Sherlock and Irene
Irene smirked when Sherlock started to act out the scene she had described, her eyes were filled with laugher, but she kept her laughing in by covering her mouth. She had noticed the way he had said her name in his skit, Mrs.Adler, implying marriage but not that she would change her last name to her fictional husbands. By the way he spoke it was as if he was acting as said fictional husband, they would make quite a dangerous fictional pair. Even thinking figuratively she couldn’t see them that way, neither was the type, and neither would last in it.
She smiled when she saw his twitch “I know a few things you have yet to experiment with dear” she replied , playing along from before, she had to admit the acting was fun. “The Jacksons might want to take part in your experiments, why don’t you ask Mr.Jackson if he has some nerve fibres you can borrow, or if Mrs.Jackson doesn’t mind you using their cat?” she suggested, her body language changing, her smile a little wider, as she pretended to wash dishes. She couldn’t help but laugh at how foolish they were being. Yet she didn’t want it to end.
Yes, he’d been successful in his attempt to amuse it would seem. He could tell something was going through her mind, as if for just the briefest millisecond she seemed to stop in her gesture. The kind of hesitation that even a trained eye couldn’t see, but could be inferred from a feeling if one had enough experience of trying. That, of course, didn’t give him any insight to what it was that she’d possibly been thinking of, which in turn was a bit of a disappointment. Secretly, he found himself less disappointed at this fact than he was quite willing to accept - the disappointment seemed overrun by the satisfaction of a joke well told. Sentiment, he presumed. She was after all the only person even moderately like himself that he currently didn’t have a completely antagonistic relationship with, even if to call her a friend would be a massive overstatement.
At her first comment, yet another allusion to sex he was sure, Sherlock simply rolled his eyes again. The gesture seemed to be intended as a dismissal, as if to indicate disapproval. Considering statistics said that men on average think of sex 19 times a day and women 10 times, well, let’s just say that had Irene been a test subject in that particular study the numbers may have looked very different. On the other hand, such was her job - and an individual should always play to their strengths. Regardless he found the repetitiveness tiresome and dull. Which of course was entirely unrelated to a certain hesitancy as to what to answer to such comments.
As she continued and it became unquestionably clear that she was continuing the charade - apparently with him as the husband, he assumed that was a reasonable deduction based on his performance, and though not originally intended he found that he didn’t mind - he slipped back into the role he’d created for himself as husband. Posture a little straighter, yet somehow still less abrasive than his normal attitude.
"Apparently removing Mr Jackson’s nerve fibres without written consent is illegal, and not even those potentially interesting experiments are worth risking the presence of my darling brother.” He made the endearing term sound like a slur, though his tone was otherwise exceedingly charming and amicable. “And I fear that if I replace that cat with a lookalike a third time even Mrs Jackson might notice.”
He walked over to the counter as he spoke, gesturing and making further insinuations through body language. She laughed, and he was unsure of whether it was because of his poor joke or if it was the situation as a whole. He assumed the latter, as this play they were acting out was really quite ridiculous. But instead of stopping dead right there, giving up the game and moving on to something more obviously competitive, hesitated. He was relaxed, surprisingly, and leaned his back against the door frame close to the sink. Though he almost had his back to her, he’d turned his head in her direction. Adopting a very convincing version of puppy eyes, and letting a small sigh escape his lips he added: “I fear they just don’t thrill me like they do you, dear. I think we’re going to have to have them replaced.”
Yes, he decided to continue playing along. He wasn’t quite sure why, but it would require an in depth analysis later, he decided.
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