Bonds of Time

She loved books. It was obvious.

However, Giselle couldn't deny the fact that sitting in a bookshop, no matter how much she loved books, was boring.

At the very least she had whatever Holmes had prepared to look forward to, she thought to herself as she hurried up the stairs in Mrs Hudson's house.

Waiting for her outside her room's door was a pile of clothes and a note. She quickly unlocked the

door and hurried in, taking the pile with her.

Tighten your corset to a comfortable size. The note read.

She frowned at that, and wondered at whatever plan he had in mind.

Clearly, she thought as she shed her dress and loosened slightly her corset so she could breathe more easily, he planned some sort of physical activity.

The comfortable shirt and trousers and ribbon were more than confirmation.

The clothes were of good quality. They felt quite smooth and pleasant against her skin as she put them on. They didn't fit her quite as comfortably as she would have liked. The white shirt was too loose at her shoulders and she had to roll up her sleeves a couple of times in order to be able to use her hands. The black trousers were almost too snug around her hips and too loose everywhere else. The looseness, she repaired, by using a string instead of a belt, however there was nothing she could do for her hips' almost too tight fit.

She quickly tied her hair with the blue ribbon, put on her boots and skipped to Holmes' room, enjoying the clicking of her heels against the floor as she skipped. She couldn't stop from bouncing on the balls of her feet as she lightly rapped her knuckles against the wood of the door.

To say that she was excited was an understatement.

A soft "Come in," prompted her to open the door and step in. She barely noticed the soft snick of the door as she closed it, turning to look for Holmes in his ever messy room.

And as soon as her eyes landed on the window, a duster sailed towards her head from a shadowy corner.

She had no time to react; the duster hit her head with a smart 'twack', making her pause in her actions. A frown crawled on her face, her good mood instantly transforming into annoyance.

"Always be on your guard." Sherlock said as he stepped out of the shadowy corner.

"What the hell was that for?!" she exclaimed, rubbing the red skin of her forehead, which was still stinging. "Language, Miss Elmer." He reprimanded, his eyes glinting with amusement.

She bit her cheek, trying to stop herself from retorting back. He stared at her for a couple of seconds, challenging her to reply. But she didn't. She wanted to show him that even though she was a proud student, she knew what respect was and how to show it to her superiors. He was, after all, her teacher.

"My apologies. What was the reason for that?" she said trying to control her temper.

"An introduction to today's lesson."

"I see. So today's lesson is hitting me in the head? You do know that every time you hit your head, you kill an amount of brain cells, right?" she retorted, sarcasm showing through her efforts to hide her irritation.

Giselle could literally see him stopping himself from rolling his eyes.

"Combat, Miss Elmer. Would I be correct in assuming that you're not as adapt at defending yourself as you should be?"

She frowned at his suspenders, their colour contrasting against his white shirt and nodded. His question sounded mocking, even though she knew it was not meant to be so. And this infuriated her even more.

She followed him as he walked to a clear space, noticing only then that his delicate scientific apparatus were missing, as were his bottles of chemicals and preserved specimen.

The entire area was not as clear as she had previously thought, though. There was a small crumpled rug at one side, and a walking stick was left next to it. A heavy encyclopaedia was on the other side.

A swift kick to the back of her knees sent her crashing down on all fours.

"Never take your eyes off your opponent." He said, as she swiftly got back up.

He motioned with his hands, asking her to participate without uttering a word, his eyes glinting in mirth. She threw her fist at him, using all her strength.

And he quickly dropped down below the level of her fist and pulled her leg out from under her. A short screech escaped her lips as she lost balance, the hard floor meeting her back, leaving a sharp sting behind.

"Expect the unexpected." He said as he offered her his hand to get up.

She took it, and he instantly pulled her up and moved away from in front of her. She promptly lost her balance once again and tripped forwards, smacking her torso.

"And never trust your opponent."

His amusement was gone.

She quickly got up again.

Her back ached, her stomach stung and her pride was severely hurt.

Her hands curled into fists and her elbows bent, protecting her ribcage and head. Her knees bent, as she started circling him, copying his actions.

A white handkerchief materialized in his hand, and she instantly knew what he was going to do.

She ducked and slid to the side on the floor, where she quickly swept her foot behind him, tripping him. She stood up, the handkerchief in her hand after picking it up from the floor.

Sherlock quickly twisted himself, still on the floor, grasped something and pulled hard.

A small squeak of surprise escaped her lips, as she lost balance once again and found the floor rushing to meet her once again. She opened her eyes, as she lay on the floor, eyeing Sherlock's already standing form with annoyance.

She realized that she had stepped on the rug.

"Keep in mind your surroundings."

She nodded as she raised her hand.

"Help me up, my back hurts." She said.

Just as his fingers closed around her palm, she tightened her hold on him and kicked his legs, rolling away to one side. Needless to say, he lost his balance once again as she quickly jumped to her feet and skipped out of reach.

"What was that you said about trust?" she said, resisting the urge to smirk.

He allowed a small smile to escape as he quickly got up again and resumed their sparring, dodging kicks and trading punches.

At one point, when Giselle was trying to catch her breath after a particularly vigorous dodge, a sharp whack at the back of her thigh rendered her leg useless.

She gasped as she wobbled on her left leg.

"Give it time, let the numbness decrease first." Sherlock said, the walking stick twirling in his hand.

"No, I'm fine." She said as she put her leg down and winced. It stung, but her determination was stronger.

A sigh escaped Sherlock's thin lips.

"Don't. Get. Over. Confident." He said as he smacked her on her left thigh, right thigh, left ribs and right arm with the walking stick in succession with his words.

She growled; the sting to her pride much worse than the physical stinging in her body.

Her legs coiled and just as she was about to launch herself at him, Sherlock threw the walking stick in the air, caught it from the straight end and hooked the curved part behind her ankle. A sharp jerk pulled her leg from underneath her and, with a colourful curse, she lost balance once again.

The walking stick flipped itself in the air again, and the straight pointed end was pointed at her very much like a sword.

"Above anything else, never let your emotions control you."

Her scowl didn't leave her face.

Her pride had taken a severe beating.

The walking stick was removed from in front of her and a hand replaced it, offering to help her stand. She ignored it and stood up on her own.

"Being obstinate is useful Miss Elmer, but you need to learn when and to whom you should submit." He said, his hand falling limply to his side.

Her scowl didn't leave.

He turned, the soles of his shoes grinding against the floor, as he manoeuvred himself between piles of books and papers and picked a book.

"Follow this book's instructions, Miss Elmer, and you should notice your strength increasing considerably." He said as he handed her the book. She took it and murmured a soft thanks.

His shoes ground against the floor as he turned once again and walked to his window, clearly dismissing her without words, as he picked a matchbox and his pipe from a side table. The clicking of her boots against the floor sounded hollow even to her as she walked to the door.

She paused, her hand on the door handle and her body angled towards Sherlock, who was puffing at an already lit pipe.

"Thank you." She said softly.

Her mood was still as black as thunder, but she knew if it hadn't been for Sherlock, she would have been living on the streets at that very moment, if she would still have been alive.

He turned, his gaze dark and scorching. And after a moment, he nodded once and turned to look out of the window, his unlit pipe in his hand.

As she looked at the pipe, something in her mind clicked. She yearned for a cigarette, for the smoke to fill her lungs and calm her racing thoughts. The burning need hadn't hit her with such intensity for about a couple of weeks.

Instead, she hurried out of the room and closed the door behind her.