“Something's bothering you,” he said, studying her face.
Eleanor turned away, knowing there was no use denying it. “Yes.”
He waited, as only Sherlock can wait.
She turned back to face him, feeling foolish. “It's nothing. It's silly.”
“If it's silly, then why are you upset?” Just like him to get straight to the point. “Tell me.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I feel like an albatross. Perhaps I have no place here.”
He was silent for a long while. His eyes were a bright cerulean blue in the sunlight that streamed through the frosted glass, and they narrowed slightly as all his thoughts zoomed around in his head. Not for the first time, she wondered what he was thinking. What he was deducing. What was in his heart.
Eleanor said, “I'm sorry, Sherlock. I shouldn't...” Her voice trailed off, unable to finish. Everything she wanted to say sounded trite and self-pitying. She shook her head at herself and started walking away but stopped when Sherlock caught her arm.
“It's okay,” he said.
She looked down at his long-fingered hand on her arm. His grasp didn't hurt but it was tight, and if it were anyone but Sherlock, she would've thought there was a touch of desperation in it.
“It's okay,” he said again.
Eleanor turned away, knowing there was no use denying it. “Yes.”
He waited, as only Sherlock can wait.
She turned back to face him, feeling foolish. “It's nothing. It's silly.”
“If it's silly, then why are you upset?” Just like him to get straight to the point. “Tell me.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I feel like an albatross. Perhaps I have no place here.”
He was silent for a long while. His eyes were a bright cerulean blue in the sunlight that streamed through the frosted glass, and they narrowed slightly as all his thoughts zoomed around in his head. Not for the first time, she wondered what he was thinking. What he was deducing. What was in his heart.
Eleanor said, “I'm sorry, Sherlock. I shouldn't...” Her voice trailed off, unable to finish. Everything she wanted to say sounded trite and self-pitying. She shook her head at herself and started walking away but stopped when Sherlock caught her arm.
“It's okay,” he said.
She looked down at his long-fingered hand on her arm. His grasp didn't hurt but it was tight, and if it were anyone but Sherlock, she would've thought there was a touch of desperation in it.
“It's okay,” he said again.
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