Sadji had certainly stimulated his mind, in fact, it was racing away from him. He told himself the primary rule of investigation over and over again like a mantra that might protect him, save him from slipping into the grips of insanity, or worse, idiocy. Only an idiot would believe in vampires…but according to his philosophy, he had to accept the things he couldn’t explain once he’d ruled out all of the more probable solutions. There was an explanation to all this. Occam’s Razor certainly didn’t apply here, though because that would lead him to the unfathomable conclusion that Sadji was exactly what she said she was. He couldn’t accept that. Not now, perhaps not ever. However, willful blindness never solved a case, so he tried to keep a hold of his spiraling psyche and let it resurface for the fresh breath of air it so desperately needed. Sherlock stood his ground, his body tensed, his face the very picture of extreme focus, so much that he nearly trembled at the defensive rigidity in his muscles.
He also looked infuriated, somehow. It was a little irrational to some, perhaps… a temper flaring at the prospect he was in a room with a self-proclaimed vampire but the anger wasn’t directed at Sadji. It was because he hadn’t prepared himself for this, he hadn’t noticed if she’d injected anything into him, he’d walked straight into the fire on her word. That, however, was his nature. He’d entered and exited hell several times before and somehow, he always found himself there again. Perhaps it was where he belonged. When she languidly tried to pronounce the name of the toxin he’d ruled out, there was a vibrating stillness to him. Energy waiting to surge, if only someone would switch on the light. But he wanted to hear her first because these little speeches were always so telling. He’d filter every word she said and sift around to find the truth in what was left.
She told him the things he knew. In fact, she had thought ahead of time, as had he, about the delivery methods she had at her disposal and why none of them could possibly have worked. She was clever and alluring. He tried to push The Woman from his mind but he saw them both at once. One sitting before him and one in his mind’s eye. The lewd sound her texts made. The way she’d sparked a flame in him when she told him to show her how clever he was with decoding the message of the targeted plane. Cracking that code for her was almost his undoing, the British government’s undoing but what a lovely way to lose. In the end, they always reserved a place in each other’s hearts for one another. Right now, Sadji brought her to mind. Thinking at the same pace as him but oh dear, she’d left something out entirely. That brought a crooked smirk to her face and he rolled his shoulders back and took a deep, steadying breath. Even Irene lost to him in the end. But it was true. She’d beaten him first, just as she said she would.
When Sadji claimed to be almost three-thousand, Sherlock’s smirk gave way to a grin and he swallowed a scoffing retort to it. This was much simpler, of course. As she spoke more, his eyes scanned her desk, looking to her sides, his head tilting back to try to see behind her… he needed a better view. It was obvious, she was trying to psych him out when he was vulnerable. Nothing but the occurrences and properties surrounding her left him incredulous but she was also keeping his focus on her and he didn’t have time to rifle through the room right now. The answer was close to her. “Not really interested in investigating mummies, though I know a few important symbols. Had to rule them out before. I also had no interest in the gimmick your restaurant offered, so forgive me for overlooking the footnotes of your autobiography on the walls… reading an account is one thing. Seeing is another.”
He felt the small pinpricks of moisture cooling on his face and his back didn’t feel like a tangle of knots anymore, the sound of his own voice was grounding him. This was his chance. Sherlock made no secret of peeking around her body to the desk where she sat, looking for that last piece of evidence, what he needed so desperately to make the pieces fit.