Elusive

A couple of weeks later, Aria sat on the couch in 221B while John tended to the scar on her chest. She insisted that she could take care it just fine, but she suspected that he still felt guilty about what happened. Sherlock, however, remained unfazed and continued to pester her into coming along when her skill set was required. Aria had no issues going as long as they weren't taking her to any creepy small towns again. Now she yawned as the old doctor stuck on a new bandage after disinfecting her wound and reached for her tea.

"It's healing up nicely," John said, gathering his kit. "Luckily it was a shallow cut, so if we keep it clean you should barely see any scarring."

"Thanks, John," Aria smiled.

"How are you feeling though?" John asked, stealing concerned glance at her face. "Some people experience negative emotions after…"

"After killing a man?" She asked, lying back and stretching her legs over the length of the couch. "Surprisingly alright. It was either him or one of you guys and he was just as bad as his brother, wasn't he? I don't regret anything."

Aria busied herself with the ends of her hair, knowing that it must have sounded odd. But this wasn't the first time she fired a gun and this certainly wasn't the first time she'd ever killed a man. Still, she didn't like to dwell on it and preferred to move forward and put it behind her. John and Lestrade were set on worrying themselves over her, yet she didn't have the heart to completely disregard their concern.

Sherlock appeared, hovering over her moments after John left to go put his things away and Aria shifted her eyes to peer curiously up at him. He was giving her that look again, the one he had started to observe her with as of late. Aria had the hunch that he was beginning to suspect her of everything she's been trying to hide, but that was to be expected when she lived in such close quarters with London's famous consulting detective.

"What?" She asked.

"You didn't strike me as the type to handle a gun," he said. "Yet you were able to wield it with such accuracy while under the influence."

"It was dumb luck." Aria mumbled, closing her eyes.

"Or practiced skill." Sherlock corrected. "The trigger discipline, the ease of motion, and not to mention the absence of any hesitation."

Aria opened one of her eyes and her mouth pressed into a small smile. "I watch a lot of movies," she whispered as John returned and questioned what Sherlock was doing.

"Ok, I'm going to be late for work," Aria sighed, sitting up and brushing by Sherlock to place her teacup in the sink. "Thanks for the tea! I'll see you both later."

"Don't overexert yourself, Aria," John called after her.

Aria quickly got dressed and left for the library within the hour. Once at work, she busied herself with organizing the books. She was enjoying the quiet monotony of her day, but she couldn't help but wonder about what sorts of things the boys were getting into. Sherlock had already texted her a few times, inquiring about the thought processes of a woman that carried herself in a manner that was strikingly similar to Karla. He must have run into someone who was untrusting of his face. Aria tapped out a short reply when no one was looking, moments before she sensed someone looming behind her. She clutched the phone to her chest and whipped her head around with a suspicious squint of her eye.

"Aria, I didn't know you worked here," Molly Hooper was smiling at her, a couple of books cradled in her arm.

"Oh, Molly," a soft smile settled on her lips and the tensions in her shoulder dispelled. "I only work here a few times a week. It's a small, part-time thing. You're not working today?"

"Not today, but tomorrow," she said. "I heard you all went on a little vacation. How was it?"

"A vacation? Is that what Sherlock called it? I was suffocated, drugged, and nearly stabbed to death by a lunatic," Aria glowered. "And his twin brother was in on it too. Apparently he got off on watching his brother do the gory work. Ugh, and they actually made me go on a date with that guy."

"Oh goodness! That must have been why John and Greg were looking so guilty when I asked," Molly clucked her tongue. "You're alright though, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. Thank you, Molly," she replied, her sour face dissolving into a relaxed smile. "Are you all set? I can get you squared away if you just follow me."

"That would be appreciated," Molly said with a slight bow of her head. "Thank you, Aria."

. . .

Later that night after dinner, Aria was standing over the sink scrubbing dishes. There were various other things chucked in there as well and she did her best not to think about the chunky liquids at the bottom of some of Sherlock's glass beakers. She was just finishing up when she happened to glance up and see the consulting detective himself looming at the edge of the living area. They engaged in a short staring contest before they both suddenly moved, Aria skirting over the corner of the table and dashing out of the kitchen, down the stairs. Aria let out a cry of frustration as Sherlock wedged into her room before her and claimed his usual spot on the yellow seat. She slapped a hand to her forehead and sighed heavily, swinging the door behind her to leave it slightly ajar.

"For God's sake, Sherlock, can't you bless John with your presence tonight?" Aria asked, moving to the mirror and dragging her brush through her hair.

"John is already sleeping," he insisted, wiggling slightly and propping his elbows on the armrests. "He wouldn't offer me nearly enough stimulation, so no, I cannot."

"Fair enough," she mumbled, pulling open the armoire and sifting through her clothes. "So what sort of conversation are we having to 'stimulate' your thought process tonight?"

Sherlock's blue eyes lingered on her legs as her pants dropped and pooled around her ankles. He couldn't see anything more because she was obscured by the wooden door of her armoire. There were soft whispers of cloth sliding over skin as a few other articles of clothing fell to the floor and Sherlock brought his hands together in front of his mouth. When Aria stepped back, she was wearing a long sleeved button down shirt and a pair of white socks. She glanced at him questioningly as she bent to scoop her clothes off the floor and deposit them in the nearby laundry basket. Aria raked her hair over her shoulder and crossed the room.

"How about we begin with your bizarre choice of bedroom attire?"

"I think it's comfortable," Aria replied with a shrug.

"Your comfort suggests something out of habit," Sherlock pointed out. "But what circumstances made it familiar for you to sport men's clothing?"

"An old flame, obviously," she said, crawling onto her bed to reach up and crack open the tiny window. "But really, you want to discuss my bed wear? I would've thought you'd want to continue our earlier discussion about my future as a professional sharpshooter."

Sherlock was quiet, scrutinizing every aspect of her as she settled down, folding her legs beneath her as she brought a cigarette to her lips and lit the end. Carefully, she drew on it, letting the ember brighten with life before blowing a translucent stream of smoke up towards the open window. The edges of his eyelids crinkled slightly as she looked to him with intentional neutrality.

He'd never suspected anything before, but the more time he spent watching Aria, the more he began to realize that her character was entirely too sharp and too well defined in a world where people's true natures were muddled with dark secrets and quiet anxieties. Sherlock thought he was able to see everything about Aria from the first glance. Her poise reflected a graceful young lady and her eyes were always looking carefully at the people around her. She was quick to consider others before herself and she always took care with her words. Her bad habits consisted of smoking, drinking, and avoiding things that she did not like.

If Aria was wearing a mask, it was too perfect.

"You want me to think what you want me to think," Sherlock observed, fixing her with a thoughtful brow. "But that won't work on me now. I'm onto you, Miss Royale. I'm onto your secret."

"Are you now?" Aria pressed her lips into a lazy smile and tapped her cigarette on the rim of an old ashtray she had stolen from one of her workplaces. "But all girls have their secrets, Sherlock… and it's not a smart thing to go digging them up."

A tiny smirk twitched on his face and Aria frowned as she quirked a brow at him.

"Sherlock, don't you dare say it."

"The game is on."

. . .

Time passed and sometime at the end of January, Aria was on standby with Lestrade while John and Sherlock dealt with some sort of imminent threat in an abandoned building.

"Has Sherlock been asking you any odd questions about me?" Aria asked him, growing bored of watching the dark windows for any signs of activity.

"Like what?" He seemed to share the same sentiment, but he stubbornly kept his eyes peeled for any movements or signals to move in.

"I don't know. He's decided to make a game of dredging up my secrets," she muttered, pulling her muffler over her chin as a chill wind passed by. "And he's been suspiciously quiet about it for a couple months."

Lestrade laughed, tearing his gaze from the building to look at the young woman leaning on the car beside him. It was rare for Aria to give too much care about anything, so naturally he figured that she had some juicy secret hidden away after all.

"What's the worst he could dig up about you? Your secret life as a lesbian?"

Aria gave him blank stare as her brows came together in thought. "You think I'm a lesbian?"

Lestrade was still chuckling to himself when he caught the look he was receiving. Immediately he stopped, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin as he shifted awkwardly. Aria's arms were crossing over her chest and her brows were now disappearing behind her fringe in expectation.

"Well, I mean," he rubbed the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at her. "A pretty young woman your age should be going out on a date every other night, but you don't seem interested in all the fine british men London has to offer."

"You think so?"

The building suddenly exploded, sending bits of glass, brick, and wood raining down on them as an intense heat swelled in the winter air. Aria groaned, gently pushing Lestrade away as she battled with the ringing in her ears. She wasn't the only one struggling to regain her wits, but she was mindful enough to scan the other man for injuries before making sure all her limbs were accounted for. Something tickled the side of her face and she reached up to swipe it away. Aria squinted at the blood smeared on her fingers and swore under her breath as she started to brush the debris off her clothes and climb back onto her feet.

A sharp pain in her side made her falter and Aria pressed a hand over the area with a grimace. Lestrade must have heard her tiny yelp because he was asking her what was wrong moments after she dropped back onto her knees. She said nothing and hastily ripped open her coat, looking down as bright red blossomed across her pastel colored shirt. Aria squeaked in shock and reached around her waist to feel something poking through her clothes. Of course, she would be the lucky one to get impaled by a sliver of debris in the sudden blast.

"Oh, Christ, it just doesn't end, does it?" Aria cried in frustration. "Those boys are going to be the death of me, I swear. Where are they? They better be alive."

She attempted to advance on the burning rubble of the building, but her efforts were impeded by a concerned Lestrade. He was lecturing her about how it wasn't wise to move about when she was at risk of bleeding out and dying. Aria got the sense that he was just exaggerating, but she chose to refrain from calling him out on it. Instead, she remained seated while he called the attention of the nearby paramedics. By the time they came over and prepared to take her back to their ambulance, Sherlock and John had already emerged from the fiery chaos, singed but mainly unscathed.

"If I were a lesbian," Aria spoke suddenly and out of the blue, just loud enough for them to hear as they carted her past. "I wouldn't feel any need to hide it."

It turned out to be a fairly minor injury since it failed to pierce anything vital and Aria was able to persuade the paramedics to let her go home without incident. If anything happened, she trusted John as a capable doctor to take care of her. Aria ended up spending that night on the couch so John wouldn't have to go all the way down the stairs to check on her. She knew he would because it was in his nature.

It must have been past midnight when Aria was stirred by a cup of tea being placed on the table in front of her face.

"Oh, thanks John," she said, gingerly rolling over to take a sip. "Sherlock has been working in the kitchen for hours. Did you borrow Mrs. Hudson's?"

It was true. Sherlock had holed himself up in the kitchen since they had returned home that night, shutting all the doors and denying anyone access. He claimed to be in the midst of some experiments that were extremely delicate and he was not to be bothered for any reason at all. Aria was forced to listen to his persistent, incoherent mumbling and occasional outbursts of proclaimed genius. Needless to say, it was very difficult to get any sleep.

"Yup," John said, sitting on the edge of the couch. "How are you faring, Aria?"

"I'm fine," she replied, peering into the tea as if it would whisper secrets.

"Look, I know it's been a little wild around here and I'd completely understand if you'd prefer us to leave you out of all this," he said, peering over to see Aria still staring into her tea. It was clear that she hadn't heard a word of what he just said. "You seem a little… distracted lately. Is something bothering you? Is this about Sherlock engaging you in one of his games?"

"I actually kind of miss having Karla sneaking into my bed on stormy nights," Aria said, setting her half finished tea down. "I don't like being by myself all the time, so I actually like when you two offer me an opportunity to go out. And any secrets that I have are bound to come out eventually, whether Sherlock chooses to snoop or not."

"Maybe you just need to go out more. I'm always around if you need any company," John said, shifting in his seat. "Jesus, this couch is awful for your back. Why haven't you gone back down to your bed?"

"Out of the question," Aria replied. "I tried to kill this huge centipede earlier, but I couldn't find the body. It's probably lurking in the shadows waiting for an opportunity for revenge."

"Oh, no. Would you like to come up and split the bed with me? I'm not Karla, but…"

"Are you serious?" Aria glanced over a him with a raised brow.

"It's not like I'm going to try anything, I just thought that-" John blushed.

"Of course you won't try anything," she scoffed. "I was just making sure that you really don't mind because that's an offer I'd take up in a heartbeat."

"Really?"

"It'll be like a slumber party," Aria said, sitting up slowly and gathering her pillow and blankets. "And with Sherlock the mad scientist over there, I don't think I'll get any sleep."

John agreed and helped her up the stairs to his bedroom. She found it to be invitingly warm and lacking the deep set chill that she'd grown acclimatized to in her own room. Aria marveled at the comfort of his bed as she burrowed under the covers and stared at a spot on his ceiling. It was quiet and dark, but neither of them were sleeping yet.

"If you don't mind me asking, what is Sherlock likely to find?" John asked.

Aria was quiet for a moment before speaking. "Oh, Sherlock won't find it, John."

"How can you be so sure? He's Sherlock."

"I'm sure he'll find something, but he won't find what he's looking for," she clarified, giving into a yawn.

Silence fell between them after that as John was left to wonder what she could possibly mean by that, while Aria took the moment to reflect on the future of their relationship. Time was running out and as much as she had come to love this life she built, she knew it could never last forever. There was a real possibility that harm could come to her friends if she wasn't careful, if she wasn't smart.