Satin and Twine

Worth The Risk

"Are you sure?" Mary and I were standing in the entry way of the Baker Street flat. She had her coat on and was wrapping her scarf around her neck; grey eyes were locked on me.

I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest, "Not really."

"You can stay with John and I," She said. Concern fell across her face and coated her voice as she reached forward to squeeze my arm gently. "We have more than enough room."

The corners of my lips twitched up as I placed my small, cold hand over hers, "I know you do. But…" I glanced over my shoulder at the ghosts that traveled the flat. One in particular caught my attention. It was Sherlock, walking down the stairs with the small brown haired girl behind him. He looked amused but there was something more in those silver eyes that walked past me and through Mary. "…I feel like I need to stay."

"I just-" she hesitated tilting her head to the side, "if you have another episode-"

"It's all part of getting my memories back, Mary." I said standing up straight and putting my hands on her shoulders. "I have to see them through, I have to relive them. You're the one who said remembering was important right?"

"You lost consciousness, Freya," she whispered. "If that happens again-"

"Sherlock is here," I said. "He seems to know what he's doing."

"'Seems' being the key word there."

"Go home," I chuckled. "I'll call you in the morning to prove I made it through the night."

She nodded slowly, "You're going to risk it then."

I gave her a small shrug, "I don't think I have much of a choice. I can hear them all happening, like a constant white noise. Whispers of things I can't quite hear or understand and… I want to understand. I desperately want to understand. Since I woke up from the hospital I've been walking around with the feeling that I'm forgetting something and it's driving me mad. I need to remember, Mary."

Her face remained passive for a moment before the corners of her lips twitched up into a content smile. But I saw something in her eyes. Just a flicker of something I couldn't identify before it was gone again and the light returned. "Okay. Okay you stay and remember, that's what this is all about after all, but you call me if you need anything."

She turned to leave and I walked out with her, "You keep saying that."

She glanced at me as she tried to flag down a cab, "Say what?"

"That's what this is all about," I quoted her. "What do you mean?"

She laughed, the taxi pulling up to the curb. "It's nothing, Freya. Now get inside before you catch a cold."

"I survived a freezer I don't think two minutes outside will kill me," I smirked, crossing my arms over my chest.

She shrugged, opening the cab door, "You never know."

I watched the taxi drive down the street before I turned back to my flat. Around me the ghosts still moved and talked. They demanded my attention as I turned my eyes up to the second floor. Once again Sherlock stood in the window watching me. His cold gaze drowned out the voices of the ghosts. I couldn't hear their whispers, I couldn't hear them or the city as it moved around me. It wasn't the same as the silence from the hospitable. There was no pain or confusion, only… peace. And then he turned away from the window. I braced myself for the ghosts to attack, for them to consume my senses and take over my mind.

But there was silence.

I walked into the living room of the flat to see him sitting in the grey leather chair with a book in his hands. He didn't say anything but turned the page. The floor groaned under my feet and I moved, pulling the long sleeves of my light blue t-shirt further down my cold hands. I stood in the center of the living room and turned my eyes back to the street. Night was falling on London. Already the stars began to kiss the horizon; their pattern scared the cool blue of the east sky. And in the west? The sun painted the skyline with all shades of red and yellow like the world was on fire.

"How do you know that name?"

He looked up from his book. A question whispered in the upward slant of his eyebrows but in his cold eyes I saw knowledge. He tried to hide it, to act like he didn't know but I could feel the information in him. I could feel the words running through his mind like they were being carved into my bones and written on my heart. Sherlock-

"Dyre," I clarified, rubbing a hand over my temple as I took a step forward. "How do you know that name?"

His mouth opened slightly but only a short breath came out as his eyes drifted away from me and to his book, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean-"

"In the hospitable," I pushed it and his eyes snapped back to me, "When I was just waking up, you called my Dyre. No one calls me that."

"One person does."

"That's my point," I crossed my arms over my chest. "There is only one person who knows me by that name."

He took a moment, those cold eyes washing over me as the book was closed and set aside. He stood up, sliding his hands into his pockets; a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "How do you think I know?"

"I-I must have told you," I said, stumbling on my words, suddenly feeling less than confident.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his fine features, "But?"

"But why did I tell you?" I asked rubbing my arm and taking another step forward, "Why would I do that?"

"Because…" The right corner of his lips twitched up, two easy strides closed the distance between us and one smooth hand came out of his pocket. He raised those long fingers to my face and trailed their warmth from ear to chin. His touch burned my cold skin as he raised my face up towards his. My heart hurt, it was beating so fast in my chest. I thought it might give out; it nearly did as his breath spilled across my face like a fog creeping over the city. "…You asked me to find him." he smirked at my blush as he pushed past me to the hall. "I suggest you finish remembering those last few days Miss. Freya Crawford. Not just any man in a nice suit, with a basic understanding of Scandinavian pet names, is the man you've been writing to."

I glared at him, "You really are an arse Sherlock Holmes."

He smirked at me, his eyebrows twitching up before he turned and wandered back to, what I assumed to be, his room. I watched him close the door, my face still flushed with embarrassment. That man was hiding something, I could feel it, but he also had a good point. He wasn't the man I'd been writing to and I needed to remember.

I turned my eyes back to the flat and watched the ghosts for a moment, Mary's voice echoing in my mind. "Take it slow and walk it through. Let the memory take hold of you. Once you remember you can move on. You'll be free." I sat down in Sherlock's dark grey chair and picked up the book he'd set aside. I opened to the second chapter, fifth page in, half way down the second paragraph. The male protagonist was just being introduced and when he spoke a deep voice filled my head.

I felt myself fall into the story. The world around me evaporated away as my eyes wandered down the page. This book was good. I'd read it countless times before but it still managed to draw me in like I was reading it for the first time. Part of my brain noted that there was a noise down the stairs; it was entirely possible that someone was screaming. I didn't move from my seat as my eyes slid down the page, devouring the story.

I heard the creak of the door but again, my mind didn't register it. The main character was meeting her future significant other and their relationship was one that I adored! They were strong characters individually but together they were a force to be reckoned with. If only they didn't manage to push each other's buttons every time they were in the same room.

"What is this?" a voice spoke as my eyes traced the first words this man ever said to his future wife. The voice in the door way altering the tone and depth of the voice I'd always imagined before this moment. It made me smile, a deeper voice worked for this character. It commanded respect.

I think there was more conversation in the room but I was too intrigued with the voice the character now possessed. It was like I was reading the story for the first time. A smooth, satin voice echoing in my ears as I read.

A smiled crept across my lips, "Wow."

"Wow indeed."

My head shoot up to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the threshold with a man. He was so dark; a long dark coat over a dark suit and deep purple button down shirt. Dark brown, nearly black, curly hair framed a pale angular face. That face, it was like the moon in the dark sky. If only the moon should have a jaw as sharp and cheek bones so pronounced maybe it would be half as lovely as this man. Admittedly it wasn't any typical kind of beauty like that of so many hollow minded celebrities these days. There was more to this man; I could almost feel the layers of his character as he stood there in the doorway. So much depth and complexity, he took my breath away.

Silver eyes were locked on me as I slowly closed the book and pulled my legs out from under me to put my feet flat on the floor. He didn't like me being here, that was obvious. It took me back a step as I felt the intensity of his glare increase. What had I done to deserve such a look? I was just sitting there reading…

"Freya, this is Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said and my eyes narrowed in confusion.

"I thought you said he died."

Sherlock spoke, "I did. Now I'm back and you can be on your way."

My eyes narrowed again, this time in irritants, "Actually, last I checked, dead men couldn't live in a flat that they were only renting to begin with."

His eyebrows twitched up, "Good thing I'm not a dead man."

"No but you're working very hard to get there, aren't you?"

"Now I'm sure we can all live here-"

"No." Sherlock said stepping aside and offering me a 'get-out' gesture. My response? I squared my shoulders, grabbed my book, and marched through the kitchen and down the hall to the room I'd been planning to sleep in.

I could hear talking in the other room and let out a frustrated sigh as I fell back on the bed. This complicated things. Sherlock was alive and not happy that someone else had invaded his space. I didn't want to give this flat up, I wouldn't give it up. I also had a feeling that Sherlock would be just as stubborn about it. What to do then? Live together? My nose wrinkled at the thought but what else could be done? It would be difficult, but this flat was something special. I'd be damned before I let go.

My body froze as my mind snapped back to the present. The whispers returned and flooded my ears but now they screamed at me. I tried to cover my ears- hell I tried to move at all! My body was stiff; I could barely lift a finger. I tried to scream but no sound came out, or if it did then I couldn't hear it. I felt the panic rising as my heart beat went crazy. Each pump of my heart echoed in my throat and against my rib caged. I couldn't breathe, my chest felt tight like my lungs refused to expand. The world was spinning and I was helpless to do anything. I was in pain, I was scared, and I felt so alone; like there was no one who could help me. I was falling into a black hole, descending into absolute fear with nothing to pull me back. Did I even want to be pulled back?

And then the screaming stopped. My heart beat slowed down and I could breathe again. The empty, hollow, and alone feeling that had filled me to the brink of tears was just gone. I wasn't alone. I was never alone.

Drowsiness fell over my body like a fog and I gave into sleep. Allowing my body to drift off to the soft comfort of quiet and calm. And just as I tipped over the edge to unconsciousness I felt a warm hand leave mine.