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Nothing Better to Do- Part 2

Here’s the second part of that long thing I posted a couple of days ago. I have genuinely no idea what I’m gonna do for the rest of it, but I also feel the onset of writer’s block so we’ll see.  Anyways, please enjoy?  -Mrs. Holmes xx (Read part one here) Warnings: Some curse words, lots of self-pity, the norm for this story. 

You stared at him, breathing speeding up with the anxiety of the situation. You don't know why you were so nervous, maybe the fact that you were alone and you were gonna be forced to talk to him. You thought you had wanted to speak to him, rather intensely actually, but as you stood there, dumbfounded, you realized how much you definitely did not want to speak with him. “W-We’re closed,” You stumbled over your words, swallowing nervously as you saw him raise an eyebrow. “I can see that from the sign, but the unlocked door says otherwise.” He retorted, smooth, deep voice causing your heart rate to increase at an alarming rate. “I always forget to lock it,” You muttered, feeling like an idiot, but not really having anything else to say. “I can see that, your friend even left you a note,” The man said, gesturing to the area behind you.

You turned around swiftly, spotting a sticky note attached to a coffee maker that reminded you to actually lock the shop once you left, all in Jill’s curly handwriting. You brushed your short hair behind your ear, a habit of nervousness. Considering you were nervous as hell right now, it was a predictable move on your part. “Since this is a coffee shop, could I have a coffee? I was busy today and didn't get one.” He asked, sounding slightly annoyed. You furrowed your eyebrows, turning around again to see him already seated at a table near the counter. How could he be the one who was annoyed? He did just practically burst into your place of work and demand you to do something you weren't technically being paid to do at this hour. “I- I suppose,” You remarked, giving him a glance over. You tried not to stare at him for long, eyes trailing over his expression and body with ease. He looked quite fit, but you were trying not to notice that. Instead, your eyes fell upon the small cut on his cheekbone, barely there really, and the bruise that was forming underneath. “Would you stop staring at me?” It wasn't a teasing question, it was actually quite biting. You didn't think your eyebrows could furrow anymore, but alas. What an asshole. Clearly, you had created some sort of romanticized version of who this stranger might be and clearly, he wasn't it. The farthest from it actually. You were hoping for some sort of romantic epiphany or maybe even a friendship epiphany, but instead, all you got was a cold stare. “You're bleeding,” You said shortly, turning on your heel to make him his damned coffee. You weren't even sure why you were still making it, you should be kicking him out. But, as you said, you were lonely and there was hope yet, despite how minuscule it seemed. He hummed, sounding only slightly surprised. “Suppose I am,” He remarked, not seeming bothered. You wanted to ask him why he was bleeding, why he didn't care about it, and why he was in your shop, but you kept your lips firmly shut as a tense silence filled the room. “You know,” His voice, arrogant voice, filled the room again. You tried not to sigh. You really didn't need him to ruin this further for you, this whole fantasy you had worked up about him. “I thought you would have asked about the bleeding, maybe offer me a bandage or something.” He sounded irritated. Him. He sounded irritated. You could have screamed at him, he definitely didn't have the right to be irritated. Your entire view of him was being torn down, along with your dignity, if anyone should be irritated it should be you. “I thought you would've been nicer,” You muttered under your breath, quiet enough so you thought he wouldn't hear you. You quickly realized you hadn't responded, so you settled for, “The cut really isn't that big,” He let out a scoff, a quiet one. “Don't you want to know why I'm bleeding?” He continued. You had been placing the sugars into his mug, but you froze once you heard his words. Who the hell did he think he was? “Why would I want to know?” You asked, sounding a bit defensive. You had turned, mug in hand as you narrowed your eyes at him. The look he gave back to you was one of a challenge. “Why wouldn't you?” You tilted your head slightly, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from releasing a tirade of angry and offensive words not fit for a customer. Because that's all he was, a customer. “I'm afraid I'm busy. I actually have to get going soon. Would you mind if I gave you your drink to go?” You asked, coming up with a lie on the spot. Of course, you weren't actually busy, if you counted writing some story you'd never finish as busy. Oddly enough, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes fell down to the mug in your hand. “You're lying,” He commented easily, eyes looking back up to yours. You blinked, his expression similar to stone as you tried not to panic. “I'm not, I have to meet my parents for dinner.” You told him, standing your ground. He let out something that resembled a chuckle and you felt your blood rising in temperature. “It's nearly 10, dinner’s been over for hours.” He countered. “They're waiting for me. We always have it late to fit my schedule, which is why I really must go.” You continued on, staring him down. You were not going to lose to this man, maybe you were trying to prove a point. Ok, definitely you were trying to prove a point. You were better than this man, better than the fantasy you had built up. Stronger. “Mm, no.” He said definitively. He smirked at you. He fucking smirked at you. You could have punched him. And then it dawned on you, he had been punched! Right on the cheekbone too, which explained the forming bruise and broken skin. It looked rather painful. You didn't feel that bad for him, though, judging by the small encounter you were having he probably deserved it. “Well, whether you believe me or not, I’d like to go.” You said finally, hoping he would just accept that you wanted out of here and he would never come back. You turned quickly, not allowing him to stare at you with a patronizing smirk any longer. Instead, you grabbed a to-go cup and poured his coffee into it. You found yourself wishing you had heated the liquid up a bit more, maybe burn his tongue as a sign of revenge. “It's not that I don't believe you,” He began, causing you to almost groan in annoyance as you turned around again. You faced him, styrofoam cup in hand and an eyebrow raised in a mix of annoyance and challenge. “It's that I know for a fact you're lying,” He finished, sounding like the most pompous asshole you think you'd ever encountered. You would have told him this, but you really never were one for direct confrontation. Instead, you let out a huff of annoyance and walked past the counter to make your way to his table. “That's really lovely for you, but I'm going to be leaving no matter what.” You said, smiling falsely as you placed the coffee on his table. He looked a bit surprised, people must not stand up to him frequently. His eyebrows furrowed like you had offended him and he narrowed his eyes accusatorily. “Don't you want to know how I know you're lying?” He asked, sounding genuinely confused that you hadn't asked that question. Actually, the question hadn't crossed your mind. You just wanted to get the hell out. You rolled your eyes, turning your back on him and walking to employee’s quarters to grab your things. “I've always been a bad liar,” You responded, shrugging. He did not seem to like this answer, considering he had gotten from his seat and was following you into the locker room for the workers. You would have been scared, you probably should have been scared, but the only emotion you could feel inside of you right now was annoyance. “That's not something that's easy to tell,” He defended, footsteps trailing behind yours as you went over to your locker. You opened it with ease, untying the apron from around your waist. As you did so, you gave the man a look of disbelief. “It really is,” You argued. He looked taken aback, dumbfounded really. “Well, I could tell by your necklace.” He continued, watching as you grabbed your bag from inside of your locker and shut it quickly afterward. There was a flash of surprise in your eyes, but you battled it with the same look of annoyance you'd been wearing ever since he opened his mouth. He smirked at this, clearly not missing it. He waited a couple of seconds, expectantly. Like he was hoping you'd ask how he had figured it out. But, it turned out you didn't have to ask how he did it because he was already rambling away an explanation. “You see, the necklace is real gold and in the shape of a heart. It's expensive, judging by the name of the seller that's etched on the back. Sure, a husband or fiancé could have given a gift that was of that monetary value, but your left-hand lacks a ring, all of your hands lack rings. A boyfriend wouldn't go through the trouble of saving up to purchase a gift such as that, so easy deduction: Parents.” Throughout his whole speech, you had been tuning him out, silently drifting away from the sound of his voice and focusing on the annoyed ramblings of your own mind. He had followed you as he spoke, watching you as you almost forgot about the sticky note on the coffee machine, and then watching as you took it off and then made your way over to the set of keys behind the counter. He even did as much to follow you to the door, which you had opened. You looked at him expectantly, hoping that your expression was portraying the right amount of “Get the hell out of my shop,” and “I hate your pompous guts,” “Are you good to go now?” You asked him after he hadn't made a move to go through the door which you were holding open. His eyes flooded with realization, “Did you listen to anything I said?” He asked, sounding accusing. “Was I supposed to?” You challenged, giving him a scowl. His eyes widened with shock and offense, “I just gave you a whole explanation!” He exclaimed. “I didn't ask for one,” You countered, throwing another false smile his way. He looked beyond agitated, almost as agitated as you felt. “Now, please, leave the shop.” You demanded lightly, gesturing to the open door with your free hand. He narrowed his eyes at you, looking scandalized as he finally followed your wishes. You nodded your head to him as thanks, exiting the shop as well and closing the door behind you before locking it with precision. You didn't bother turning around, under the belief that the man had walked away and you were finally free. You let out a deep breath, slipping the keys into your purse and walking down the street. “So, your name is Spencer?” You heard the same, deep, pretentious voice invade your mind once again. “Oh, for God’s-! Is that my wallet?” You had turned instantly upon hearing him, exclaiming as you had a right to do, and then spotting him not only following you but holding your leather wallet in his hands. “Yep,” He said, putting emphasis on the “p” which made you want to punch him more. “How the hell-? You know what, don't explain, just give my wallet.” You sighed, not wanting him to follow you for even longer just to give another long winded explanation. You put your hand out expectantly, staring at him icily as the two of you stood on the deserted sidewalk. “Spencer isn't really a girl name,” He commented, handing you over your wallet nonetheless as you glared at him. “Yeah? Well, what's your name then?” You asked, your arsenal of insults ready to attack whatever boring, asshole sounding name he was destined to have. “Sherlock,” Your eyes widened, “Well that isn't really a name for anyone,” You retorted, still surprised by the odd name. Your eyebrows furrowed when you saw his reaction, a small chuckle had passed his lips. He didn't say anything else on it, though, but annoyingly enough, continued on speaking. “You think you'd take a taxi to get to your dinner,” He muttered, hands in the pockets of his Belstaff as you narrowed your eyes at him. Who wears a coat during summer? “I thought we already established I was lying about that,” You said, not really asking, just stating the facts. The smallest of smirks remained on his lips, “So you admit you were lying?” He said it like he was winning something, some sort of game he believed you to be playing. “I admit that I was trying to get rid of you,” You responded, not getting reactions of offense out of him anymore by your harsh words. He just looked a bit amused, which was effectively pissing you off more. “What a good job you've done,” He commented, still looking smug. You rolled your eyes, turning your back to him and carrying on walking as if he wasn't there. This did nothing to deter him, actually, he seemed to follow you quicker. You probably should have been afraid, you definitely should have been afraid, but something about him seemed not at all threatening. Sure, he was following you and had shown up at your place of work, but you felt like you knew him. Even though he was getting on your last nerve, you didn't see any reason to kick him to the curb quite yet. Besides, you had a nice banter going on, why ruin it? Ok, so, you sounded pathetic, keeping someone around because you wanted someone to talk to even though you hated them. But, it was quite common to do that and what harm could be done? It was probably just the fantasy that you had created about him remaining inside of your subconscious, but your common sense had yet to fully take over and act on getting him away from you. “Are you going to follow me all the way home?” You asked him, realizing he had been following you the whole time you had been silently walking down the street. You didn't bother to stop walking or turn to see him. “I just want to see if my deductions are correct,” He told you like that was a completely normal sentence. You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him once more. “I'm sorry, deductions?” You questioned, giving him a concerned expression. “Things I've deduced from your appearance, clothes, actions-” He began what was sure to be another long-winded explanation, but you were quick to interrupt. “I know what they are,” You told him, putting an end to whatever tirade he was about to journey into. “I just want to know why you're making them, especially why you're making them about me.” You clarified, giving him a firm and curious expression. He looked at you, confused as to why you'd ask such a question. “I make them about everything and everyone, it's not something I can just turn off.” He scoffed, looking at you like you were an idiot. You rolled your eyes again, turning away from him and carrying down the street at a surprisingly leisurely pace. “When I first took notice of you, which was when you gave me the coffee,” He began, and you were sure there were other things that he said after that, but you couldn't help but feel a sting in your chest. He first noticed you then? You first noticed him, well, the first time you saw him. But it took him weeks to even notice you? It shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did, but you felt your cheeks heating up with embarrassment and anger. Slowly, your ears began to pick up on the other words he was saying and it did nothing to help your mood. “I could see you had a cat and lived alone, that was easy. Also after further observation I saw that your co-workers didn't like you very much, they would all stay away from you, except that one woman with the dyed hair.” You weren't sure if it was the rude way he was giving you this information, the fact that your co-workers didn't like you, or the dig he had taken at your close friend, but you were ready to explode. And explode you did. You stopped abruptly, which caused him to stop as well, looking a bit surprised. You swallowed back tears that you weren't aware were preparing to form until now, but you spoke with anger anyways, hiding all sadness, “Is this really necessary? Is this some sort of game to you?” You shouted, venom-laced words escaping your lips. “Oh, I've hit a soft spot. Was it the co-workers not liking you or the friend thing?” He asked, he didn't seem actually concerned, more like he was wanting to know for the benefit of other deductions he'd make in the future. You felt a shaky breath leave your body, a tear or two probably falling onto your cheeks. You were an angry crier and a sad crier and you were experiencing both emotions pretty strongly right now, so the tears were valid. “Are you having a mental breakdown? You know, I did sense some instability, I noticed the pill bottle in-” That was enough for you. Your breathing was heavy now, anger affecting your body. You didn't hesitate to bring back your hand and slap him directly across the cheek, directly hitting the other wound he had probably received from another pissed off person. “That seems to be a running theme today,” He muttered, hand going up to the cheek which had just been assaulted for the second time today. “Because you're an asshole,” You seethed, not even feeling a little bit guilty for the blood that had started to reappear from the wound. It seemed you had opened the first one with the intensity of your slap. “I'm just stating the obvious. If you didn't want this to be told you, maybe you should be nicer to your co-workers so they'd like you.” He retorted, his voice not even cold anymore. He just sounded matter of fact, which made you feel worse. You knew you probably looked crazy, with tears running down your cheeks and your fists clenched with anger, not to mention that the wind was doing God knows what with your hair. “Do you have nothing better to do? No one else to bother? What about the person who slapped you before I did? Surely you could torment them instead,” You asked, voice no longer shouting, but quiet and laced with hatred. It was then his face fell, smug smirk no longer residing on his lips. You let out a deep sigh, of course, he doesn't have anywhere better to go. And of course, that made you feel bad for him. “Yeah, me neither.” You said, quieter this time. Anything was quieter than your screaming, though, so it wasn't saying much. “Are you done screaming at me now?” He questioned, expression no longer looking like he was taking any pleasure in this. You swallowed, a shaking hand coming up to your cheeks to wipe away the tears that had fallen there. You let out a nervous chuckle, “Yeah, guess you were right about it.” He raised a bushy eyebrow, “I'm always right, but what are you referring to?” God, what an asshole. You were too emotionally drained to do anything about it and in a way, you deserved this. “The co-workers thing,” You whispered, not really wanting to repeat the whole situation. Sherlock let out an, “Oh,” “Do you usually lash out and cry like this? That may be why they don't like you.” He said, sounding completely serious. You looked up at him, not even realizing you had been staring at the ground. You let out a small huff of laughter, which seemed to confuse him. “Suppose we’re in the same boat, though, that helps a bit.” You remarked, running a hand through your hair which was being violently attacked by the wind. “What do you mean?” He asked, sounding somewhat curious. “Well, I doubt people like you either.” You said bluntly, really not caring since he had verbally attacked you mere minutes ago. He tilted his head, which made the wound on his left cheek even more visible under the street lights. “Oh, people hate me.” He told you, lengthening the word “hate,” “Dinner then? Since no one else can stand to be around us?” You asked, readjusting the purse strap that was on your shoulder. He stared at you, examining you once again. He seemed a bit surprised, which made sense. You were surprised you asked him as well, considering he was a complete dick. But, he was just as lonely as you, so why the hell not? “I have nothing better to do,” He repeated your earlier words, something resembling a twinkle of humor in his green eyes. You couldn't help the small smile that crossed your lips, you were really gonna do this. “Alright then, you're paying, though.” You told him, raising your eyebrows as you said it before you turned around and carried down the street and allowed him to follow you.