Inspired by Joss Stones cover of The White Stripes 'Fell in Love with a Girl/Boy'.
"Come and kiss me by the riverside, Sarah said it's cool, she don't consider it cheating."
As usual, I own nothing.
I think Sarah had known before I did. She'd seen the distant, forlorn, a-bit-longer-than-appropriate looks that I'd cast over him. It's not like Sarah and I were totally exclusive anyway. We were 'feeling it out', 'seeing how it went', 'taking it for what it is'. Which at the moment was a few dinner dates and the occasional shag. I wasn't complaining. Most of my time was taken up by the menial, day to day workings of the surgery and then the heart-pounding, dangerous excitement of the cases with Sherlock. I don't remember the last time I'd had a full eight hours sleep. Not that I missed it much, or rather I didn't have the time to miss it.
My phone buzzed on my desk. A text. I clicked it open.
Meet me at the Yard when you finish. Lestrade has something for us - SH
The corner of my mouth instinctively slipped skywards. Depending on the size and weight of this case, Sherlock and I could be hunkered down in the flat for days now. Maybe even weeks. By ourselves. Mostly, alone. I tapped aimlessly at the keys of my computer keyboard, accessing my diary for the rest of the day. Mr Harrison in five minutes then I was done for the day. Sod it, Sarah could see to Mr Harrison. I was needed elsewhere. I gave a light tap on her office door and heard her call me in. I smiled sweetly as I poked my head around the door. She already knew. I could tell that her eyes were reading my face, then her brain was working out that I had that 'look'. The one she'd told me about. 'You go all gooey-eyed and your whole face relaxes when you know you have a case and that you'll get him to yourself.' she'd said.
"Go on, I'll see to Mr Harrison." she sighed with a roll of her eyes. I blew a kiss in her direction and scurried out to the street, looking for a cab to hail.
On arriving at Lestrades office, I was greeted by a pair of sullen faces. Sherlock and Greg were hunched over the Detective Inspectors desk studying a collection of photographs. Without looking up, Sherlock spoke.
"Ah John, about time. Glad you could shuffle Mr Harrisons 3 o'clock, bet Sarah was more than happy to oblige..."
I opened my mouth to begin to form the question but then closed it again and mentally scolded myself. He had his ways of knowing everything and he'd probably think it highly unsophisticated of me to not know how he did it by now.
"...Now, the good DI has something of alarming delight for us here. Care to take a look?" Sherlock finally righted himself and turned to smile at me. That smile was not a good one. It meant he'd already deducted the fuck out of this case and wanted me to take a look, make a list of trivial first impressions then make me look like an idiot by completely quashing them all. What the hell, I'd let him have his moment. I'd probably reap the rewards later. I stooped to look at the glossy photographs strewn across Lestrades desk.
"Female, thirty two years old, lived in the West End, worked in the theatre, no obvious signs of a struggle and as of yet, no cause of death. There's not a mark on her, she just washed up near Waterloo Bridge this morning." Greg stated routinely. I frowned hard, I literally had nothing. I chose not to say anything but instead looked to Sherlock who I figured would tell me absolutely every morsal of information I'd missed on the taxi ride down to Waterloo Bridge. When I looked around he was on his way towards the stairs that lead down from Lestrade's floor. I was right. We were going to check out the dead girl.
The rest of the day was unusually standard. Sherlock has danced around the body in a flurry of coat and scarf, babbling at a million miles a second about how, because of the way she'd filed her nails, he could tell she was having an affair with someone in her office and that this was probably the work of a jealous husband. He'd not yet figured out how said jealous husband had done it but he had approximately eight ideas which he was going to retire to Baker Street to work on.
"Come John." he barked, turning and pacing back up the shingled foreshore towards a main road.
I was struggling to keep up as he strode purposefully down the side of the river, examining the shore below.
"Sherlock! Wait a minute..." I wheezed. To my surprise, he actually stopped. He jolted around with such velocity, I thought I'd be treating him for whiplash (Oh, Irene would have liked that one). He smiled at me, the consulting detective barrier falling away momentarily. Revealing my Sherlock. The one the Yarders or even Molly never got to see. He retraced his steps slightly and stood before me, looking down at me with those entirely consuming, icy grey eyes.
"I've missed your presence somewhat today, John. While you were at the surgery I mean." he lifted his hands to grip the tops of my arms with gloved hands.
"Same. Good job Mr Harrison was taken off my hands." I smiled, subconsciously fluttering my eyelashes. Did I always do that? Make a point to check in future.
"It is indeed, I'm not usually a jealous man but I wouldn't have been entirely amused by another getting your attention when I had already been starved of it for almost six hours at that point." Sherlock heaved in a breath and squeezed my arms tighter, edging just a fraction closer. I could feel the warm breath on my face as he released it. It took me back for a second, the hairs on the back of my neck jumping to attention as his raspy tone settled over my ears.
"I am deeply, deeply sorry Sherlock. However could I go about making it up to you?" I flirted, squirming my way into his arms. I encircled his waist under his coat and pulled us as close to together as I could manage, emphasising every word. Sherlocks hands were at my neck now, the cold leather of his gloved thumbs rubbing circles on my neck.
"I have an idea." he purred as his face met mine and our lips tangled together. There were a few quick pecks before he pulled away, far too early. He bit on his bottom lip and his eyes darted over my shoulder and to a focal point far away.
"What is it?" I could see he was having some inner turmoil. I suspected I knew the subject.
"What about Sarah?"
"How many times have we been over this? She knows, she's fine with it. It's not like its cheating. Besides, Sarah and I aren't really together..." I was mumbling, my hands flying everywhere, trying to physically manifest my point. When I'd finished, I looked back up at him. His face eased a little before he spoke.
"That's rather fortunate then." he smiled, the leather thumbs were back at my neck. Little, smoothing circles on my goosebumped skin.
"Fortunate? How?" The utter confusion must have been evident in every pore of skin on my face because Sherlock elicited a deep, throaty rumble of a chuckle.
"Fortunate in the sense that she might handle it a little easier when you tell her that you and I are finally romantically attached." he stood back a half-step and just watched my face as my brain went to work on deciphering what he'd just said and the implication behind it. My eyes widened. I think there was an audible gasp.
"Sherlock, are you saying-?"
"Yes John. That's exactly what I'm saying. Now come on, we have a murdering jealous husband to catch and you have a phonecall to make." He pecked my forehead and handed me my mobile that he'd successfully pick-pocketed from my jeans, Sarahs number already on the screen.