Conversations

                                    

                                          
Here we have Sherly showing off her smarts and her emotions... not sure how I feel about it all now, but I'm pretty sure my intentions with her attitude was the fact that she's a woman, and I feel like women have stronger emotions, and she finds it as somewhat of a strength than a weakness, like Sherlock, though she does make fun of it in another chapter. Anyways, YAY. Conversations... enjoy! :)
                          

                          
Joni's POV
                          

                          
They just stared at eachother for countless minutes. I didn't speak because I knew not to break Shirley's consentration. That would be a bad idea. The man with the bright hair and coat with the patches; I think he would have spoke if it wasn't for his friend who was having the staring contest with Shirley.
                          

                          
It was like being a third wheel, except I was sharing that wheel with another person.
                          

                          
Watching Shirley and the detective stare at eachother was mesmerizing and boring at the same time. It seemed to me that they were communicating, even though, earlier, when Shirley finally let the detective come through the door, they had not said a word to eachother. For the most part, their facial expressions never changed, but when they would, it did not seem like a pleasant conversation.
                          

                          
If I knew Shirley, she would be doing some sort of reading on him, like she did to me. Like she does to everyone. The confusing thing was, this detective seemed to be doing the same thing. But, that's impossible. Isn't it?
                          

                          
They sat across from eachother. The detective leaning back against the floral patterned couch, and Shirley matching his position on a matching floral chair. Like a mirror with different faces.
                          

                          
Shirley suddenly stood up, but continued staring at the dark-haired detective. 
                          

                          
"Yes," She said, answering an unspoken question.
                          

                          
"What?" The detective asked. 
                          

                          
"I knew you would." 
                          

                          
"You knew I would what?" He asked, now getting a little impatient.
                          

                          
"I knew you were alive," She replied. "And I knew you would be coming here."
                          

                          
The detective stood up and they were face to face, besides the fact that he was a few inches taller.
                          

                          
"How?"
                          

                          
Shirley laughed at him. "The great Sherlock Holmes is asking how! What? Have you not figured that out yet? Did the fall give you brain damage?" She paused to examine his reaction before continuing. His expression continued to be a cold wall, hiding all emotion. "I doubt it, since you obviously knew who I was and I, in no way, made any contact with you ever, or had my face all over the papers or internet."
                          

                          
"Sherlock Holmes?" I asked. Now that she said the name, I immediately recognized him. Three years ago, he was all over the internet. I had completely forgot. I just pushed it away, thinking nothing of it. Thinking it was just another suicide. Vaguely thinking of why this suicide mattered more than others. I never even considered doing any research on him.