Sherlock and Irene
“Of course not, you always forget the milk” Irene replied glancing to the left “A walk it is then love“
As she looked into his eyes, she knew he was trying to figure out her motive, her reason. He would never find one but always keep searching for it. It was pointless but so many things were, yet they were done anyway. She knew when his posture changed back from his character to his normal stature that once again they had gone to far. They had reached the line never to crossed, only tip toed. She was the one who did most of tip toeing , but it wasn’t that she cared, she lied to do it mostly to see what he would do. How he would react to the situation, how he would get himself out of it. It was another thing she liked to do when she was bored. She guessed their game was over,the curtain drawn, the sheet lifted over the charade. She was only slightly saddened, only because it had become fun, but she was fine with moving on, it was bound to get boring anyway.
They looked at each other, seeing beyond the face, trying to see the words written out on each other face. She knew her pupils were dilated, simply because he was making a note of her eyes, there would be no other reason for it. He wouldn’t try to measure her pulse again, she knew the trick now. Irene knew she had picked a good place to stand, he couldn’t draw anything more from her hidden face. Just how she liked it, him not having a clue. His eyes continued to search with renewed interest, the corners of his mouth twitching with what she guessed was slight annoyance as he came up blank.
She caught the breath he let out, he had been holding it, was that because he was so intently focused on her that he had forgot to or because he had simply forgotten. She didn’t have enough evidence to back any answer exclusively. Irene guessed the phone acrobatics was his was distancing himself from the conversation. A metaphorical bell if you will, as if he needed one. She could tell his smile was faked, she had won this round, he demeanour reflected that. He was having trouble with what to do in the situation. Irene just smiled and waited to see what he would do. She knew their play was over now, no questions of returning to it.
The silence was broken with his statement, he should have been able to guess she didn’t care much for the subject matter, not that she was bored with him around. ”Then Mrs.Hudson will be getting a surprise won’t she?” she replied, moving across from him, glancing at the window. She was facing the door, right beside him. side by side. Where she felt she should be, but knew in her heart she couldn’t be. Not now, maybe not ever, time would tell.
While little changed in Irene’s body language, there weren’t really any major shifts as far as he could tell, her demeanour was nonetheless noticeably different. It was in the minuscule barely noticeable details, the results of a different emotional range being played out. It was instinctual, the knowledge of this shift, but he did not question it. There was nothing left of the woman who had just done his dishes, the character melted of off her like snow on a warm spring day disappeared from the ground. Quickly, and yet the ground appeared no different from before. Of course, in their case the situation was more the other way around. What had been a warm spring day - their pretended domestic bliss had been expressed by uncommon warmth between them - had gone back to become the game they normally played. Not that they were usually frosty, that was extrapolating too far. They were simply far from a married couple and therefore acted nothing like one. It was a very logical step, really. And yet Sherlock couldn’t help but feel as if it had gotten really quite chilly between the two over the few seconds that passed and he wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps it was only by comparison. Perhaps the loss of this round, this charade that he himself had started in response to her words, frustrated him.
She was smug. One could not miss that. No, she didn’t change her posture much or say anything. But it was definitely there in her silence. And her smile. Sherlock was known for being almost annoyingly good at getting the last word, if only because half the time he’d say something and then dash out the door to test his theory. But this was far from the only time when he didn’t - he had grown up with an older brother, after all. He told himself to shrug it off and having glanced at his watch - a gesture easily done discretely when he fiddled with his phone - brought up Mrs Hudson. Irene Adler was not impressed, something she made perfectly clear by dismissing his statement entirely. And yet it was not something to simply push to the side. There were undeniable facts to consider:
Mrs Hudson had seen her before, when she’d decided to simply move into their place for a day or two.
Mrs Hudson was perfectly aware of her passage into the Deadlands.
Mrs Hudson was not a part of their game.
And last but not least, Mrs Hudson was not an absolute moron. Were she to meet or see Irene Adler she would be quite pristinely aware of who she was.
So she had to leave Baker Street. It was that simple. And yet, he didn’t seem quite as appeased by this perfectly logical conclusion as he normally was. Firstly, the Woman was dead. And while he was fully confident in her abilities, being dead did put a damper on ones opportunities of amusement. And while he had no illusions as to his importance or if he was disposable, he imagined she had come to him because under their antagonistic exterior they were after all something resembling friends. Not quite friends, but as close as two people like themselves were likely to be friends. And thus he got no real enjoyment from knowing he must kick her out of the apartment to face boredom. Nor did he by any means wish to face the absolute boredom that was the flat without a case or scientific experiment, or John. And John was working because apparently they had to pay the bills. Dull.
"Oh no she won’t, darling dearest." It was not a full return to their charade, but the closest he was going to get to sorry for sending her away. Besides, he wasn’t really sending her away, of course. He left her side and walked over to the chair over which her coat hung, grabbed it and held it out for her to step into like the gentleman he never bothered to be. “You promised me a walk. And groceries.”
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