Sherlock and Irene
“Good, I always love to give people a fright, fear is a good motivator” she replied quickly, as if to get the subject out of the way. She could care less for the hired morons across the street, they were just a bother to her, like flys that kept buzzing around her head. She could feel his eyes on her, and with a subtle glance, looked back at him. He was also looking out the window, but mainly at her, trying to figure things out as usual. He was being quieter than usual, was it because he didn’t know what to say or because he had gotten bored with her, she couldn’t tell at this moment.
She grew tired of looking out at the normal civilians below them, she turned around slowly to face Sherlock, her eyes meeting his immediately. She walked past him, grabbing their tea cups and taking them to the sink. She didn’t normally clean up, it wasn’t really her style, there is a first time for everything. “I could be a housewife, a very strange yet sexy housewife” she said jokingly “have the neighbours over for tea then try out my handcuff on them” her smile was genuine. She thought about it often, it didn’t really suit her, but sometimes she wondered what life would be like if she did that. Boring probably, a small part of her wanted the white-picket fence life, her internal clock she guessed. She just couldn’t picture it, she couldn’t picture having kids, packing lunches, cooking dinners, washing laundry, gossiping with her kids friends, and sitting down watching television every night with her husband. Her mind didn’t bend that way, she didn’t think it ever would. She guessed it was the same for Sherlock, based upon his social interactions among other things, she concluded that they were the same in that department. Not the marrying type. She had many supposedly happily married men as her clients that she didn’t see marriage as anything else than a piece of paper.
Irene leaned against the counter, looking at the beakers and test tubes that covered the island. A microscope was facing away from her, many jars and dishes were scattered across the surface. She walked along, looking at each item, she looked into the microscope. “what are you experimenting with this time?” she asked as she was about to fiddle with the microscope, partly because she was interested but mostly because she knew it would annoy Sherlock that was touching his things. She enjoyed getting under skin, almost as much as she wanted to get under his covers, but she knew he already understood that. She hoped one day, his would take over and he would finally give in, if only to experiment.She wanted to be the one to say, she had been the first to crack Sherlock Holmes, she would do anything in her power to get that. At one point, she asked herself if she beg for it, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. So she decided to wait as long as it takes, unless she gets bored that is.
Sherlock’s imagination was one of his greatest strengths, it was the reason he didn’t get boxed into the same rail track thinking that everyone else seemed to be incapable of escaping. There was no small amount of creativity in a nicely executed crime, and no less creativity in figuring out how it was committed. The important part was to make sure that the creativity was channelled effectively, that it was grounded in logic and rationality. Normally he was exceptionally good at that, so good in fact that some thought him entirely emotionally stunted. Few would probably have used creative to describe him.
But it was the only reason he had to explain why his brain was quick (when was it not) to internally visualize her words. Very strange, very strange indeed. Sherlock wasn’t even entirely aware of the smile that spread across his face before he once again took control of his expression, before deciding to play along. After all, an unexpected move was always more likely to provoke reactions. Changing his body language, he stood up straight with a polite expression on his face.
"Ah, Mr Jackson, nice to meet you! How’s that dreadful dog of yours? Your wife you say? I do think she’s having some quality time with Mrs Adler. That noise? Just the telly, I’m sure. Why so nervous Mr Jackson, I’m sure you’ve nothing to feel inadequate about.”
For a moment he was a one man show, playing it all out as if there was indeed another man in the room, as if he was trying to stand in the way of the man seeing anything. It was easy to see how he could successfully disguise himself, when even in his own clothes he’d become a different man. Then he looked over at her, laughter playing in his eyes despite the somewhat hoity expression.
He never considered marriage, clearly nothing that was likely to be in his future. Besides, seemed to require extensive concern about another’s well being - far too much effort. Not to mention they’d be a liability, as recent events with Moriarty and John had made painfully clear. It hadn’t always been like that, once upon a time he’d had a wish for normality and all the dull greyness it brought with it. He imagined it was a phase any exceptional individual went through, that of choosing between one’s talent or being one with the crowd. Genius could get lonely sometimes. He shrugged the thought off. Irrelevant. And far less common than everything getting boring. Which it currently wasn’t, and there was no point in wasting good company.
It was bad enough when John moved his stuff around, at least he had the good sense to leave that which was obviously in progress alone. Unless he needed the microwave for cooking. Which was a nuisance but Sherlock had learnt to accept that. But Irene was doing this for no other reason than to annoy him, he was sure of it. It seemed a somewhat clumsy way to provoke a reaction, but Sherlock had to admit it was efficient.
"What aren’t I experimenting with would be a simpler question.” He shrugged, almost too unaffected for it to be quite believable, a small twitch in the fingers of the right hand as he stopped himself from clenching a fist.
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