A/N: Thank you ilypopxtart333, Mad Hatter Massacre, 1abster99, Emilise284, Guest, Absinthe Verte, Christineoftheopera, PhoenixThestral, justyourfriendlyneighbor, Almadynis Rayne, LyrebirdSong, Forbidden Moons, and BaDWoIF89 for your reviews! :D

The Curious Misunderstanding

Chapter Nine

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Thus began another agonizing few days or so of watching my mobile, of keeping the ring volume as high as it could go, of trying to keep myself busy with school work, house work, exercise, telly time, visiting with Mrs. Penslivy, meals out with Dad, absolutely anything I could do to keep myself from going back to my mobile and checking, time and time again, to see if I had somehow missed a call, or a voice message, or a text message. All I wanted was something, just one little thing that told me all was not lost, that perhaps Jim was thinking of me as much as I was thinking of him.

I felt relieved that I didn't have his number; I would have caved and called him as soon as the day after, and that wouldn't have done for either of us.

"Cheer up, luv," Mrs. Penslivy said one afternoon as I sat at her kitchen table. She set down a cuppa in front of me and sat down across from me, giving me the sweetest, kindliest smile she could. "Your lovely boy's going to call, just wait. You're his angel, remember? He's not letting you get away."

I poured milk into my cup mostly so I could look down at the tabletop and she wouldn't see how upset I was. It was ridiculous, of course. Jim would call, I knew he would. He was a busy man, after all, and this was his usual style; it always took him a couple of days to call, there was no use getting upset.

But such as it was, and nearly two weeks after the date without a single word from Jim, I was beginning to feel as though the entire world had collapsed and left me behind to deal with the aftermath. And I was doing a very poor job of hiding it.

"Nola," Nigel said one afternoon as we sat in his office, going over my recent edits. When I looked up at him, he was holding his glasses between his fingers and considering me as though I had confessed that I was feeling suicidal. "Are you quite alright? You seem despondent."

I tried to smile and waved a hand at him. "I'm fine, thanks. I just have a lot on my mind these days."

He nodded, but he didn't seem overly convinced. "You look exhausted. Are you sleeping well?"

"Well enough," I said, desperately wishing he would drop it so we could go on talking about my additions. "You were saying about the edits on the third chapter?"

But he wasn't buying it; he considered me very suspiciously before moving on with his notes, but I could tell he was watching me out of the corner of his eye as he talked about my latest draft.

Luckily, into the second week, Dad was too busy with his cabinet duties to take me out for our weekly lunch and tea dates; one look at me and he'd know right away something was wrong, and that was the last thing I needed. He'd demand I go see the doctor, and I doubted a doctor could do anything for feeling ignored and miserable, and wouldn't that have been a fun thing to describe to Dad?

It was turning into the longest, crappiest two weeks of my existence. I checked my phone for the millionth time as I left my umpteenth meeting with Nigel, who at that point knew better than to ask if I was doing okay. He more or less kept all his thoughts to himself, but I caught him looking at me out of the corner of his eye once or twice. I was making even poorer process on my thesis than I wanted to admit, but I couldn't help it, I couldn't concentrate on it at all. More and more I was feeling like I wasn't in the mood to do anything except lounge around my flat in my jammies and be miserable, which was exactly what I was on my way to do the day it happened.

I crossed the road and was walking along the lush green of Gordon Square on my way up to Euston, so distracted that I almost overlooked the luxurious black car parked at the curb. It drew my attention just enough that I slowed my steps and frowned, but the all too familiar figure of Sebastian, standing by the driver's side and smoking a cigarette, made my heart jump around a bunch of times and then leap up into my throat. When he caught sight of me, he quickly stubbed out his cigarette, as though he didn't want me to see him smoking at all, and squared his shoulders to me, straightening out his jacket while giving me his usual warm smile.

"Sebastian," I greeted him with an air of disbelief, sounding as though I thought I would never see him again. But I could barely keep myself from hyperventilating; if he was here waiting for me with the car, did that mean that this was an impromptu invitation to go see Jim?

But then, before Sebastian could respond or do anything, the back door opened, drawing my attention. My heart dropped into my stomach as Jim emerged from the back seat, prim and proper in a navy blue suit, his hair swept back, his chocolate eyes hiding behind dark sunglasses, but he smiled happily nonetheless. It was all I could to keep from launching myself at him; I stared at him in shock for moments, wondering if I was really seeing him or if somehow I had gotten hit by a car, died, and arrived in heaven.

"Hullo," Jim said, coming towards me. He held out his arms, and this time when he pulled me forward to press a kiss against my cheek, I was more than ready to return it. I took in the feel of his hands gently grasping my arms, pulling me forward, of his lips pressed sweetly to my cheek, of the slightest stubble on his chin rubbing against my skin. I took in a deep breath of him and nearly toppled to the ground.

"Are you alright? You look quite surprised to see me," he said with a laugh, one hand still holding my arm affectionately. "You haven't forgotten me already, have you?"

Oh, if only he knew. If only he knew that all I did, day in and day out, was think about him. If only he knew how many times I revisited our date in my head, every single lovely moment. If only he knew that for the past how many nights before bed I had thought of him, of the way his skin would feel against mine, of how he would feel inside me, of how delectable his kisses would taste. I felt the blood flush into my face, but I tried to hide it as much as I could with a big smile, which wasn't difficult.

"No, not at all," I said, withholding a giggle. "I just…didn't expect to see you here."

"We took a chance on catching you on your way home from school," he said, looking across the street at the university with a pleasant smile, and then he turned to me again. "You're sure you're alright? You look peaked."

"Of course," I said, trying to laugh a little to show him I was fine, and that my heart wasn't strangling me by pounding relentlessly in my throat. "It's just been awhile, is all."

With that, his jovial expression completely melted as though I had said something that greatly offended him. I was about to open my mouth and tell him that it wasn't that I was feeling neglected (although of course I did), but rather I knew he was a busy man and I wanted to remain sensitive to his time and business dealings.

"Yes, well," he said, sighing a little bit, and worry pulled at his features in such a way that made me think he wasn't upset with me at all. "I was hoping to talk to you about that, actually."

"Is everything okay?" I asked, a terrifying feeling clutching at my throat. Oh God, he's going to tell me he doesn't want to see me ever again, I just know it.

"Something's come up," he said, and then he paused and looked up and down the street as though concerned we were being listened to. He then looked pointedly at me. "Could I impose on your time a little? Have you anywhere you need to be?"

"No," I said, a little too quickly. Truthfully I could have had open-heart surgery planned and I would have skipped it just for the chance to talk with him, if only for a moment. "No, I was just on my way home."

"Perfect," he said, and with his hand on my arm he directed me to the back seat of the car. His hand slipped down to rest at the small of my back, making me shiver all over, and I climbed in the back seat and settled back against the leather, just as I had done on the night we went to dinner. Jim climbed in after me, and Sebastian got into the driver's seat, started the car, and pulled away from the curb. It wasn't until we were driving in midday traffic and all was quiet between the three of us that the urgency in the air really hit me.

"What's going on?" I asked Jim beside me, distracting myself from how good he smelled and how I could feel the warmth emanating off his body.

"I'm hoping it's nothing to be too concerned about," Jim said, taking off his sunglasses and meeting my gaze with his warm chocolate eyes; if I wasn't feeling so uneasy, I would have swooned right then and there. "But I thought it necessary to discuss with you."

"What is it?" I asked, swallowing and trying to tell myself to keep calm, that it couldn't have been as bad as I was beginning to think it was.

"It's come to my attention that the men responsible for my…" He trailed out and looked away from me, and though wondering how to phrase his next words. "Trip out the window, are back out on the street."

My throat tightened suddenly; my mind's eye was filled with the memory of finding Jim on the sidewalk, unconscious, covered in glass, thrown out of a window like a piece of trash. I tightened my hands into fists, worried that I would be too tempted to reach out and grab him.

Before I could say anything, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a medium orange envelope. He opened it and took out what looked like a little bundle of photographs, holding them in his hand apprehensively. Looking at me, he held them out for me to take. "I received these photographs in the mail the other day."

Frowning, I took them from him and turned them the right side around. And then I nearly dropped them.

They were pictures of me and him from the afternoon we spent together in Russell Square. They'd been taken from somewhere up high, it looked like, but it was definitely us; we walked side by side with our coffees, both obviously engrossed in the deep conversation we shared that day. I flipped through them, the whole stack of them; whoever had taken them had watched us like a hawk, following us from the cafe to the path to the bench where we had sat for a time.

"Oh my god…" I breathed as I looked through them. I couldn't believe my eyes.

"Nola," Jim said, putting a hand on my arm as though to calm me down. "I know it must seem frightening-"

"Frightening?" I gasped, holding up the stack of photos for him to see as though he had never seen them before. "Do you know how threatening this is? They're taking pictures of us and sending them to you!"

"It's nothing to worry about, I promise," he said, but I could hear the assurance wavering in his voice. He took the photos from me, staring down at them as though they were a scourge on his existence. "They sent these to scare me, to let me know they were watching me, but it has nothing to do with you."

It didn't feel like that at all; I had never felt so exposed. Sometimes when I walked with Dad there would be paparazzi waiting to flash their cameras at us and take pictures, especially if something big had happened in Parliament that day. But I was used to that, and so was Dad; it was almost something you could prepare yourself for.

But not this. This was something entirely different. This was such a vivid invasion of privacy. That had been an intimate, private conversation, one that I treasured very much for Jim's kindness and thoughtfulness. Knowing that someone had been watching us the entire time, and worse taking photographs to use against him in a threatening manner, made a terrible, ugly feeling roll all over my skin.

I was pulled from my thoughts by the feel of Jim's fingers in my hair. Looking over at him, his eyes were wide and shiny with uncertainty; I could tell he was trying to put on a brave face for my sake, but he looked shaken. He began to tuck my hair back behind one ear as though to distract himself or offer me comfort, but it wasn't clear which.

"Sebastian and I are taking care of it," he said in a pointed manner. "You have nothing to worry about."

"When did you get them?" I asked.

His expression fell a little, as though he was very reluctant to tell me. "Two days after we had dinner together. I had to delay contacting you at all, just to be safe."

I nodded, suddenly not giving a shit whatsoever that he had gone silent on me for almost two weeks. No doubt he and Sebastian had done everything they could to figure out what to do in this situation.

"Have you gone to the police?" I asked frantically, though in the back of my head I wasn't so sure there was anything the police could do, really.

"We were going to," Jim sighed a little, his hand resting at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, his fingers delightfully cool against my skin, but I was too freaked out to enjoy it. Jim looked towards Sebastian. "But we have since discovered that these men have influences in the police department."

"Oh God," I breathed, burying my face in my hands and leaning over. I wanted to put my head between my knees and start hyperventilating; this was bad, this was so bad.

"Nola," Jim said, putting both his hands on my arm as though to calm me. "Please don't worry, we're going to do what we can."

I sat up suddenly, looking over at him aghast. "But you're in danger!"

"No, no, you needn't worry," he said, slipping his hand up to rest against my cheek, cradling my face as he gave me a very tender smile. "They only want something from me. Information, most likely. But they wouldn't have sent these photographs if they were intent on doing me harm."

I was not convinced, not in the least. It felt far more sinister than that.

He sighed a little, drawing my apt attention, and I could see from the look on his face that there was something he wasn't telling me, something that he knew he was going to have to divulge and didn't want to.

"There is someone in the police force that you should be aware of," he said. "He works with my assailants. If you ever see him-"

I shook my head at him. No, no this was too serious, this was much too serious. Why would I have occasion to see such a man?

But Jim placed both his hands on me, cradling my face so that I would look at him, listen to him, and he stared at me imploringly. "If he ever makes himself known to you, you just need to distance yourself. He doesn't have a badge, so you're within your rights to refuse to talk to him and just walk away, and that's exactly what you should do."

I reached up to grip his wrists, just to hold him as he held me. "But what if-"

"Nola," he interrupted in a soothing yet firm voice, his chocolate eyes going very dark. "Just walk away. Walk away and call me."

I pressed my eyes closed and sighed heavily; this was so messed up, it was hard to believe it was happening at all.

Jim swept his thumb over my cheekbone, and looking at him I watched his eyes stare at me and flit down to look at my lips. He was so close that I could have leaned forward and pressed the sweetest little kiss against his full lips, just to drown it all out for a moment and instead focus on something lovely, something that should have happened the night we had dinner together.

But Jim pulled his hands from me before we had a chance, and I felt the loss substantially. I sighed heavily from the gravity of the situation, but also from the feeling of being so close to him and yet so far. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and beg him to tell me everything, everything about this whole mess, so that I had at least some idea of who these men were and what they wanted from him. I wanted to bury my fingers in his hair and hold him close and promise that I wouldn't let anything happen to him; I would go to Dad and get Dad to do something, anything to help him, just to make sure he felt safe.

But the ugly sensation coursing through me was too much to ignore; I was in some degree of it too. Perhaps not danger, not yet, but they were aware of me. Those photographs had been a silent message, and if there was something I was meant to be aware of, I knew only too well it meant that I too was likely being watched.

Jim pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and flipped through it absent-mindedly.

"I don't think you'll ever encounter him," Jim said, though he didn't sound too sure of it himself. "It's me they're after, only me. But just in case, this is him."

He handed me his mobile, and I took it between both hands. It was a picture of a tall, gaunt man with curly dark hair and a long, strangely-featured face. He looked severe and concentrated, dressed in a long dark blue coat; there was something authoritative about him, sure, photographed as he was walking on the street. But there was nothing about him whatsoever that suggested to me that he was part of the police.

"Do you know who he is?" I asked, studying the picture very carefully. I took in the shape of his face, his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the way his hair fell over the one side of his forehead, but I was positive if I saw him on the street that I would recognize him immediately.

"Yes," Jim said, sounding defeated. "His name's Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

/

After Jim had explained and said everything he needed to, Sebastian drove us to my flat and parked outside, allowing me and Jim to get out. He walked me up to my door, a hand on the small of my back the entire time, as though to offer me some form of comfort after a very stressful afternoon.

I got to the door and fumbled around for my keys in my bag, but I couldn't even focus on what I was looking for at that moment. My mind was filled with a million questions, all crying out at once looking for explanations, explanations that I could not give and that likely wouldn't appease even if I heard them. I was sick to think that as soon as Jim got back in the car and drove away that there was a real possibility that he was headed straight into danger, that perhaps I would never see him again.

Jim, having sensed my distress, reached over and took my hand in his. "Nola-"

I looked at him, not even conscious really of my hand in his. "I can go to my Dad. There has to be something that can be done, there has to be!"

But Jim shook his head solemnly. "There is, darling, but it's up to me to do it."

"Jim, these people pushed you out a window with the intent to kill you," I insisted, tears beginning to pinch at my eyes, so I bowed my head to hide them from him. "And now they're watching you, letting you know that they're watching you, and they might be watching me-"

"Nola," he said, squeezing my hand just enough to get my attention, and when I looked up at him he was smiling just a little. "I am going to take care of this, I promise. You don't have to worry about anything, and you don't have to worry about me."

I wanted to believe him, I really did; but how could I? This was the type of thing you always heard about in the news before people went missing and were never found again. It was always the beginning of a story of the murder victim on one of the detective inspector programs on the telly. I couldn't bear the thought of it.

"Would it make you feel any better if I gave you a ring in the evenings?" He asked, raising his eyebrows as though he hoped this would do the trick. "Just to let you know everything's alright?"

I sighed heavily; as much as I just wanted him to go to the police, or go into hiding, or do something to ensure his safety, I knew that a phone call to hear that he was okay was the most that I could ask of him at that time, and I was more than grateful that he had offered it.

"Yes," I said, trying to smile but failing quite miserably. "Yes, that would make me feel better."

"Good," he said, smiling delicately, and then he sighed as though he was feeling very put upon. He stared at me, his eyes glowing with their chocolate splendour, and with his free hand he reached up and once more cradled my face; I withheld the urge to lean into his touch, hoping to feel his fingertips tease my earlobe, or brush seductively down my neck, but just enjoyed the feel of him touching me at all.

"I know I've neglected you horribly, and for that I feel terrible," he said, the tone of his voice dropping just a little. "After this is over, I promise you will have my most undivided attention."

My knees threatened to give out from under me as I stared at him in disbelief; hadn't I really heard that? Did he really mean that?

Before I could say anything, ask him anything, or even think anything, he stepped into me, closing the space between us on the step, and leaned down to press his lips against mine. My eyelashes fluttered closed as I sighed into him, returning his sweet, lovely kiss, curling my arm around his waist to bring him closer. His thumb traced my cheekbone as his lips swept over mine beautifully, over and over, and I felt like I would melt under his hands right then and there. He tasted decadent, like rich espresso, dark chocolate, and something sweet like raspberries, and I couldn't get enough of him and how he tasted.

I so desperately wanted to lead him upstairs to my bed. We could have indulged in just a passionate, beautiful moment from all the worries that awaited him in London outside my door. I would do everything I could to make him forget about it all, to make him feel good, to make him feel loved and protected in my arms. I raised my leg and brushed it suggestively against his and in return a growl reverberated from his throat, making me shake as he kissed me a little harder, a little more desperately, and I was only too delighted to match him.

But in a moment he slowed and then broke the kiss altogether, taking a sigh of disappointment from my lips. With that, he couldn't help but smile a little, running his fingers up into my hair and leaning close. "Not to worry, darling. We will share much more than this very soon. Much more."

My eyes closed and my heart pounded uncomfortably; I began to breathe heavily, pressing my thighs together as his words went directly between my legs. I smiled up at him as innocently as I could. "I'm going to hold you to that."

"Believe me," he said, grinning cheekily. "You won't need to."

He gave me one more kiss, one more brush of his perfect lips against mine, just enough for me to taste him on me for the remainder of the day. And then he took his hands from me, broke the kiss gently and stepped back, leaving me to pout with neglect. His parting smile was long and beautiful, accentuating every feature of his face that made him so insanely sexy. I couldn't bear to let him out of my sight.

"Please promise you'll be careful," I said, and even I could hear the emotion thick on my voice.

"I promise," he said, nodding a little. "I'll give you a ring tomorrow night, okay?"

I beamed, knowing that he would hold true to his word, and I would sleep well enough in the following nights if only I could listen to his dreamy Dublin drawl speak sweet nothings to me on the phone. I nodded, showing him that I understood, and with that he took his sunglasses from his pocket, slipped them on, and went down the steps towards the car. I watched him go, still with a terrible feeling clawing at the back of my neck, but what else was there to do? He promised he was going to take care of it, and I had to trust that he would. I owed him that much, at least.

He waved to me from the window as they pulled away from the curb and drove up the street, and raising a hand to see him go I licked my lips to taste him, scared to death that it would be the last time I'd have the chance to do so.

/