Starcrossed

They arrived at an exquisite flat building in the posh part of the city. Stephanie had kept herself calm while shopping and was proud of herself for her dinner performance. But now she was nervous. Anyone in her unique position could have seen what was coming. Her only fear was herself. One of two things was going to happen in some expensive beautiful room of that building.

"Is this your London home?" she asked with shock that he would bring her to such an intimate place.

"Actually it's not. Most of my things are boxed up in the states at present. Doing a bit of moving around," he admitted, unsure of her feelings-as a fan-towards his controversial move to California.

She surprised him with a polite simple "oh". Benedict pulled out his phone and scrolled down his list of notes. His thumb slowly scrolled down a list labeled "Crash Pads". Makenzie stared out to the street to give him his privacy. He suddenly gave a little hum of confirmation, returning her attention to him. The man quickly pressed a code, one of many on his current screen, into the front door's digit lock system. When the lock made a click the corners of his mouth quickly flinched up before he grabbed the handle.

"Please," he spoke with a gesture that asked her to lead the way. Once they were inside, the young woman at the desk greeted him as if he were a regular then he lead the girl to the lifts. Ben pressed a button before knotting his fingers behind his back, a familiar Sherlock-ish stance.

"So let me get this straight," Makenzie began while stepping into the lift with a growing smirk of disbelief. "You have a list of your mates' homes for when you need a place to go?"

"Something of the like." He pressed the button displaying a number four. "Not exactly but close enough," he replied with what looked like slight embarrassment. "I avoid hotels when I can. Money can't buy the comfort of a friend's lived in home."

"Is said friend home tonight?" She was growing more nervous as the conversation continued- though she never let it show.

"No. He's currently in Paris on business."

"Of course he is," she mumbled sarcastically, not surprised yet still very impressed.

Benedict opened the door and flipped the light on with ease as if they were in his own home. The lit room took Makenzie's breath away. Benedict smirked at the small gasp she was unaware of making. It was the kind of home she had seen in magazines and on the telly, lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous sort. The sitting room alone left her wide eyed and speechless with its cream color and light blue trappings and dark wooden furniture. A moderate sized kitchen was separated from the room by a bar type of counter with tall padded stool chairs. By the looks of things, the owner had been away for at least two weeks, the surfaces already collecting a thin layer of dust. On the opposite side of the living space was a hall, where the bedrooms and toilet was no doubt.

"This is fantastic," she finally breathed, eyes still searching the place.

"It is very lovely," he agreed rather than stated. "You aren't even a bit curious as to whose home we are in?"

She was beginning to love the way he teased and tested her, clearly still trying to figure her out. It was rather adorable and extremely flattering.

"Not really," she smiled, not paying attention to him.

"Liar," Benedict called her bluff.

Makenzie found a picture frame on one of the end tables and picked it up for a closer look, to confirm what she thought she had seen.

"Mark Gatiss? This is the home of Mark Gatiss?" the excited girl gasped for a second time.

"Don't be daft," Ben growled in a friendly manner. "This is his guest home. I come here when I'm avoiding hotels or if none of my mates are in town."

"Didn't want to stay with Martin?" she giggled entirely pleased that he could take her joking.

"We wouldn't of had a moment's rest with Martin." He laughed to himself, some sort of joke with himself perhaps. "The toilet is down the hall if you would like to change. Hangers are in the closet in the room directly across the loo."

"And if I want to stay in my ball gown?" the girl challenged. The beautiful thing happily spun around so that the material floated around her ankles rather than pooling around her heels.

"Do as you wish," he sighed with a shrug. That blasted amused grin was still on his face.

"I was only teasing," she laughed breathlessly when she nearly toppled over from her heels. Another moment and she was gone, down the hall back into her street clothes.

He watched her as she pranced away with an unfamiliar tightness of his chest and a strange pulling of his thoughts. Her spirit made her seem young yet her maturity made guessing her age more difficult. She was definitely in her twenties, about to graduate he recalled. Ben guessed, and also hoped, that she was closer to her mid twenties than early. He was stunned from how young she made him feel. Yes, he enjoyed this spontaneity and youth she brought with her presence. This was the feeling he so often longed for yet rarely had time to experience. That was the curse of fame but one he was presently willing to accept.

While she was still changing in the loo, humming an upbeat tune as he walked by, Benedict went into the room he was staying in. He felt like an awkward teenager when asking himself what he should change into, something he rarely put much thought into when he was in private. A purple dress shirt, similar to Sherlock's, was folded atop a pair of black slacks. Maybe she was secretly one of his fans that went mad over that single piece of wardrobe. There was another few clean outfits in his bag including tan pants, polo shirts, a few graphic tee shirts, dress socks, cotton ankle socks, and the jeans he had worn on the plane. But he was trying to impress her. For some reason, unknown to even himself, he wanted to impress this rather unique young woman who had, and was keeping, his full attention. He made a quick decision upon hearing the restroom door open.

The jacket and dress shirt he had worn tonight were thrown off and onto a nearby chair. She opened the closet in the next room. Ben also removed his undershirt with haste, hands slightly shaking from unexplainable nerves. From the other side of the wall he heard the closet doors clicked shut. His undershirt landed on the growing pile on the chair- rather adolescent, he thought to himself. He flinched when his pocket buzzed, his mobile. In the same haste, he pulled out the device and read the four text messages he had ignored during dinner. One from his mother, another from Mark, one of Martin's suggested texts that were expected after he caught Benedict with an unfamiliar female, and finally one of his new mates from the Trek cast- just checking in.

She had searched the sitting room and kitchen but they were empty. He hadn't been in the loo or the front guest room or she would have ran into him. That left one mysterious room in question. Did she dare? With a pounding heart and high hopes of not intruding, Makenzie pushed open the door of the back bedroom.

Benedict Cumberbatch had been her favorite actor and celebrity for the last several years- before he even wore the blue scarf and dark trench coat. He had always been so polite, fun loving, witty, charming, and everything a proper gentleman should be anytime she had seen him in media. But this, the bare-chested bloke checking his mobile at the foot of the bed, was who she had always been curious about. Benedict Cumberbatch, the man- not the celebrity.

Her presence caught him off guard as he finally met her stare in the doorway. His cheeks reddened from not getting dressed quick enough- he cursed himself now for reading the texts.

"I'm so sorry," she blurted after watching his discomfort.

"No, it's quite alright," he replied with a single tremble in his voice. The man quickly began to dig through the folded clothes in his suitcase. What had he been looking for? He suddenly couldn't remember.

"The jeans and a tee shirt," Makenzie sang, her speaking voice now tender and more melodic than before.

By the time he looked over towards her the doorway was vacant. His heart was now pounding violently in his chest. What was this all about? Since when was he so backwards with women? A corner of his heart shaped lips twitched up as his heart steadied.

Jeans and a tee shirt, ay?, he thought as a strange relaxing sensation began to sweep over him.
When he entered the sitting room, she was doing something in the kitchen. Makenzie heard him approaching but couldn't bring herself to look at him just yet. Since that rather unexpected-but entirely beautiful-sight of him in the back room, she couldn't keep a single thought in her head.
"Making some tea. Hope you don't mind."

"No, please do."

His voice had changed, she noticed. It was much softer and completely casual- more natural than the tone used in their previous conversations. She found it incredibly difficult to stay out of his head. What was he thinking? She didn't want to get her hopes up for anything, nothing at all. This had already been a night worthy of any girl's total jealousy. To wish for specifics would be entirely selfish and childish. This wasn't secondary school and he was not her schoolyard crush.

"How do you take yours?"

Makenzie couldn’t stifle her gasp when she turned around to find him right in front of her, her chest inches from his. Without her shoes he was a head taller than her, give or take a few inches. If she was brave enough to put her head on his chest his chin would probably rest comfortably atop her head. The moment was perfect, the only way she could describe the best moment of her life- thus far.

"Black. Two sugars," he softly breathed, just as flustered as she felt.

Their stare lasted longer than it should have. Despite her practice to downplay everything from the last two days this was the moment that the obvious became undeniable. No longer could she ignore the chemistry that had been building between them since their first meeting on Gower Street.