deal or no deal | Sherlock Holmes

4

𝐸𝓋𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒

You know I had thought that when Sherlock said he'd treat me to tea that he'd take me to some hidden cafe. One with wild flowers and subtle harlots. Turns out I was wrong. This place has nothing up to his standards I suppose. So we sit in his mother's kitchen drinking tea from fine china surrounded by pure chaos. I don't mean to judge but his family definitely knows how to destroy a kitchen. Good thing they have Mrs. Lane. She's an excellent staff member and she quite good at keeping things tidy. Except the kitchen, something tells me that this from just can't be tamed.

"Oh wow! That's really good." I take a sip from the teacup. It's white decorated with pink roses. It's darling. According to Sherlock it was some of the only fine dishes his mother kept safe. From what he's told me, she is a very hyperactive human. I do wonder where she's taken off to.

"I'd hope so. I've made it a billion times by now. It would be a shame if it was disgusting." Sherlock sits across from me, an ankle rests on his knee cap. He lifts the teacup to his lips and takes a sip.

"Don't over exaggerate." I hide behind my cup. "It's not attractive."

"Good thing I've never cared much for image." He sits his cup onto a saucer, looking back at me. "I left that to Mycroft."

"I see that." I giggle. "My mother is the same way. She's always dressed more laid back. I blame her for my hatred of corsets."

"They are ghastly things aren't they?" Sherlock agrees. "Though speaking from a man's perspective I understand why most encourage them." He shrugs before going in for another sip.

I blink, ignoring his comment. Do you know how to take it? Because I do not. "My father hated that she tried to be so different. Practically drove him mad."

"I smell a story there." Sherlock remarked.

I don't talk much about my father. I don't even talk much to my father. But he's right there is a story there.

Let's start from the beginning shall we?

Margaret Hattenfield met Joseph Flemington in church at the age of sixteen. As cliché and revolting as it sounds, it was love at first sight. My mother told me when she saw him she immediately knew he was the one. I won't take you through all of the nitty gritty. They were wed by the age of eighteen, started having children two years later, then split shortly after Sam's tenth birthday.

Guess their love for each other wasn't true after all.

"My father left us." I shrug showing little to no emotion. "The simplest way to put it is... We weren't enough for him."

Sherlock's face softens. "Oh my. I'm so sorry. If I would've known then-"

"But you didn't." I cut him off. "So it's okay." I give him a small reassuring smile.

He gives one in return. "Where is he now?" He asks.

"He's a Baron, last I'd heard." I contemplate. "I haven't spoken to him in a few years."

"What's his name? I might know him." He questions me.

Oh I see what he's doing here. "Still trying to figure out my name I see." He snickers to himself, pulling his eyes away from me.

Something I haven't mentioned is that I love studying people. I find a lot of people fascinating. When I was a teenage I'd sit at the corner by Buckingham palace and sketch out guards and tourists. Though they eventually asked me to leave because I freaked them out after a little while.

"Why are you staring at me?" He furrows his brows as he looks back at me. "Staring is also inappropriate."

"I'm not staring. I am studying your face." I lean forward as I get a closer look.

"Does this seem to be the best time to be doing that?" He asks me.

"It's my process, Mr. Holmes. I do it with almost every person I come in contact with." I study his facial dimensions. "No need to worry though. Your facial analysis is complete."

He kisses his teeth. "And what have you figured out?"

"I'm not one for points systems." I tap my chin. "But I'll give your face a score of 8.7 out of 10." I glance at his arms and broad shoulders. "You are very masculine, which is good since... well you're a man. Women like manly men, they find them pretty to look at."

"All of that just to call me pretty." A small smile tugs on his lips.

"You want me to be more technical I see." I place a fist under my chin as I examine his face more. "The attractiveness of multiple facial features contributes to your overall facial attractiveness. Now based on my recent studies, beauty and facial attractiveness are easily identified but difficult to quantify.
I can attempt to define, measure, and explain the captivating phenomenon of beauty by describing it numerically and geometrically. Hence, a single feature does not determine attractiveness because it depends on how well that feature harmonizes with the face."

His eyes go wide. "You weren't joking when you said you studied people were you?" He asks.

I nod in response. "I'm an artist. I like to sketch people. But painting is my favorite. All the colors just give me such joy. That's how I got my start."

"Go on then tell me more." He swats his hands around.

"Your face shape is square." I lean over the table, I grab his jaw and turn it to the side. I feel his eyes on me. I run a finger over his jaw line. Could cut through glass. "A stand-out feature of your face shape is the jaws, cause it's the widest part of the face. The face height tends to be short. The width of your forehead, cheekbones, and jaw is mostly equal. Though your jaws are angular with edges, you do have a flatter chin. You were given a face with character." I pat his cheek. "Do you know what makes you most attractive? Your best features are the Mouth Width to Nose Width Ratio, and Eye Canthal Tilt. My guess is that your mouth width to nose width ratio is 1.53."

I look into his eyes. They're so mesmerizing. His eyes are blue but he has a patch of brown in his left iris. He must have heterochromia, in which the irises match each other but there's a ring of a different color around the pupils.

"Don't get lost now." He whispers.

"Sorry!" I blink and shake my head. "I tend to get carried away at times."

He gives me a look. One I've never seen before. It's unreadable. He stares at me through hooded eyes, he traces his jaw where I had just had my own hand moments before. "What's your name, darling?"

I tried to keep the gates locked. I didn't want to let him in. But I did anyway.

"Evangeline Flemington." I breathed out.

Something changes. His eyes flutter and he seems amused. "Flemington..." Oh goodness not this. "Like..?" He motions to his throat.

"Not exactly! I mean yes it is Flemington. But if we are being technical, "Flem" is not the same as Phlegm. It's spelt differently." I cross my arms.

He snickers. "Whatever helps you sleep at night." He clears his throat. "Before we move on have you got anything else to tell me?" He asks.

I think for a moment. "I could tell you what you visually lack." I hold back a giggle.

He gives me an unamused look. "To Mother's room we go then."

***

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