❧
HEY, DINNER ON ME? I think
you need some girl time ;)
(01/13/12, 6:01PM)
Girl time? With who?
(01/13/12, 6:04PM)
With me, Jewel-bug. What do you say?
(01/13/12, 6:04PM)
The conversation lasted perhaps fifteen to twenty minutes, and within that time, she had decided she had nothing to lose. Julia had been putting off messaging Elliot so they could meet up for ages now, so why not distract herself from the constant lump weighing down her belly? It was a good excuse to get dressed up a bit. Julia found herself a cleanly-pressed pair of jeans and a knitted v-neck sweater, slipping into the dahlia heels she had worn on Christmas Eve without a second thought. The rosette, once finished her makeup, didn't even look at herself in the mirror. She pulled on her coat and headed for the foyer, heels tip-tapping against the hardwood as she made her way out. The front door of 221B opened and her head popped out, peering down the sidewalk, her auburn curls illuminated in the street light.
It took her a couple of seconds to spot him. Jim stood in the oozing evening glow, leaning back against a sleek black vehicle. He was dressed in the sharpest suit she had seen, his eyes glued upon his phone, pits of tar reflecting its blue light. Perhaps it had been because she felt a bit under-dressed, but Julia couldn't help but notice how her ears began to heat up as his gaze found her and his lips split in a honey-soaked grin. He looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. Clearing her throat, the rosette forced herself to walk with confidence as she stepped outside of the flat box, shutting the door heavily behind herself with a thump. Her fingernails curled into her palms momentarily before she took a deep breath of chilly air. She had to relax, to forget about what was weighing her down. This was her night out.
Still, she couldn't deny how tight her chest had become the moment she had parted from 221B.
The man straightened up as she neared, into his pocket as he stepped to the side. "You look good enough to eat, Jewel-bug," Moriarty commented, Irish lilt coming into play and mellowing out his rather bold compliment. Julia laughed softly, although she couldn't deny how saucy his dark eyes had become and how flustered she felt beneath them. She could feel them raking over her frame. That was Jim, after all: always bold, always out there, always... unpredictable. Her date opened the car door for her and she stepped inside, brushing by him and catching the faintest hint of his expensive cologne. It was odd— each time she would see him, he'd look even more grandiose than before. "Good thing I'm hungry for something else."
Although she had planned to thank him for his praise on her appearance and move on, she was quickly enraptured by the inside of the car, the driver in the front seat silent as the grave. The sears were a pale, creamy shade of beige, similar to coffee with a little too much whitener for her liking. Light filled the entire vehicle, warm and inviting, making her feel as though she had just stepped into a private jet rather than a simple car. Julia welded her teeth shut in fear that her mouth would fall open. "Like it?" asked Jim as he shut the door behind him.
"I love it!" she elated. Her head careened to the left in order to capture him in her gaze, feeling a slight bout of butterflies flutter within her belly as she took note of how confident he looked. He was so proud to have done something for her, and she realised that perhaps she could be getting into something more intimate with Jim than she had expected. Regardless of how far he wanted their relationship to go, Julia was in way over her head. This was far beyond her level of expertise, and as she came to terms with this, she began to wonder where it was he was exactly taking her. "You really didn't have to get us such a fancy ride: we could have taken a cab."
His nose scrunched up and one of his eyes narrowed. "Well, a cab isn't exactly the type of speed that the place we're going to will be," he hinted, shrugging his shoulders. The vehicle began to pull out of its parking spot and Julia looked out the window to watch the shops and such they passed by. Christmas lights were long since gone, but it was still such a warm, comforting sight.
Something struck her. "Should I have dressed up a bit more?" Julia fretted, her nails gently pressing into the material of her jeans.
"Probably," he replied a bit too quickly. She felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Would he have the driver turn around? Oh, she didn't want to be any trouble! "But it doesn't matter. You'll make up for it in the way you carry yourself."
Softening, she felt herself relax a bit and nodded. Yes, it was all in the way she would carry herself. How was she supposed to be carrying herself, though? Julia was a bit unsure, but she agreed with him... in a way. "Okay."
The rest of the drive was silent, the two listening to the radio playing through the speakers behind their heads. At a particularly smooth stop, Julia happened to turn her cranium to shoot Jim a glance. He was fixated on his phone once again, which she found very strange. If he were taking a girl out on a date, wouldn't it make sense for him to make conversation? Then again, with how expensively he seemed to live, it was no wonder if he were doing business through his pager. She had no trouble with being ignored once in a while if it were important. Besides, she'd hate to be a bother. After all, Jim was the one who had taken her out for dinner. Julia's teeth caught her bottom lip in thought before removing her gaze from the well-dressed gentleman and adjusted in her seat. She wanted to ask him so many questions, but she had no idea how to start.
A motorcycle rumbled beside them as they came to another red light, waiting on those bustling across the crosswalk in order to get home for the evening. The sun had long since drifted beneath the crust of the earth, soon to be replaced by a watery, corona-glazed moon. Finally, the vehicle found itself pulling up in front of the most dazzling restaurant Julia had ever seen. "Looks like we made it," Jim observed, putting away his phone one last time and offering her a hand. Julia hesitated at first, earning a chuckle from the man in front of her. "I don't bite, Julia."
My, what white teeth you have, she thought ever so childishly. Another smile formed upon her face and she took Jim Moriarty's hand, allowing him to guide her out into the streets of London. They fell into step without trouble, the rosette linking her arm up over his own as they headed for the front doors. Like a graceful black swan, the vehicle drove away, leaving them with nowhere else to go but forward. There was no backing out now. Julia was introduced to a glamorous interior once more, champagne glasses gleaming smartly and romantic lighting causing all contrast to become heavy. Tables were draped in spotless black tablecloths, neatly arranged with silverware and menus, along with a bottle of wine for each group settled at their seats. Dumbfounded, Jim did all the talking, as if he knew that she would have reacted this way all along. Off in the west-side of the beautiful joint was a man with a curled moustache, carefully tickling the ivories.
They were directed toward their designated table, coming to sit across from one another. As Julia sat down in her seat with a stunned thump, Jim smirked at her like a fox would a hen. Something about the way he looked at her, his dark pits of pitch bearing into her, caused her ears to begin to heat up. The rosette suddenly felt far out of her element. She only hoped that it wouldn't go the same way it had on Christmas Eve. "Are you sure about all this?" Julia asked timidly.
The man before her chuckled, beginning to open his menu. Discussion was light between the two, Jim helping her pick something out to eat. Eyeing the prices, she felt her stomach clench at the idea of even placing one single morsel in her mouth, seeing as this man would surely be paying for it. Why couldn't he have just taken her somewhere simple, like Nando's? It would have been so much cheaper! Finally, after Jim had given her some encouragement, she settled with the roasted quail, the pair of them sharing a bottle of blush champagne. The bubbly alcohol warmed her insides and calmed her nerves, allowing her to tell the gentleman treating her to such an expensive evening stories of her adventures through London. He was an excellent listener, though never really spoke about himself. Julia had to wonder if there was a reason behind that.
"We were exhausted by time we arrived home, but somehow he had the energy to bounce off the walls," Julia illustrated, recalling how Sherlock had flung himself at John in utter elation that their case had resurfaced, the culprits nearly in their grasp. With a fond smile, she poked at her garden salad that Mr. Moriarty had insisted she try. The cherry tomatoes were excellent. Eyes drifting back up to her company's face, she peered at him and examined his tender expression of amusement. His dark eyes, typically cool and level, were gleaming thoughtfully, and as he chewed, he set down his fork and picked up the napkin in his lap, gently wiping his lips free of balsamic dressing. "I have to wonder where I would be without those two, without my aunt."
Jim tilted his head. "You seem to talk about them often," he noted in response, gesturing vaguely in her direction as he leaned his elbows onto the table and rested his chin within a cupped hand, cradling his slightly scruffy jaw.
With a shrug, she allowed her apatite stones to return to the food before her. With the digits upon her fork, she nudged a piece of spinach up over the last little vegetable that she so eagerly wished to devour. "Well, it doesn't help that they've play such a large role in the last few months of me living here." The woman sighed and her faint smile faltered, beginning to doubt herself. Was she being rude, telling her dinner date about other people– other men? Did it bother him? Anxiety crept up her spine and into her lungs, stilling the breath with a hug similar in fashion to that of an old friend. "I don't know, do you think I speak of them too much?"
"Not necessarily," the man reassured, pulling his chair closer in to the table and reaching for his champagne. He swirled the liquid and peeked into the flute glass in a rather blasé fashion, as if the alcohol inside were boring him. Jim took a small sip and hummed, tongue darting out and gracing over his lips. "I just notice that the topic that crosses your mind more often than not is that of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson." His gaze flickered over her and she felt something within her belly twist. Why did he use their full names? Suddenly, the mood changed as Jim lifted his fork and gestured toward the plump red vegetable left over in her bowl. "May I have your last tomato?"
Julia felt a sharp bolt of nostalgia wash over her. Sherlock had always asked for pieces of her food, and she in turn would as well, but he was never as considerate as Jim was. At least he gave her a choice, whereas in the detective's case, she could have to squabble to keep her meal to herself. Nodding, she leaned back, and for a moment Moriarty looked at her expectantly. What was he playing at? He had been acting funny all evening, making comments on her appearance, brazenly flirting with her. Julia wasn't opposed to it, but it was certainly a side to him that she would have to get used to. It was endearing however, she had to admit. With a small smirk, she rolled her eyes and stabbed the tomato with her fork before rising slightly out of her seat and leaning across the table. From there, she allowed him to take it from her with his teeth, winking in her direction as he popped it within his mouth, relishing in its flavour.
The rosette couldn't help it, she giggled and shook her head, the pair returning to their pleasant conversation. "I have to say, Jim, you're an interesting man," she complimented.
"Interesting enough to run halfway across London with?" he teased, earning another bubble of mirth from the woman across from him.
"Yes, even interesting enough to nearly break my neck jumping over a bloody fence." The pair proceeded to chuckle until they were interrupted by the waiters, their meals coming to them on pristine white plates, decorated to the teeth with colourful and enticing displays of sauce and vegetables. Julia's belly rumbled in response and she exchanged a look with Jim. He had really outdone himself, bringing her here. She had expected something classy, but this restaurant was far from anywhere close to sub-par. "Thank you for this, again, Jim... you really didn't have to bring me out. We could have just gotten coffee."
The man across from her was busy tucking into his quaint feast of salmon, jade rice and greens when his eyes of coal flickered up to meet her own with a pointed look. "As I said," he answered, raising his knife and pointing it in her direction as he spoke. "You needed cheering up, and there is no amount of tea or lattes that could do so." Cutting himself some of the supple pink fish in front of him and raising it to his mouth, he arched one of his dark, well-groomed brows and smirked wickedly. He purred, "Besides, if I am to treat you to dinner, Jewel-bug, it will always be la crème de la crème. You deserve nothing less!"
"That's very sweet of you," she reconciled, studying how he took another swallow of his champagne and then continued to munch on his lovely dish. "But I would have been perfectly content with going to the pub."
The gentleman feigned insult and put a hand on his chest, lips opening and eyes widening while brows set far down upon his face. "What sort of brute do you think me of?" Jim then waved a hand as if to dismiss her for the second– perhaps third? —time. "Just eat, you silly girl!"
Giggling softly, Julia did as she was told and rolled her eyes, beginning to eagerly cut into the roasted bird in front of her. Her taste buds sang and silently thanked Jim Moriarty, for this was the best meal she had had in a long time. Everything was delicious and well-cooked, filling her hungry stomach with its boisterous contents. Christ, it was heaven! Perhaps Jim had been right, for the most part. She needed to get away from it all once in a while, to go somewhere outside of the suffocating circle that was Sherlock and his wicked world. John had always been willing to spend time apart from the detective, but the rosette always found that she would revoke his offers and invitations, specifically as of late. As much as it was kind of him to suggest that they take a day trip and the like, the doctor always reminded her of the man that stood at the source of her regret and grief.
Julia subconsciously let out a long sigh, reflecting upon her food.
"You're awfully quiet," Jim spoke up.
Something within his voice tugged at the strings that belonged to her heavy heart. Her head rose and she regarded him with a faint melancholic smile. His eyes burrowed into the rosette, searching for any tidbit of emotion that could possibly float to the surface. The dimples upon her cheeks pressed inward and she shook her crown, auburn tresses swaying. "Just thinking..."
Her company hummed and tilted his head, glabella knitting slightly. "I was afraid of that."
Laughing to fill the awkward pause, Julia shook her pretty head. The restaurant's phone rang off in the distance, the chatter mingling together in one illegible buzz. Had he really intended on discussing her current emotional state? Whatever would he be interested in that for? It was clearly nothing a man of his stature would want to worry himself with. Julia cleared her throat as she realised that he was not laughing as well, the faintest smile upon his face as he grew chary. "Oh, there's no need to fret, Jim," she assured him, taking a bite of her food and chewing it quickly. Quail was similar to chicken, was it not? It tasted a tad bit different, she had to admit, but she enjoyed it. Stabbing one of the generously-large cooked blueberries with her fork, bringing it to her lips and popping it into her mouth to silence herself. Julia paused and glanced at the man as he picked through his meal now. Was he truly concerned?
It took him a short while, thoughtfully chewing before he swallowed slow and thick in his throat and caught her eyes, capturing her attention again. "Normal people are so frivolous sometimes, don't you think?" he suddenly asked her. A peculiar question, but one that Julia nodded along with. "They come into your life then leave upon the slightest inconvenience." Jim reached down and placed his napkin upon the table with sanguine eyes. "A normal woman would have fled when approached by a stranger in a cafe, asking her to sing, but you, Julia Fuller, are nowhere near normal."
The rosette's pursed lips parted, the sound of clattering silverware drawing her eyes over her shoulder. A waitress had dropped a fork. Her heart went out to her. "I'm.. not sure what you mean," Julia murmured, neck returning to a comfortable position.
"What I mean is that you are not ordinary. You aren't normal." The word 'normal' was emphasised by the gentleman with a slight pinch of his typically round, attentive eyes. Was this his way of complimenting her, or was it his way of insulting her? One of his arms laid parallel with the edge of the table and he picked up his utensil again, stabbing a few green beans and raising them to his mouth. Julia, the entirety of his explanation, kept her eyes narrowed and her head slight tilted in confusion. "It's what draws people to you. You're brave. I think that's why Elliot took a shine to you. You're different, you're something new and exciting."
Raising her glass to her lips, the rosette quirked her brows and took a small swallow of her drink, the effervescent liquid buzzing along the inside of her mouth as it raced for her belly. The aroma of food filled the air, the familiar mouth-watering perfume of roast-beef, cooked carrots and onions wafting over as one of the waiters whizzed by to the table thrice over from behind Jim. "I see," she pondered, then began to cut herself more of her serving, scooping up some potatoes and devouring them delicately. Once finished her mouthful, Julia tried to ignore the sting that Moriarty's words had left behind. "Well, in Elliot's defence, I am the one ignoring him."
Julia's gaze fluttered up, searching for some sort of consent to proceed, her statement sparking curiosity within his dark eyes. They were like two pools of ink, ready to swallow one whole if they took one wrong step and fell in. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the partially eaten meal in front of her. "He messaged me the evening you had walked me home, on New Years," the rosette responded, facial expression moulded in thought. She had to wonder what Jim was thinking now, feeling her own what-ifs returning, just as they had before she had reached London and began living with her aunt. "I'm sure he wanted to talk to me in the morning, but I have left his messages unanswered for weeks now. I haven't even listened to the voicemail he left me."
His fork clinked. "Might I ask why you're ignoring him?" Jim queried.
"I just-" she began, trying to think of a proper reason to give him. It seemed a bit childish to simply tell him, 'I'm too afraid to'. The very idea made her cringe, uncomfortable that she might sound like some sort of silly little girl. The only trouble is, she thought, is that I can't bring myself to do it, even though I know it's the more adult thing to do in this situation. One question constantly weighed on her mind. Why couldn't she? Shrugging a shoulder, Julia's eyes wandered away. "I haven't gotten around to it."
Jim met her gaze and he smiled, an amused hum escaping his lips. He chewed what was in his mouth and then poked his fork in her direction. "You know I can tell when you're lying," he chimed, tone as sweet as ever. Guilt was a stone in her belly that only grew larger and heavier upon hearing this. Shrinking slightly, she went to utter an apology, but his pits of ink widened, immediately cutting her off. "No, it's okay. Really!" The man happily forked some of his food into his mouth, chewing and looking upon her as if she were the neatest thing since sliced bread. It was as if he had just been given a psycho-stimulant. "I mean, not for Elliot- the guy was innocently minding his own business, being in love with a girl like you. He deserves to be given an answer."
"Exactly," Julia agreed, beginning to lose her appetite. Since when had her personal life and endeavours become such an interesting topic? She felt very vulnerable beneath Jim's curious, enthusiastic gaze. "I just don't understand why I can't bring myself to talk to him again. Every time I try and buck up, I lose my nerve. I don't know whether because I know he was right in saying that the signs had all been there, or that he assumed it wasn't my fault."
"Well, if he believes you're innocent, why not let him keep thinking that?"
"Because it isn't true!" Julia protested, a bit too loudly. Embarrassed, she sighed and shook her head. "I just keep feeling as if all I have done to grow as a person was for nothing. I'm back at square one."
Pinching an eye in disagreement, his smile disappeared and he shook his head. "Mmmm, not quite," he prattled. "You've grown as a person, you're just stuck right now. I mean, living in London under your aunt's roof without paying rent, unable to find a job..." The rosette nodded, looking to Jim for comfort as he began to list things off that pertained to her current predicament. It had been quite some time since they had spoken about her aunt, hadn't it? She had to wonder what kind of memory this man had to remember such a thing from months back. Mr. Moriarty gave an exasperated scoff. "Doesn't it feel as if you're stalling, darling?"
"Yes, that..." she trailed, a bit entranced. He had it down to a tee. This man... who was he? Some sort of fortune teller? Christ, he reminded her of Sherlock-- able to tell you everything about someone, simply by taking one single look at them. "That's exactly it." Could this man see inside of her head? His incisiveness could have been considered as alarming, if not for his disposition. Julia turned her attention down to the food in front of her, tugging some tender poultry off and then tucking it into her mouth. She chewed, then swallowed. "I was originally looking for employment, but when the case came up, things got a bit wild and I lost the time I needed to explore my options."
"And after?" he pressed.
"After... I guess I just let myself rest. It was the toughest thing I've ever done!" Julia let out a soft snort of amusement. "And I worked as a waitress for two years." This earned a chuckle from the man sitting across from her, shaking his head much like a father regarding their silly child. Jim looked upon her fondly. "I know, it's kind of unprofessional."
"No! By all means, you're entitled to rest. What Mr. Holmes does is immaculate. It's no doubt a gruelling business, that consulting detective kind of thing he does."
"You know about his profession?" Julia inquired, dubious.
The man smirked. "Darling, it was all over the news," he reminded her. "That, and I'm a fan of his website. The Science Of Deduction! Brilliant stuff, though I tend to get lost when reading."
"Really..." The rosette tilted her auburn pate and peered at him, entertaining the idea of her dinner date taking interest in Sherlock's personal, and not to mention unique, art of favour. She had never thought that murder cases and scientific analysis were anywhere close to Jim's speed, seeing as he was more of an office-job type. Never judge a book by it's cover, she reminded herself. "Do you read John's blog as well, then?"
"Ah, yes," he confirmed, drawing a laugh from him. "Who doesn't? It's a more human way of looking at the cases the two of you and that Holmes fellow have solved. I especially enjoyed the one with the rooster who had swallowed that bloody USB stick."
Julia giggled and shielded her face. "Oh lord, of course you remember that one!"
"But how he jumped that far down, I have to wonder how his ankles weren't sore," Jim recalled, putting on a mischievous look. "Oh, and not to mention that dip in the Thames."
"Yes, that was horribly frightening..." Somehow their rather personal conversation had turned into something lighthearted. Julia was extremely grateful for that, seeing as she had felt her spirit begin to die for the evening as suddenly she found herself questioning her own life choices for the third time in a row. It felt good to laugh, to cheer up, if only the littlest bit.
Jim nodded, humming through a mouthful of food. He swallowed quickly, then licked his lips. "So why force yourself to stay in a place where you feel trapped?" he finally asked, fork floating around in vague gestures. His question struck through her like an ice pick. There it was again, that heavy boulder in her chest: a ball of words and worries that begged to come out, yet she feared herself to be completely inept if it came time to explain it all. With Jim outside their friend circle, however, perhaps this could be good for her?
"Again, I'm not sure," she reiterated, eyes dropping to her lap just as her hands did. Her teeth sank into her rosy bottom lip and she glanced off to the side. "There's nobody to move out with and I—"
"No, what I mean is," Jim interjected. He tilted his chin down as their eyes met again, beginning to pepper her with questions. "Why stay here, in London, when you could go back to Glasgow?" Her heart leapt. Her? Leave? Go home? Thinking hard upon it, she suspected it was was an entirely plausible option for her, after consideration. Forcing a listless smile, the rosette tried to reply but found that her explanation died in her throat. Why couldn't she?
"Is it because of him?"
Yet another startling inquiry, one which the ginger found herself perplexed by. Julia felt her breath hitch and came to stare at her date, his once lively oculars of charcoal now dull and almost glossed over. "B-because of Elliot?" she peeped, voice tight in her throat. She felt her chest constrict so abruptly that she found herself scrambling to find a reason as to what had fuelled these sudden rise of emotions. "Well, that I'm not—"
"No, because of him. Sherlock Holmes," coaxed Jim, head leaning to the side. Breathless silence. Julia forced back the lump that was beginning to form in her throat. Where was this coming from? "You admire him... the way you talk about him gives it away." He spoke so indifferently about the subject, as if it seemed to be of little interest to him, yet here he was picking her apart. Why, he would certainly get along with Holmes, that much was clear to her! Controlling her breathing, she allowed her eyes to fall, studying the way the bubbles rose within her glass of cold champagne.
"Does it matter?" she croaked.
"No," Jim deadpanned. "But it's painfully obvious."
Julia forced her eyes shut. Please, just stop, she plead silently. Shut up!
"Jim," she warned quietly. "Could we please change the subject?"
Putting his foot down, the man continued on with his brutal honesty, putting her in her place. Some part of her knew he was just being a good friend, but the way the truth caused her stomach to tie in knots was infuriating. He had no right to make her feel this way. It wasn't his place. "You can't keep denying it, Julia. You've got to realise it sooner or later, hm?" A film of tears began to prickle at the back of her eyes, threatening to spill over if she allowed her lashes to part. Determined, she looked up at him, their gazes clashing shades of monochrome and aquamarine. "He'll never love you back, doll-face. In the end, you're just like that girl from St. Bartholomew's."
Her tongue was tempted to cut him down, to insult him, to make him feel the same pain she did, but she realised within that instant that this was foolish. Jim was correct. She needed to take this with a grain of salt, his astringent words, no matter how much they hurt, for it was only for her sake. It wasn't as if she hadn't already felt this heartache, as if she hadn't been rejected by the sociopath she had fallen head-over-heels for.
Nodding, Julia sniffled, feeling the tears she had been fighting so hard to keep back roll down her cheeks now. "Excuse me," she murmured and rose, folding her napkin hastily and stalking around the side of the table in the direction of the back doors. The chilly wind hit Julia hard as she stepped briskly in the direction of the dimly-lit path and gardens, snow swamped around a small gazebo that overlooked a small pond. For a place so deeply buried within the metropolis of London, it was quaint and relaxing.
The world crashed around the rosette and she came unhinged, stifling her sniffles and trembling sobs with her palm. She felt like a total idiot, now regretting merely breathing the detective's name. Anxiety crept up into her chest and latched onto her throbbing ticker, only forcing out another wave of emotion. She was so tired of it all, so tired of being tortured by the very idea of this man— of both men. Pulling out her phone, she regarded the screen's blinding blue light from behind a glaze of brine, lips pressed together so hard that they were beginning to turn white. Julia opened Elliot's contact and stared at his last message.
Carefully, the rosette leaned forward against the railing and took a deep breath, shaking her head. Oh, she was such a mess! Swallowing, her breath constricted within her chest and she hiccuped, bowing her head. After a decent sip of air, she regarded the screen again and began to write out a message, guilt driving her forward with haste. The sound of approaching footsteps forced her to pause and she took a quick breath. "Oh, Jewel-bug," Jim drawled apologetically. The rosette looked up from her phone and straightened, pulling her attention around and focusing on the well-dressed man. Jim dragged one of the iron chairs over, gesturing for her to join him. Reluctant, she followed suit, sitting down across from him and taking a deep breath. "I didn't mean to make you so upset."
"No, it's—" She cleared her throat. "It's okay. I needed to hear that."
"Still, making your lady cry on the first date is a big no-no for me," he teased, earning a roll of her eyes and faint twitch of her lips. How silly. First date? The man leaned forward with his elbows upon his knees, folding his hands together and peering at her face. Julia, suddenly conscious of how she must look, tugged her sleeves down over her wrists and scrubbed away any trails of mascara that could possibly have been left behind in the wake of her emotional outburst.
"I'm sorry," she apologised, shaking her head, forcing out a raspy laugh. "I didn't mean to get so ... sentimental. The wound is just fresh, is all." Jim hummed softly, the faintest sound calming her nerves. He was so patient, so understanding. He would make an excellent husband some day, if he weren't already married. If he were, she had to admit, whoever it was was insanely lucky (and they probably knew it, too). "Still, it wasn't fair, to ruin your evening like this."
Jim shook his head, reaching beneath his seat and scooting a bit closer to her, the legs of the chair scraping against the wood beneath them. The rosette rolled the pad of her finger along the edge of her nail in thought, then allowed her turquoise drops to flicker up to his ever so demurely from behind slick black lashes. "Hey, it's okay," he reassured. "Sometimes we need a good cry."
A dry chuckle cut from her lips. "You make it sound as if I'm your teenage daughter."
"That would be a little odd," Jim remarked, letting out an awkward honk of amusement. Julia snickered too, shaking her head. "Me taking my daughter out to dinner."
Their levity died down and they were left with the sound of honking horns and the occasional blip of crosswalk signals. His apology continued. "What I was trying to tell you is that there is nothing holding you back from going home." Gazes levelling, the pair beheld one another at a close radius, so close that Julia was unsure whether he were trying to make a move on her or not. Tentatively, James Moriarty extended his hands and tested the waters, enclosing her smaller paws within his own. His fingers were cold. "If you aren't happy, don't make yourself stay."
Julia drank in every bit of the advice he was giving her, allowing it to swirl around in her head, as if taste-testing a sample of fine wine. How was she supposed to respond? It made sense, did it not? But what is there to go home to? she wondered. My family pestering me over a lover I never seem to be able to find? Scrounging for money, trying to get out of my mother and father's hair? Of course, there was always the idea of possibly taking up Max's offer from so long ago. Perhaps living with her would be a bit easier than living with her overbearing family, but when it really came down to it all, she didn't think she could stand living in Glasgow. "It isn't that easy..." she admitted.
"That's because you aren't letting it be easy," Jim reasoned.
Pulling away, she threw her hands up and stood, pacing back toward the side of the gazebo that faced the restaurant. "But it isn't!" insisted the rosette. "I don't even know where to begin if I am to make up for disappearing on my family so quickly. My mother will surely be driven up the wall insane after I avoided calling her on Christmas, and they'll both be disappointed to hear about the breakup. My sister probably doesn't even remember what I look like, let alone what it's like to have me around again." Bringing a hand to her brow, she pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a loud lament of frustration. Jim audibly stood and approached her, and the woman turned on her heels. "Besides, I don't have any money for transportation—"
Florescent orange exploded in streaks within her vision as her eyes were drawn to what lay within her company's hand. Julia's heart beat out of her chest. Train tickets, dated for next week. "It sounds to me like you're the only one holding yourself back," he observed, voice deep in his throat. Jim's faint irish lilt teased her ears, coming out to play. Once again, he was ever the perspicacious one. Her mind reeled. Was he offering these to her? Well, of course he was, but this wasn't some sort of... deal with the devil, was it? There was no catch? Blinking vigorously, she brought her fingers to her mouth. Realising she was gaping, she swallowed a gulp of air and looked at the man in front of her.
"Jim, you didn't—"
"They're first-class," he added, pointedly handing them to her.
She took them with numb hands. Julia was at a loss. Letting out a laugh, she shook her head. "I can't possibly take these!"
"You can," the gentleman affirmed, nodding and cracking a cheshire grin. "And you will. Lest I'll be extremely disappointed. I can't get my money back, after all." Julia's wide eyes dropped to the tickets she now grasped within her own two hands, handling them as if they were made of gold. Another weak titter escaped her lips and her head swayed from side-to-side, feeling a fresh batch of tears gather within her eyes. She could really go home. Lord, she felt as if she had just been handed ruby slippers! One of Jim's fingers coiled up beneath her chin and tilted her skull up to meet his level gaze. "You took on the baddest criminals in London, Jewel-bug! You can do anything. This is a piece of cake in comparison."
Her heart sang and she flew into his arms, utterly elated as she hugged him tightly, memorising the smell of his expensive cologne, along with the faintest aroma of mint. Jim held her back tightly, her arms draped comfortably around his neck as she rested her jaw upon his shoulder. A trembling, grateful sob escaped her. "Thank you so much!"
"Anything for you," he murmured into her auburn tresses. "Just ask."