[COMPLETE] ??? ???? ?? ??? ??????「Sherlock」

007; You Can Do Better Than Him

"It's quite alright dear. Men can be a pain in the ass sometimes..." She heard Mrs. Hudson sigh into the receiver. "Well, I should let you go. I have a treat in the oven for when you all get home."

Julia couldn't help but smile. "You know you don't have to do that, auntie..."

"Well, hopefully it will cheer everyone up after a long day out in the cold."

"I hope so," she agreed. "I love you, auntie."

"Love you too sweetheart, so so much."

The call ended and she sank back into her seat, her red scarf pressing into her chin. Rubbing her auburn lips together, she gently touched the bruise upon her cheek bone that had thankfully been hidden by a thin layer of corrector. "Say," the cabbie piped up. "Aren't you that girl from the Empty Boy case?" Her eyes found his in the rear-view mirror. His accent was a thick strain of irish. Her auburn lashes batted. Right... it had been all over the media. "You were mentioning that Sherlock Holmes fellow, weren't ya?"

Exasperated, she sighed and did her best to smile. "Yes, I am."

"Oh, good! I thought I was in some trouble, just guessin' like that out of the blue. So glad to hear ya both are doin' better." The cabbie offered a yellowed smile, his mustache lifting in order to do so. "A mighty fine girl like you needs ta' be protected."

Julia swallowed and cleared her throat, nodding. "Thank you... I appreciate it." The rest of the drive was in silence thankfully, which allowed her to think about the current situation that she was in. She suspected that Sherlock had been busy rather than trying to avoid her. What kind of man does that though? Only Mr. Holmes, she thought. Perhaps it would be best if she stuck to normal men rather than freakishly smart ones who had the tendency to throw packages of lightbulbs into walls. They finally made it to the station, pulling up right at the front.

 As she reached for her wallet to pay the cab driver, the man held up a hand. "No worries, my dear. It'll go right onto Sherlock Holmes' tab," he promised. "Just as you requested."

A sneer laced her salmon-painted lips. "Why thank you, sir!" The young woman then stepped from the vehicle and into the swirling, dancing snow. "I'll be sure to leave a good review!" Giving the cab a tap as it drove off, she waved and then turned herself around, taking a deep breath. With a gust of wind, she suddenly felt as if she were on top the world, and walked straight toward the station's doors, heading up the stairs and pushing her way through the doors. She had never been inside of the police station in London before, which is why she looked up immediately, her lips parting slightly. She glanced around until she found the reception desk.

"I'm here to see Mr. Holmes and Inspector Lestrade," she said sweetly. The man behind the desk gave her a bland look before eyeing her up and down.

"Last floor, in the holding cells," he directed, licking his lips in a hasty fashion. He had the eyes of a disloyal man and she did not like it. "Have a nice day, ma'am."

Forcing a simper, she sashayed away, her phone in one hand. As she climbed into the elevator, she turned on her screen, and with a quick flick of her fingers, she began to write a reply to his indignant messages.

I'll be down in a few, Mr. Holmes.

She then shut her Blackberry and returned it to her pocket, leaning back against the grey walls. Her fingers thrummed along the brace bars, watching the numbers go down until she finally made it. Doing as instructed, she could already hear voices at the end of the halls through one of the monitors. Standing in front of the observation glass was Sherlock Holmes, as prim and proper as always, as if not a single splinter had touched him that evening. Julia silently came to stand next to him, the two observing the scene inside. Lestrade and Nicolas Brown were inside of a glass room, a single table and two chairs settled in the middle of the cement floor. There was one hanging light, dangling over top of the discussion booth. Nicolas was a bigger gentleman with greased back black hair and muscular upper arms; he bore tattoos, including one that said his son's name. He was dressed in the same clothes they had found him in: an old wife-beater and a pair of overalls.