This begins in the middle of the Fireplace Scene in A Scandal in Belgravia. I guess you could think of it as a rewrite of the scene. I plan to continue the story in later chapters, but it won't necessarily be completely canon from now on.
She knelt next to him and rested her hand on his, gazing into his eyes.
"Let's have dinner."
"Why?" He looked at her. His brow furrowed slightly, but his eyes betrayed him. They were soft, not shards of ice but warm pools of water.
"You might be hungry."
"I'm not."
"Good," she said quickly (too quickly, she thought), hiding her disappointment.
"Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?" He pronounced each syllable more slowly than the last, as if his mind were shifting to something else. He looked down at their touching hands. Slipping his hand around her wrist, he turned it over, pressing two fingers gently above the heel of her palm. He looked back at her and let his gaze wander her face. He would never admit it, of course, but the gold from the lazy fire dancing over her porcelain skin was intoxicating. Despite himself, all the walls he'd put up, all the rules by which he governed his mind; despite his very nature, he felt himself inexplicably drawn to her, and at the moment, he didn't care about himself or his rules. Only this woman, the Woman, who, judging by her heightened pulse and her dilated pupils, was intrigued by him as well.
"Oh, Mister Holmes, if it was the end of the world…" She leaned in toward him, eyes flickering to his mouth and back up… "If this was the very last night…" He did the same, his face inching closer and closer to hers, his lips parting slightly… "Would you have dinner with me? She stopped moving and waited for him to answer, never breaking eye contact with him. "Tonight?"
She was making his heart twist with an emotion foreign to him. The chemicals surging through his mind were new and unexpected. Hadn't he disposed of them long ago? Apparently, they had only been dormant, locked away but existent. Moreover, this woman, this mysterious woman, stabbed the warm feeling further into his blood with her hypnotic gaze. He wanted to hate her for making him feel again, knew he should, but he couldn't. He liked the game she proposed, but he was afraid that in playing it, he would lose at his own.
He needed to think.
"It's not the end of the world, Miss Adler," he answered finally. He moved to stand and she did the same, walking out of the room into the hallway and leaving him to his thoughts.
He put his violin away. Leaning the case against the wall, he decided to keep the fire lit for John, when he returned after another failed attempt at a relationship.
Sherlock walked down the hall to his bedroom, not bothering to turn the light on when he entered. Instead, he headed to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and changing into his favorite striped pajamas. He got into bed, only mildly surprised to find Irene already asleep, curled up under the blanket. He turned over, closed his eyes, and fell into oblivion.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've had this idea for a while and finally wrote it down. Already, major problems are coming up. Should I continue with the story? If so, what do you think should take place? R&R, or simply PM me with your ideas. Thanks!
Arianna x