Perhaps Sadji’s full attention was not on him and she was wholly unmoved by his loss of control and hands-on approach but Sherlock couldn’t shift his focus from her, this moment, what exactly he was looking at. What this all meant in terms of his conceptions of the world and the woefully short and staunch dismissal of the existence of the very thing he’d just made physical contact with. He had been sure it was drugs, he had been so insistent on that theory’s clean, clear-cut conclusion of what constituted reality, the subculture that had developed around the allure of the eternally young and beautiful (it was no surprise vampires had become a source of fascination in several cultures) and the myth, the fiction of the vampire itself and how it seized hearts and imaginations especially when romanticized, the tragedy a beautiful suffering that offered an alternative to mundane, ugly reality of human suffering. How stark heartbreak was. How love didn’t last an eternity in most cases, it lasted a torrid, painful month or two.
But Sadji challenged all of that, all of the theory and studies on the subject, the fascination he’d held when reading what vampire lore who inspired others because he hadn’t been compelled to delve into it himself. Immortality held no appeal to him and even as a boy, he’d enjoyed playing pirates more than anything. Probably because of the legend, the danger and the threat of mortality they faced every time they sailed. He only understood the investment in the supernatural as a subject of study, self-described enthusiasts, in fact he’d had plenty of clients eager to prove a vampire had taken their child, their precious pussy cat or that they, themselves had been given the ‘kiss’. He, of course, disproved these claims methodically, without much effort and robbed them of all their mystique.
Had this been a case, he wasn’t sure how he’d address his client, what he would tell them, what he could tell them in all good conscience. He was thankful that wasn’t an issue in this situation but he’d been shaken badly enough to lose his footing (quite literally at that). Now, he felt irrational looking for another explanation but it didn’t stop his mind from running in circles even as it tried to gain some ground, some understanding, the way it tripped over itself in its haste, the fact that it had escaped even his tight control and he was gaining no ground, couldn’t gain ground this way.
Comparing her to Irene had been a fatal mistake. She wasn’t even the same species as The Woman and where the true power rested was unquestionable. When she asked if she wasn’t a viper, Sherlock just narrowed his eyes at hers. So dark one couldn’t see where pupil ended and iris began in this light. So dark and deep that he imagined many a traveler had fallen into that gaze, never to return to their senses again. For the first time, Sadji looked truly dangerous.
In all honesty, he couldn’t interpret her comment. Was she implying that she was the snake charmer here or was she making a bold metaphor about their situations, about his position in all of this. He had fancied himself a snake charmer, gaining the attention and directing those that slithered through the city spreading their poison. The ‘literally’ made a case that she had actually been versed in the art of snake charming but that was useless right now so he tossed it into the back, unfiled in his mind palace to be retrieved later. You left something on the floor. he told himself, determined to remember it, should it ever become a point of interest again.
But even Sherlock Holmes had to prioritize. When she got to her feet, he actually leaned back against the couch, away from her, regarding her with a jumpy, mistrusting stare. Watching her come closer to him made his heart pick up but he wouldn’t move, partially out of curiosity as to what her next move would be, partially because he accepted that he wasn’t going to leave this place if she didn’t want him to.