Her American drawl came through thicker now in her embarrassment. “I beg your pardon, sir.” She blinked, eyes going vague for a moment, before focussing on him again. The keen intelligence there caught at her attention, but she pushed it away. “Come.” Without giving him a chance to react, she took his arm and tugged him into the crowd, which parted smoothly before them and closed as silently behind.
To her, it was a simple forbidding, a swift urge to move away just for a moment, but she’d no doubt it seemed far different to the man she was towing along. However, if he could tend to his pain himself, as he asserted, best he did it quickly, and if not, best not to have him incapacitated in the street. With no further impediment, they were able to reach Baker Street with ease, and she paused at the head of the street, turning to look up into his dark eyes again.
Sherlock didn’t know what was more surprising at this moment. The fact she had taken away his pain for the time being, the fact she seemed to be American which wasn’t all too rare, but surprising none-the-less, or the fact that she knew her way around the streets of London like any other Londoner. Perhaps it was all three contributing to his surprise. That had to be it.
“… For someone who’s not from this country, you do know your way around here. Come here often, perhaps?” He almost didn’t even wait for her answer as he headed towards 221B. Last thing he needed was to have the pain come searing back and leave him trapped on the sidewalk again. “I do appreciate the help, but I would prefer to handle this on my own. Though, how you knew about the pain I was going through still amazes me.”
Summer shrugged loosely, as if it should be obvious. “I’m an empath. It’s what I do.” She followed him closely. “I really think I had better come with you. I’m not sure I can hold the painblock at much of a distance, and with the amount of pain you were in, a sudden return would incapacitate you.”
She thought that might come to an argument; he had a considerable amount of willpower. And given the location, she was starting to suspect who he might be. The question then remained: should she seek his help?
“An empath?” he repeated her own words, searching his mental dictionary for a definition to that word. He’d heard it, but hadn’t taken interest in anything like that. Sure, search the actions and face of another and you could read them like an open book. Right, that’s what being an empath was. Right, right.
The detective listened to her, just nodding his head in response. No, really, he didn’t want her tagging along, but she made a compelling argument. While he knew he could handle the pain once he was home, it might hurt him more to have the pain come crashing back all at once. And just the thought sent a shiver down his spine.
“… Agreed. I would like to get home and not be a crumpled mess on the sidewalk, or worse, in the middle of the road. I wouldn’t enjoy being seen lying there. The one and only Sherlock Holmes, lying in the middle of the street by some bloody great amounts of pain. Imagine the headlines of the papers.”
“So you /are/ Mr Holmes. I wondered, at the address.” She hid a smile. “It would be quite a change from your more usual exploits. And with the good doctor, I assume, occupied? Well, I shall simply have to stand in for him, then.” She paused, as a thought occurred. “Unless you would wish for Dr Watson to be sent for?” Good gods, how far down this street was the damned house anyway?