Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Benedict could be the kindest man at his best of moments, but there were points when he was overwhelmed. When there was one fan too many, he could reason with himself, but when a swarm of twenty wouldn’t let him walk down the street even after he posed for pictures and signed shirts, he lost his mind. Not that he could ever show it any more, or people may think he’d snapped, but he needed a minute alone. Too far from home, Benedict resorted for the second best solitude – a near empty London shop.
It was just inside a small inlet street, like a gardened alley, and he’d just ducked inside without really looking to see what it was. Turned out, horrifying enough, to be a quiet lingerie shop. But at the very least only two women were inside, one wearing a name tag, and the other looking down. Usually when working, people didn’t bother him if they did recognize him, and if that one woman looked up, he could deal with a single person. Pretending to browse, he only needed five minutes, then he’d find a cab. Just five minutes.
Turning in the small shop, his leg bumped a table he didn’t see. It made a screech as the legs shifted over the tile, and he felt like a rhinoceros trying to navigate the small underwear shop. That one woman, standing near changing rooms, snorted and when Benedict looked up, she looked away, suppressing the laugh. He risked a glance to the employee, who just ignored him. Relieved, he went back to turning, only to hit a rack of bras and knock it over.
Bubbling, smooth laughter met his ears immediately. The voice was kind but she clearly never laughed so hard – that woman by the changing room. “Sorry.” Benedict spoke out, lifting the rack. It teetered, bras fell, and he could swear nothing had ever been so embarrassing.
“It’s fine, just leave it.” The shop keep came from behind the cashier counter once he had it standing. She began picking up after his mess and Benedict cringed.
Was there anything more bumbling than rhinoceros? A drunken rhinoceros. That’s how he felt. Very carefully this time, Benedict moved, the laughing woman controlling herself at least. He got to a more open part of the store between the door and the dressing room, pleased there was absolutely nothing to bump into. This lasted thirty seconds before he walked a little too near a shelf and his elbow knocked it loose.
The laughing was back and the shop keep had only just fixed his last mess up. She let out a groan. “Alright, out, both of you out now. I’m banning you!” The older woman pointed wildly between Benedict and the laughing girl.
She fell silent, and he felt sick with idiocy. “No, it was me, she can stay and I can go. I’m sorry.” He rambled politely, picking up the wooden shelf. Only he had no idea how it worked, trying to put it back up.
“Out, go, go now and go fast.” The shopkeeper took the shelf from his quickly, still glaring at the other woman.
Awkward as could be, he tucked his arms to his sides and made the straightest line out of that shop. He was very closely followed by the other woman, her arms folded over her chest. Not at all his idea of a calming experience, and there were still people in the street, so he stood a bit awkwardly. The woman began to pass, then looked at him.
When his eyes met hers he kept thinking how hard she laughed, and if he were anyone else it really was funny. They both broke out into annoyingly loud guffaws at the same time. “Go away!” The employee yelled, the two of them standing just outside.
It didn’t help, and he couldn’t stop chuckling. Eventually the woman banned with him had to grab Benedict’s arm and she toted him away. She gained control just a bit quicker than him, a hand over her mouth, then looked up and Benedict. “S-sorry.” She gasped with humour. “I can’t believe how helpless you are.”
“Oh, God, that was horrible.” He ran a hand over his face, only a little laugh coming out before he calmed and was taking in short breaths. The young woman, red hair in her face, was looking up at him with shaking shoulders, holding back fully. “You weren’t exactly helpful! All your giggling really put me off.”
She snorted. “I can’t help it!” She took her bottom lip between her teeth. “You’re just- You’re…” He stiffened, thinking she’d make some joke about a clumsy Sherlock or some other role Benedict played. “Such a dufus!”
There was a silent second where he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or wanted to joke back. Relieved, Benedict decided and gave a smile. “I am. I feel like a full grown child.” He agreed with her. “I’m sorry you got kicked out, too. What’s your name?”
“No it’s fine.” She waved away the first part of what he said. “And I’m going to shorten my ridiculous name – everyone calls me Eve.” Her hand went out and Benedict shook it.
He was, however, interested to know her ridiculous name considering his own. “Why do you say you’re names ridiculous?”
She raised a brow. “Really?” He nodded. He had to know. “It’s Temperance. Temperance Evelyn Dillon Sinclair.”
“I like Temperance.” Benedict told her, catching that the nickname was from her middle name. But Temperance was poetic, it was fancy, and it somehow matched her orange head of hair.
“You’re the first. Call me what you will.” She gestured at him freely, a smile on her face. Perhaps even flattered. Then her look turned pointed. “And this is when you introduce yourself in return…”
He hesitated. Did she really not know, or did she just want to hear it herself? “You don’t know who I am?” He guessed by her less than knowing, expectant expression.
Temperance, he decided, curled her lip and scrunched her nose as she scoffed. “Should I? You’re a stranger I met trolling a lingerie store.” She teased him.
“Well, I’ve got an arse name as well.” Benedict didn’t know if he should be insulted, or just glad he wasn’t signing anything else. The idea of that alone put an ache in his hand. “It’s Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch. Just sort of feels like it needs a lot of commas.”
“Ha, that’s as bad as mine.” Temperance giggled at him, bouncing from foot to foot. “Well, then, what do you do, that I should apparently know you?”
He rubbed one arm, wishing he didn’t have to answer. “I’m on TV.” He stated. Which could be taken as news anchor, but then again that made his prior comment of her not knowing him conceited. “And movies. I’m an actor.”
Her mouth was pursed slightly in thought. “Oh… Famous? I don’t really watch telly. Or many movies. I don’t own a TV.” Temperance gave her head a gentle shake. “Sorry.”
“It’s good.” Benedict held a hand up to stop her apologies. “I don’t want to be known right now – I was hiding when I went into the shop that I just promptly destroyed.”
She gave a toothy grin, and he knew very well she wanted to laugh at him again. Chuckling, he rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t own a TV.” He repeated when it came back to him.
“Oh, no, I’ve only just moved back to London.” Temperance held her arms around herself, shifting one foot over pavement in a twisting fashion. “I was in Côte d’Ivoire- Um, Africa, because a lot of people just don’t remember where it is. I lived there for a year.”
He looked her over completely on accident – it just seemed that if she lived in Africa, she’d dress more like it or be more tan. But Temperance was fair skinned and wore a plain white button up and jeans. “Are you sure?” Benedict joked.
Understanding the joke, Temperance pushed the hair from her face. “Yes. UNICEF. With lots of sunscreen.”
“You spent a year doing a charity?” Benedict reeled back a half step. “Most people spend a week, maybe a month.”
“And I had just broken up with my boyfriend of six years, was in therapy for my dad’s death for three years, and got fired from my part time job and had to work with my mum again.” Temperance listed off lightly. Like each thing wasn’t horrible. “Then my therapist suggested charity work for a week, and it was actually really healthy for me so I stayed for sixty more. It was great!”
If she hadn’t seemed so perky, if she hadn’t been smiling, Benedict may think her mental. But Temperance was calm, happy, silly, and it sort of felt contagious. “So why’d you come back to good old London?” He asked her.
She gave a half shrug. “Oh, my friend Kelly is getting married.” Then she gasped and a hand went to hover her mouth. “Oh my God, I left Kelly in the shop! She’s was trying on bridal lingerie.”
“Oh, I should let you get back to her.” Benedict awkwardly pointed towards the shop, feeling bad that they’d been talking for several minutes.
“No, I’m banned.” Temperance gave him and obvious look. “I’ll just text her. Plus now I don’t have to be dragged to the china shop for wedding plates.”
As she took out her phone, Benedict shifted. “Would you like to get lunch with me?” He took a leap, hoping for a yes.
Temperance looked up from the screen. “If I say yes, can it be Chinese? I’m eating everything in existence since I got back, but I haven’t had Chinese.”
“Yes, we can get Chinese.” Benedict chuckled.
“Okay, ten seconds, because I can barely chew gum and walk at the same time, let alone text.” She gave a small smirk, looking back down to her phone.
As Temperance texted, Benedict got a cab. He knew London well enough to know good Chinese was not in walking distance. And if they were taking a cab anywhere, they may as well go somewhere really good. Leaning in the window he told the cabbie the street and intersection, then opened the back door. A second later Temperance was coming off the curb and he gestured for her to go in first. She smiled and moved over the seat to the other side of the cab.
“Okay…” She began lightly, in the cab. Benedict looked over, her phone still in her hand. “Benedict, hey. You’re Google’s most popular Benedict.”
He frowned when she showed him her screen. She was looking him up. “I really don’t want to talk about work. Can I repeat that I was pathetically hiding when you laughed at me and we met?” Benedict reminded her.
“We’re not talking about it – I’m not even looking up what you do. I wanted your age because I’d guess thirty two…” She paused a moment. “But this says thirty six. I suck.”
“You could have just asked me.” He felt a wave of calm that she wasn’t doing research, putting her phone away. “How old are you?”
Temperance looked over at him. “Guess.”
Rubbing his hand over his jeans, he took her in. Speech was certainly off – she chatted like she was young and was bright; and she looked young, very young, but looks were deceiving. However Benedict figured underestimating was better than overestimating, to keep any woman from getting angry with him. She looked mid-twenties, so that was exactly what he said.
“Twenty five?”
She crossed her legs with a sweet look. “Twenty seven. You’re better at this than me, for sure.” Temperance spoke over a small beeping. Her phone.
He wasn’t a snooping person, but Benedict glanced as she took the mobile from her pocket. A text sat there with Kelly in big letters. He didn’t read it, looking out the window, because it was very normal for a friend to text back when ditched. More or less, anyway, considering she was thrown out.
“Ah, crap.” She suddenly groaned. “How do you find a message if you accidentally exit it?”
Realising she was asking him, Benedict looked over. “The menu.” He smiled at her frustrated expression.
“Where’s the menu?” She looked uselessly at the touch screen. “I see the internet button, that little home button, and this magnifying glass. Oh, sorry!” She suddenly whispered at him, looking up. “I’m bad at this, I’ve never had a phone before. I got this three days ago and Kelly put all my numbers in. I’ll just ignore it.”
Benedict never met someone so lost in technology, and the amusement just softened his heart. “Give it, I’ll show you.” He put his hand out.
Temperance immediately complied and leaned to the middle of the cab to see. “It’s this one.” He touched the little rectangular page icon next to the internet icon, the menu coming up. Then to her inbox. “There, that’s the message. Just tap that.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” She breathed and took the phone back. Temperance didn’t return to the other side of the seat, leaning as she texted. “Even my mother is better with a phone than I am.” She admitted. “I can do anything else, but phones elude me.”
He would have made a joke, a proper one coming to mind, but the cab pulled over. Benedict had his wallet out and was paying before Temperance even unbuckled. They both slid from the cab and she tripped stepping up the curb. He paused to see if she’d fall, but she caught her footing and blew a raspberry.
“You’re buffoon coordination has rubbed off on me.” Temperance wiggled a brow at Benedict.
“No, I was a rhino. That was just a trip.” He informed her, a hand instinctively sliding to the small of her back as they walked towards the restaurant he chose. Temperance didn’t react, so he hardly noticed his own action. “And please, please don’t talk about that. I’m still horrified.”
The subject dropped as she gave a velvet laugh. They got inside the restaurant, smelling like noodles and spice and sweet, very few people in for the late lunch hour. It was two twenty, but considering Temperance agreed he assumed she’d not eaten anything, just like he hadn’t.
When ordering he kept in mind that he couldn’t eat like he wanted, having to keep the thin and often hungry shape of Sherlock Holmes. Filming was starting in a few weeks, which explained the insanity of people on the streets. He got something simple, and Temperance got dumplings, which he thought was ridiculous. People didn’t usually want to eat Chinese specifically for dumplings.
“So what movies or TV do you watch?” He asked once the notion of her not having a TV bothered him enough.
Temperance was leaning back in her chair, dumpling in hand, chewing. She bobbed her head as she chewed, then swallowed. “My mum never got cable, and I lived with her, so no telly programs, but we watched movies. Usually black and white or meaningful sob stories.” She answered him. “But when I got to pick, war movies, Marvel films, anything really action.”
“You like action.” Benedict stated, taking in another fork full of his chicken dish.
“I like all sorts of things, but when your mother makes you watch romance and nothing but, you starve for another genre.” Temperance elaborated. “In Côte d’Ivoire we only really watched the news, or this weird American comedy I don’t know the name of. If I was lucky enough to get internet on my laptop I watched Doctor Who.”
He gave a snort. “Of course you watch Doctor Who.”
“I am British, after all.” Temperance joked with lips against her dumpling, then taking a bite. She spoke with food in her mouth, hiding behind a hand. “My dad was a Whovian since childhood. I grew up with old taped episodes because we really never had cable.”
Benedict didn’t watch much television of his own, but there were a few things he knew about Doctor Who. “My mother was in Doctor Who.” He began, and Temperance sat up just a bit. “Thirteen episodes, I think? In 67, 77, and 87. I don’t remember the characters.”
There was a pause and he could see her jaw shift in thought. “Who’s your mother?”
“Wanda Ventham.”
“Oh.” She expressed, then there was a light in her eyes. She’d needed a moment to remember. “Right, yep. Faroon, Jean Rock, and Thea Ransome. The characters.”
“Ah, that’s right!” He moaned, knowing the names the moment she started. “So you’re really a Whovian?”
Her head shook. “No, it was drilled in because my dad thought she was a fox. I’m not a Whovian.” Temperance pointed at him, scolding, though he was too distracted with being slightly horrified that his mother was just called a fox. “I’ve seen reruns out of utter boredom, and I watched the new episodes with my dad. I hardly watch it anymore.”
Benedict held his hands up in surrender. “I won’t say it again.”
“So are you anorexic?” Temperance suddenly changed the subject, sitting straight for the first time in her chair. He had no clue what to say, he’d never been asked that, so he stared. “Just, you’re probably 135 lbs., 145 at best. A man your height and age should weigh 157 to 170 lbs., because you have a medium frame.”
Now that he understood the why, he sort of wanted to know how she could figure that out. “Why do you know that? I don’t think that’s common knowledge.”
She picked up her water, finger tapping the edge of the cup as she spoke. “My dad was a doctor. And I’m one of those annoying people who likes to blurt stuff out.” Temperance gave a small wink, and sipped at her water.
“Um, no, I don’t have a disorder.” He answered, smiling despite himself. “I lost the weight for a show, and we’re filming soon. The character is just thinner than I am. I’ve got a nutritionist.” Benedict assured her.
She put the cup down, sticking her thumb up for him. “Good, cool. But you should most definitely cheat that diet next time you go out because unless your character is sick, you’re probably thin enough.”
“Do I look sick?”
Temperance met his eyes. “Well, no, definitely not. You’re just thin.” She gestured to her plate. “Want a dumpling? They’re horribly not good for you.”
“No thanks.” He laughed quietly.
After lunch – Temperance spending five minutes near the end convincing him that she should pay for her own food – Benedict had in turn got her to agree to let him take her home in a cab. She gave the address of a simple building just out of the heart of London. It had actually been a better day, once he met her. It was unexpected but a relief, and Benedict kept wondering if it might be wise to see her again. He wanted to, but should he?
“Have you ever made ice cream?” She questioned when he was about to ask for her number.
Benedict ran his tongue over his lip, confused. “No, never.” He answered comically.
Temperance held her hands together, shoulders raised as she hunched. “It is one of the most annoying things in the world, but you can put anything in it. Any kind of ice cream you can think of – even rum, though I don’t suggest it.” She spoke like she were telling a story on a stage, passionate and exaggerated. “If you ever want a sore arm and the greatest ice cream ever, you can bring your flavours by.”
Not a delay in his mind, and Benedict knew that she was asking him to meet again before he had the chance to. “I am looking forward to it.” He watched her slight nervousness turn into a full smile. “If you give me your number I can warn you if I’m coming over.”
“I’m not sure I know it.” She hesitated a moment.
He asked for her phone. Temperance handed it over, and Benedict did the only thing he knew how. Texted himself once he saved his number into her contacts. In his pocket, the phone buzzed. After saving her number into his own mobile, he felt glad to finally have a name inside that wasn’t someone he worked with – friends or not.
“I’ve got you, and you’ve got me.” He mentioned as he handed back her phone.
“Well, thank you.” She sang slightly. “For the taxi, and saving my sanity from being Maid of Honour for a day. As if I need to see what Kelly is going to wear when she has sex.”
Benedict was laughing. “And how does one become a Maid of Honour?” He spoke sarcastically.
Temperance took the joke well, her smile so bright as she laughed that her small nose scrunched. The cab pulled over a bit too soon. In front of a tall building, only one flat inside hers. But Benedict would hopefully find a day to make ice cream and see that flat, as well as the woman who lived there. As she unbuckled, Temperance leaned across the back seat and kissed his cheek quickly.
“Really, thank you.” She popped open the door, saying her last goodbyes. “For the day, because you’re probably really busy. It was hilarious.”
Then Temperance gave a wave and fled the cab. Benedict took a second, overly glad she had a good time, surprised in himself. Then he gave the cab driver his address near Hampstead Heath.