Fan Fiction ❯ Hinc Illae Lacrimae ❯ Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum ( Chapter 6 )
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: Trick Sparrow 
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 10.02.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 263 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 10.02.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 263 | Status: Completed
//Chapter six already? My goodness! It's a good thing I actually know what the rest of the story is going to be about, because otherwise it would just be pointless rambling. Kind of like I'm doing right now. Anyway, thanks for the reviews,(so MANY!) and I hope you like the latest chapter.//
Hinc Illae Lacrimae
Chapter 6: Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
It was relatively early when I awoke, so the sun had not yet risen to burn away the London fog. There was enough light, however, for me to see that Holmes had *not* left after I had fallen asleep, and was in fact sleeping quite soundly in the same armchair he had been sitting in the night before, his violin resting in his lap. I climbed out of bed, careful not to wake him, and tiptoed over to his slumbering form.
Hmm. He looked so peaceful, so... not unbearable when he was asleep. Too bad he delighted in driving me insane when he was awake. Still, I suppose we weren't all that different. We were both intelligent, and definitely not afraid to admit it. We both had inflated egos sometimes, and didn't take well to criticism. We weren't too bad looking, either.
I grinned and shook my head, taking the violin gently from his grasp and placing it on the bedside table. Grabbing the afghan off the bed, I draped it carefully over him, resisting the urge to run my fingers through his jet-black hair. Yikes! Bad girl! Instead, I simply gazed at him for a moment, and turned to leave.
"You should be in bed."
I gasped, nearly tripping over the rug, and turned to see Holmes, *fully* awake, staring at me calmly. I glared at him, fighting off a blush as it threatened to consume my face. "You've been awake this whole time, haven't you?"
Ignoring my question, he stood up and, folding the blanket over the back of the chair, took a step forward to scrutinize me. "You are looking much better. How are you feeling, Crewe?"
"Well, I still feel kind of dizzy, but I'm--" I stopped. "Hey, wait a minute! You didn't answer me! Have you been awake this whole time?"
Holmes nodded indifferently and walked over to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked kind of pensive-- When did he not?-- so I decided not to pester him any further for once. "Well, um... I don't think I'm going to be getting any more sleep, so... I'll see you at breakfast, okay?"
In return he said nothing, but I didn't really expect him to. Ah, whatever. I turned to leave, *again*, but once more I was stopped.
"Crewe."
I paused at the door. "Yeah?" What was this guy's problem? Did he *not* want me to leave?
He walked up to me, his keen, blue-grey eyes bathing me in a thoughtful light. "You are... not happy here, are you?"
That took me by complete surprise. "What? What do you mean?" I asked.
"Exactly what I said," he replied in a soft tone. "It is really quite obvious, Crewe. You are unhappy here."
I looked down at the floor, trying to avoid his disturbingly sincere gaze, but that only made him take a step closer to me and lift my chin up with his hand. His eyes... Why did they look so concerned? "Holmes" and "concerned" were two words that just didn't belong together. His head cocked to one side, making him far too cute for his own good, if I do say so myself. "Tell me why," he insisted.
"You have to know everything, don't you?" I said, sighing. "Fine. You really want to know why?" I ticked the reasons off my fingers. "Well, for one, I'm stuck in the nineteenth century and I have no idea how I got here. Two, all my family and friends technically haven't even been born yet. And three, someone is trying to kill me, and I have no idea why!" I bit my lip to fight back tears, which didn't work, by the way, as I angrily held his gaze. "Would *you* be happy in my situation?"
"No," he said quietly. "I admit I would not handle it well."
"Then stop interrogating me already and just let me be miserable!" I snapped, taking the opportunity to leave before I became a complete emotional wreck. Unfortunately, the detective wouldn't let me get away so easily.
Instead of grabbing me by the wrist or shaking my shoulders to get my attention, he simply shook his head, looking at me with those freaking beautiful eyes of his. "Crewe... You know I want the best for you, but I cannot help you if you speak that way."
That was the breaking point for me. Totally giving up on maintaining my dignity, I fell against him, sobbing into his chest. "I'm sorry, Holmes," I cried, ashamed of how weak I sounded. "I'm not mad at you, I just... I just want to go home! I know that makes me sound like a stupid little child, but I miss my family and my friends! I'm sick of not being able to drive a car, or listen to my cd's, or go to the movies with my big sister!" I sniffed. "It's not like I don't appreciate all this, but... God, I feel like such an ungrateful wretch!"
What surprised me even more than I'm sure my breakdown surprised Holmes was the feeling of two arms as they wrapped hesitantly around me, pulling me closer to him. "Hush," he whispered, his soft voice giving me a tight feeling in my chest. "There is no reason to feel guilty. You're certainly not overreacting to what has befallen you."
I closed my eyes as his trembling fingers weaved themselves into my curly hair. "I miss Fenton," I said, pressing my tearstained cheek against his neck. Why? Why did being so close to him feel perfectly rational? Why did being able to feel his racing pulse seem like a common, run-of-the-mill occurrence? Why did being held by *Sherlock Holmes* feel so... right?
He paused at my last statement. "Fenton? You mean, your dog?"
"Yeah," I said, looking up at him and smiling weakly.
He smiled back, reaching up with one hand to wipe my face dry. "Hinc illae lacrimae?"
I laughed bitterly, sniffling again. "Yes, hence these tears. Though I don't think I would cry just because I miss my dog."
Smiling again, he awkwardly brushed an auburn curl out of my face, which made me turn as red as a fire engine. He noticed my blush and released me, letting out an embarrassed "Whoooops."
I gaped at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Why Holmes, I believe I'm rubbing off on you more than you realize!"
Smirking, he put a finger to his mouth. "I would appreciate it if you didn't let this spread."
Suddenly a loud crash sounded from out in the sitting-room. I looked at Holmes with wide eyes, and we both ran down the hallway to see that the front window had been broken, and shards of glass lay all over the floor. I ran to the window to see if the culprit was still there, but Holmes grabbed me and and dropped to the ground, pulling me with him.
"Ow! Jeez, warn me next time, would y--" He clapped his hand over my mouth and shook his head, pointing to the window. My eyes widened, and I fell silent as I saw a silhouette of a handgun pass over one of the walls. The shadow paused for a moment, then lowered out of sight.
After what seemed like hours, Holmes let out a breath. "I believe it is safe now," he said, pulling me to my feet. "Whoever was there has gone."
I sighed and brushed broken glass off the couch before sitting down. "Keyword being 'whoever'," I muttered, resting my chin in my hands. "I still don't get why someone would be trying to kill me."
"What was that dreadful noise?" I turned to see Watson in his dressing-gown. His expression was priceless when he spotted the shattered window. "My God, what happened here?"
"Someone found out the poison didn't have its desired effect," I replied. "They came to remedy the situation."
"No," said Holmes, bending down to pick something up. "This was merely a warning."
He sat down next to me and held out the object he had extracted from the debris. It was a chunk of mortar, with a piece of paper tied to it with packing twine. Slowly, he took off the string and pulled out the paper, unfolding it for us to see.
::To Mr. Sherlock Holmes concerning a Ms. Amanda Crewe--
I am fully aware Ms. Crewe is residing with you, posing as one Dr. John Watson's cousin from America. Unless you want to see her harmed, I would suggest you leave London immediately.::
After an unbearably long pause, Holmes looked up at me with wide eyes. "It would appear that this murderous intention is not entirely focused on you."
//Ooooooh, what exciting adventures will Crewe and company get into in the next chapter? Who could possibly be so mad at Holmes that they would try to kill someone he... dare I say, cared about? Why am I only talking in questions? Leave a review, and you'll find out soon!
Oh! Before I forget... I DREW SHERLOCK HOLMES!! *leaps for joy* I also drew Crewe, in case you didn't have a good idea of what she looks like. Check 'em out!
http://www.mediaminer.org/fanart/view.php?id=22940
http:/ /www.mediaminer.org/fanart/view.php?id=27849
So yeah, have a look-see, and if you're nice, please leave a comment!//
Hinc Illae Lacrimae
Chapter 6: Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
It was relatively early when I awoke, so the sun had not yet risen to burn away the London fog. There was enough light, however, for me to see that Holmes had *not* left after I had fallen asleep, and was in fact sleeping quite soundly in the same armchair he had been sitting in the night before, his violin resting in his lap. I climbed out of bed, careful not to wake him, and tiptoed over to his slumbering form.
Hmm. He looked so peaceful, so... not unbearable when he was asleep. Too bad he delighted in driving me insane when he was awake. Still, I suppose we weren't all that different. We were both intelligent, and definitely not afraid to admit it. We both had inflated egos sometimes, and didn't take well to criticism. We weren't too bad looking, either.
I grinned and shook my head, taking the violin gently from his grasp and placing it on the bedside table. Grabbing the afghan off the bed, I draped it carefully over him, resisting the urge to run my fingers through his jet-black hair. Yikes! Bad girl! Instead, I simply gazed at him for a moment, and turned to leave.
"You should be in bed."
I gasped, nearly tripping over the rug, and turned to see Holmes, *fully* awake, staring at me calmly. I glared at him, fighting off a blush as it threatened to consume my face. "You've been awake this whole time, haven't you?"
Ignoring my question, he stood up and, folding the blanket over the back of the chair, took a step forward to scrutinize me. "You are looking much better. How are you feeling, Crewe?"
"Well, I still feel kind of dizzy, but I'm--" I stopped. "Hey, wait a minute! You didn't answer me! Have you been awake this whole time?"
Holmes nodded indifferently and walked over to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked kind of pensive-- When did he not?-- so I decided not to pester him any further for once. "Well, um... I don't think I'm going to be getting any more sleep, so... I'll see you at breakfast, okay?"
In return he said nothing, but I didn't really expect him to. Ah, whatever. I turned to leave, *again*, but once more I was stopped.
"Crewe."
I paused at the door. "Yeah?" What was this guy's problem? Did he *not* want me to leave?
He walked up to me, his keen, blue-grey eyes bathing me in a thoughtful light. "You are... not happy here, are you?"
That took me by complete surprise. "What? What do you mean?" I asked.
"Exactly what I said," he replied in a soft tone. "It is really quite obvious, Crewe. You are unhappy here."
I looked down at the floor, trying to avoid his disturbingly sincere gaze, but that only made him take a step closer to me and lift my chin up with his hand. His eyes... Why did they look so concerned? "Holmes" and "concerned" were two words that just didn't belong together. His head cocked to one side, making him far too cute for his own good, if I do say so myself. "Tell me why," he insisted.
"You have to know everything, don't you?" I said, sighing. "Fine. You really want to know why?" I ticked the reasons off my fingers. "Well, for one, I'm stuck in the nineteenth century and I have no idea how I got here. Two, all my family and friends technically haven't even been born yet. And three, someone is trying to kill me, and I have no idea why!" I bit my lip to fight back tears, which didn't work, by the way, as I angrily held his gaze. "Would *you* be happy in my situation?"
"No," he said quietly. "I admit I would not handle it well."
"Then stop interrogating me already and just let me be miserable!" I snapped, taking the opportunity to leave before I became a complete emotional wreck. Unfortunately, the detective wouldn't let me get away so easily.
Instead of grabbing me by the wrist or shaking my shoulders to get my attention, he simply shook his head, looking at me with those freaking beautiful eyes of his. "Crewe... You know I want the best for you, but I cannot help you if you speak that way."
That was the breaking point for me. Totally giving up on maintaining my dignity, I fell against him, sobbing into his chest. "I'm sorry, Holmes," I cried, ashamed of how weak I sounded. "I'm not mad at you, I just... I just want to go home! I know that makes me sound like a stupid little child, but I miss my family and my friends! I'm sick of not being able to drive a car, or listen to my cd's, or go to the movies with my big sister!" I sniffed. "It's not like I don't appreciate all this, but... God, I feel like such an ungrateful wretch!"
What surprised me even more than I'm sure my breakdown surprised Holmes was the feeling of two arms as they wrapped hesitantly around me, pulling me closer to him. "Hush," he whispered, his soft voice giving me a tight feeling in my chest. "There is no reason to feel guilty. You're certainly not overreacting to what has befallen you."
I closed my eyes as his trembling fingers weaved themselves into my curly hair. "I miss Fenton," I said, pressing my tearstained cheek against his neck. Why? Why did being so close to him feel perfectly rational? Why did being able to feel his racing pulse seem like a common, run-of-the-mill occurrence? Why did being held by *Sherlock Holmes* feel so... right?
He paused at my last statement. "Fenton? You mean, your dog?"
"Yeah," I said, looking up at him and smiling weakly.
He smiled back, reaching up with one hand to wipe my face dry. "Hinc illae lacrimae?"
I laughed bitterly, sniffling again. "Yes, hence these tears. Though I don't think I would cry just because I miss my dog."
Smiling again, he awkwardly brushed an auburn curl out of my face, which made me turn as red as a fire engine. He noticed my blush and released me, letting out an embarrassed "Whoooops."
I gaped at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Why Holmes, I believe I'm rubbing off on you more than you realize!"
Smirking, he put a finger to his mouth. "I would appreciate it if you didn't let this spread."
Suddenly a loud crash sounded from out in the sitting-room. I looked at Holmes with wide eyes, and we both ran down the hallway to see that the front window had been broken, and shards of glass lay all over the floor. I ran to the window to see if the culprit was still there, but Holmes grabbed me and and dropped to the ground, pulling me with him.
"Ow! Jeez, warn me next time, would y--" He clapped his hand over my mouth and shook his head, pointing to the window. My eyes widened, and I fell silent as I saw a silhouette of a handgun pass over one of the walls. The shadow paused for a moment, then lowered out of sight.
After what seemed like hours, Holmes let out a breath. "I believe it is safe now," he said, pulling me to my feet. "Whoever was there has gone."
I sighed and brushed broken glass off the couch before sitting down. "Keyword being 'whoever'," I muttered, resting my chin in my hands. "I still don't get why someone would be trying to kill me."
"What was that dreadful noise?" I turned to see Watson in his dressing-gown. His expression was priceless when he spotted the shattered window. "My God, what happened here?"
"Someone found out the poison didn't have its desired effect," I replied. "They came to remedy the situation."
"No," said Holmes, bending down to pick something up. "This was merely a warning."
He sat down next to me and held out the object he had extracted from the debris. It was a chunk of mortar, with a piece of paper tied to it with packing twine. Slowly, he took off the string and pulled out the paper, unfolding it for us to see.
::To Mr. Sherlock Holmes concerning a Ms. Amanda Crewe--
I am fully aware Ms. Crewe is residing with you, posing as one Dr. John Watson's cousin from America. Unless you want to see her harmed, I would suggest you leave London immediately.::
After an unbearably long pause, Holmes looked up at me with wide eyes. "It would appear that this murderous intention is not entirely focused on you."
//Ooooooh, what exciting adventures will Crewe and company get into in the next chapter? Who could possibly be so mad at Holmes that they would try to kill someone he... dare I say, cared about? Why am I only talking in questions? Leave a review, and you'll find out soon!
Oh! Before I forget... I DREW SHERLOCK HOLMES!! *leaps for joy* I also drew Crewe, in case you didn't have a good idea of what she looks like. Check 'em out!
http://www.mediaminer.org/fanart/view.php?id=22940
http:/ /www.mediaminer.org/fanart/view.php?id=27849
So yeah, have a look-see, and if you're nice, please leave a comment!//