock who sliced it carefully with a paper knife. He pulled out a phone. It was identical to the one from the Hope case.
"But that's the phone. The pink phone." John said.
"What, from The Study in Pink?" Lestrade asked.
Sherlock thought aloud. "Well, obviously it's not the same phone, but it's supposed to look like-" He turned around suddenly. " A Study in Pink? You read his blog?!"
"'Course I read his blog. We all do." Lestrade replied. Evelyn shrugged in agreement.
"Do you really not know that the earth goes round the sun?" Lestrade questioned, making Donovan snicker.
Eve glared at the sergeant before bringing the conversation back to the case. "It isn't the same phone." She repeated, looking to Sherlock.
"This one is brand new." He continued. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone. Which means, your blog has a far wider readership." He directed towards John.
Sherlock opened the one voicemail left on the device. Five Greenwich Time Signal Pips played through the speaker into the room.
"Is that it?"
"No," Sherlock said. "That's not it."
The sound of a text message pinged. A photo of a basement shone on the small screen. There was a fireplace at the center and peeling wallpaper on the right side. The dirty floor was empty.
"What the hell are we supposed to make of that?" Lestrade asked. "An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips."
Evelyn could see the gears turning in Sherlock's head. "It's a warning." He said.
"A warning?"
"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that." Eve said, her own thoughts whirling at the same time.
"Five pips. They're warning us it's going to happen again." Sherlock concluded.
Evelyn's eyes lit up as a piece fell into place. She looked once more at the photo and smiled. "I know where that place is." She said before barrelling out the door in excitement.
The three men followed. John grabbed Sherlock's arm. "Hang on, what's going to happen again?"
"Boom." Sherlock said.
Within fifteen minutes, their little group of sleuths had returned to 221 Baker Street. This time; however, they were visiting 221C.
The sitting room was nearly identical to the photograph on the pink phone. The only difference was the pair of vintage athletic sneakers sitting ominously in the center of the floor.
"Shoes..." John murmured.
Eve felt a shiver tickle her spine, making her feel as though someone was right behind her. She inched inside the room and stood as close to the wall as possible. She hugged herself defensively and watched as Sherlock approached the shoes.
"Careful. He's a bomber, remember." John cautioned.
Sherlock crouched down to look at the shoes, his nose barely an inch away when the pink phone rang loudly. Evelyn nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise. Sherlock looked at the phone, allowing it to ring twice more before he answered. "Hello."
Eve heard a woman take a shuddering breath. "H-hello....sexy." She sobbed.
"Who is this?" Sherlock asked.
"I sent you a...little...puzzle just to say 'hi.'" The woman gasped.
"Who's talking?" Sherlock asked. "Why are you crying?"
"I-I'm not crying. I'm typing. And this....stupid bitch is reading it out." The woman cried.
Evelyn stepped forward and put a hand on Sherlock's arm. He met her worried gaze.
"The game is on." She said.
"What?" John asked.
"Nothing," Sherlock replied.
"No, what did she mean?"
"We've been expecting this for some time." Sherlock explained.
The woman spoke again. "Twelve hours...to solve my puzzle, Sherlock. Or I'm going to be...so...naughty." With that, the line went dead.
"We need to get those sneakers to a lab" Eve said.
Lestrade nodded. "Use yours. I want you with Sherlock and me on this one every step of the way."
"Not Evelyn's lab." Sherlock demanded. "Too much Anderson everywhere."
Eve pulled out her phone. "We'll go to Bart's. I'll call Molly."
Molly happily gave her friends full access to her equipment, and Evelyn and Sherlock were hard at work as the first three hours passed.
Sherlock examined a mud sample from the sole of one shoe while Eve deduced that they were original 1989 British made sneakers. John paced nearby.
"Who do you 'spose it was?" The doctor asked.
"Hm?"
"The woman on the phone, the crying woman." John elaborated.
"No lead there." Evelyn answered.
"What do you mean?" John questioned.
"She doesn't matter, just a hostage." Sherlock explained.
A ding emitted from Sherlock's phone. "Pass me my phone." He requested.
John looked about for the device, but Eve moved quicker, slipping it out of Sherlock's jacket pocket and taking a look.
"You're a child." She teased the tall sociopath. "It's a text from Mycroft."
Any progress on Andrew West's death?
"Delete it." He ordered.
"Really?" She protested.
"The plans are out of the country now, there's nothing we can do about it." Sherlock reasoned.
"Well Mycroft seems to think otherwise. He's texted you eight times and," she pulled out her own phone, "texted me ten times."
Sherlock raised his head, annoyed. "The why didn't he cancel his dental appointment."
"What?" John asked from the other side of the desk.
"Mycroft never texts if he can talk." Sherlock tilted his head, irritated. "Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, and got his head bashed in for his pains. End of story. The real mystery is why my brother is so determined to bore me when someone else is being so delightfully interesting." Sherlock said gleefully.
John frowned. "Try to remember there's a woman who might die."
"What for?" Sherlock asked provocatively. "This hospital is full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go cry at their bedsides and see what good it does them?"
John blinked in disbelief. Evelyn scowled, disagreeing with absolutely everything Sherlock had just said. Her gut told her there was more to the West case than Sherlock was willing to see and she texted Mycroft, agreeing to look into it.
Eve tried to lean on the tabled, placing her hands on the edge for support. She stood back up abruptly with a pained hiss. She touched her bandaged palms, reminded of her recent brush with the bomber's capabilities. Evelyn saw Sherlock watching her in her periphery and noted the way his posture changed, tensing slightly and moving towards her with concern.
The laptop by her elbow beeped as the substance Sherlock was testing found a match. At nearly the same moment, Molly came cheerfully through the lab doors.
"Any luck?" She asked, coming to look at the computer monitor.
"Oh yes!" Sherlock said.
A man came in through the doors, noticing the crowd assembled. "Oh! Sorry! I didn't, erm...." He exclaimed, but came in anyway.
"Jim, hi! Come in, come in!" Molly said in happy surprise.
Eve scanned the newcomer, goosebumps rising on her arms as an uncertainty fell upon her. He had short dark hair and a high forehead. He was of average height, with a bit of a slouch. A silver chain necklace disappeared under the collar of his tight fitting low v-neck tee shirt. He wasn't slim or muscular, and his neon green underwear peeked out above the waistband of his pants. He wore a calculator watch on his left wrist. He spoke with a sort of lilting sing-songy voice that was somewhere between bass and tenor. His eyes were dark, and Evelyn had the vague impression that she could see something moving behind the irises.
The name, spoken with such enthusiasm by her friend, told Eve that this was Molly's new boyfriend, Jim from IT. Upon first inspection Evelyn might have guessed that he was gay.
He really made her feel...off. Something about him seemed surreal and a bit frightening. Better that he is gay, she thought, then maybe he'll leave Molly alone and be creepy somewhere else.
"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes, Eve Hudson, and John Watson." Molly introduced.
"Hi," Jim said to you and John before fixating on Sherlock. "So you're Sherlock Holmes? Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?"
"Jim works in IT upstairs. That's how we met." Molly said proudly. "Office romance."
Jim chuckled, moving around to the other side of Sherlock. Evelyn didn't budge, making sure that she was leaning against the table next to Sherlock and keeping Jim at least a little farther away. Sherlock finally moved his gaze away from the microscope. "Gay." Sherlock said not-so-subtly.
"I'm sorry, what?" Molly asked, angrily.
"Nothing, erm, hey." He corrected, smiling at Jim. Eve shot him a warning look, pleading silently for him to be nice to Molly.
"Hey," Jim returned, that creepy smile still plastered on his face. She had no idea why, but Evelyn felt like she should run away from Jim, or maybe also punch him in the face. He put a hand down to lean on the table and knocked over an empty sample tray.
"Sorry!" He said over the loud clang, bending over to pick up the tray.
John put his hand over his eyes and wandered a few feet away, losing patience with Jim from IT. Sherlock and Eve looked at each other for a moment, one incredulous, the other concerned.
"Well I'd better be off." Jim said, to Evelyn's relief. "I'll see you at the Fox? At six-ish?" He asked Molly.
"Yeah!" She agreed, bobbing her head in an awkward, excited way.
"Bye," Jim said to Sherlock. "It was nice to meet you."
Sherlock continued staring into the microscope lense, ignoring Jim's intensely hopeful stare.
"Likewise." Eve answered for him. Her voice was surprisingly smooth for how desperate she was to have the man leave.
With a squeak of the lab door, Jim was gone. Molly wasted no time in questioning Sherlock, clearly needing to validate her relationship.
"What'd you mean, gay?" She asked, laughing nervously. "We're together."
"And domestic bliss must suit you Molly." Sherlock mocked. "You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."
"Two and a half." She corrected dejectedly.
"Three." He argued.
Evelyn pushed off the desk angrily, ready to defend her friend. "Sherlock-"
"He's not gay!" Molly interrupted. "Why do you have to spoil-! He's not!" She insisted.
"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock pointed out.
"Just because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair!" John said doubtfully.
"You wash your hair! There's a difference." Sherlock argued. "No, no. Tinted eyelashes. Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired, clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."
"His underwear?"
"Pulled up above the waistline." Eve explained with a grimace. She felt bad, but Sherlock was right. She'd seen the same things. "Very particular brand."
Sherlock put the cherry on top of Molly's despair sundae. "Plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here." Sherlock revealed a little white card. "And I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain." He told Molly.
Evelyn noticed the tears welling up in her friend's eyes. The doctor ran away, while Sherlock merely sat and watched her go without an ounce of guilt.
"Charming, well done." John said sarcastically.
"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" Sherlock argued.
"That was certainly not kind." Eve spat at him, fuming. "I'm going to go clean up this mess. Do try not to ruin any more of your friendships while I'm gone, will you?" She said with a glare, storming out to find Molly.
Sherlock felt a twinge in his sternum as the door swung shut behind Evelyn. His excitement over the case was dulled by some negative emotion he didn't want to accept. He had done something wrong and Eve was angry with him. He felt like getting up and going after her, but decided against it. A person being angry with him had never stopped him before, so why should it now?
Sherlock pushed aside the little nagging sense of anxiety in the back of his brain and turned to his favorite second pair of eyes and sounding board: John Watson.
-----------------
Evelyn spent as much time as she could spare comforting Molly, what with the twelve hour deadline for the case looming ever closer. She wasn't shocked; however, when she returned to the lab and found it empty.
She returned to 221B with six and a half hours left on the case. John filled Eve on the personal nature of the case, how Carl Powers was where it all had begun for Sherlock as a detective. Evelyn's concern that the case would be ultimately tied to "Moriarty" and their fascination with Sherlock grew as time passed. Her favorite sociopath had closed himself off in the kitchen looking at newspaper clippings and various other scraps of evidence while John was left to pace outside.
Mycroft continued to periodically text Eve, looking for updates on the West case. Evelyn ignored them each time.
With five hours remaining, Sherlock emerged. John and Eve looked to him eagerly, wanting to help. He barely looked up from the article in his hand.
"Just take the meeting."
"Sorry, what?" Evelyn asked, confused.
"I can hear you ignoring him from all the way in there. Go get more details on the stupid case." He said, waving his hand at Eve as if dismissing a class.
"You're sure you don't need me here?" She asked, feeling a bit hurt.
"Yes, yes, quite sure." He said before wandering back into the kitchen.
Evelyn grabbed her coat, a bad mood settling over her. John hugged her goodbye and she left with a little less spring in her step.
Another half hour gone saw Eve sat in Mycroft's office, waiting. Her sour mood worsened with every moment that went by and she was doing nothing at all. She wasn't helping Sherlock, she wasn't solving her own case, she was just...sitting. She was sitting there watching the clock as some innocent woman's life hung in the balance.
It was maddening.
"Ah, Evelyn, just the woman I was hoping to see." Mycroft's posh accent intoned as he entered the office, looking distractedly at a file in his hand.
"Any progress on the case?" He asked, leaning on the desk.
Displeased with the power dynamic imposed by his spot, Eve stood and faced him, evening out their height difference as much as possible.
"That's why I'm here. I'd like some more information about Mr. West. To help my investigation." She said.
"Oh, erm," He moved around to sit in the big chair behind the desk and motioned for her to take her seat again. She obliged, and took out a small notepad. "Let's see, 27. Clerk at Vauxhall Cross, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington program in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK, no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies. Last seen by his fiancée at 10:30 yesterday evening. He told her he had to go out and meet someone before leaving."
"The body was found at Battersea, correct? Did he get on the train?" Evelyn asked.
"No," Mycroft answered. "He had an Oyster card, but it hadn't been used."
"Was a ticket found on the body?"
"No."
"Right," She said, closing her notebook. "Thank you, Mycroft."
She rose to shake his hand, and he did the same. "How is Sherlock getting on by the way?" Mycroft asked.
"Fine, he's...fine." She said shortly.
"Trouble in paradise?" Mycroft asked wryly.
"Never was paradise my dear Spycroft." She said, turning to go. "I'll be in touch about the case."
Eve stepped out onto the street and her phone buzzed.
Need second pair of eyes.
Ask John. She replied. Evelyn knew she was being petty, but somehow she didn't mind. She wanted Sherlock to know she was annoyed.
Her phone rang.
"Hello-"
"You're not still angry about Molly, are you?" He interrupted.
"No, Sherlock, I'm not. That was still a shitty thing to do to her though." Eve sighed.
"Then use your brain! You're one of the few non-idiots around me and you won't think when I ask you too!" He said frustrated.
"Fine." She growled. "You said he left skin flakes on the sneakers, right?"
"Eczema, yes." Sherlock said impatiently.
"Well if we could tell his skin condition from his shoes, maybe someone else knew too. Someone who had it out for him and-"
"-and could slip something into his medication." Sherlock finished.
"You're bloody brilliant." He said before the line clicked.
Evelyn smiled, letting go of her grumpiness. He was learning, and hopefully he'd be able to keep his friends as he went. Besides, as annoying as he could be, Sherlock was being himself. And Eve never hesitated to admit that she liked who that was.
She got a phone call from Lestrade.
"Hello Greg."
"Bomb squad is on their way to get the woman on the phone." he said.
"That's wonderful!"
"Come to my office tomorrow morning with Holmes and Watson, alright?"
"I'll be there." She said.
"See you then. Good night, Evelyn."
"Good night." She said.