I got mine
Sherlock hardly slept that night. His mind was constantly buzzing with thoughts, trapped in his mind palace until the early hours of the morning. After the minor case had been solved all there was left to do was wait until Moran struck again, Sherlock wasn't the most patient of all people, he needed something to occupy him; a distraction perhaps.
He was sure Irene could think of numerous things to end his boredom, but the man was not interested in sex, he was interested in her. A physical attraction was common; but a mental connection, that was rare.
He was attracted to Irene, he could hardly admit it to himself let alone the woman, he had never been in a situation like this before nor had he ever considered himself anything but asexual. But Irene had changed all that to everyone's surprise.
His subconscious mind had also shocked and confused him to no end, his dream last night was ridiculously unrealistic, although dreams represented his thoughts, concerns and desires. He hardly registered the experience as unpleasant, quite the opposite.
Irene awoke first to find an unconscious Sherlock with his arms firmly secured around her in a possessive manner, his head rested on her shoulder. She squirmed slightly as she regained consciousness causing him to fasten his grip even tighter.
She turned her head slightly to read his expression, he was smiling in his sleep, no wonder dreaming about her once again she thought . She struggled to exit his arms, not that she wanted to; but she was very hungry even after last night's meal.
When she did eventually escape the bed she quietly creeped out the room closing the door silently behind her. It was strange, being in almost a domestic nature with Sherlock Holmes, well it was hardly what normal people would consider ordinary; chasing down a criminal mastermind and all, but the atmosphere was relaxed yet the inevitable sexual tension between them was still there; and stronger than ever.
She closed the bedroom door silently, turning around to find the flat drenched in bright summer sunlight which poured through the uncovered windows causing her to squint as she made her way into the kitchen to find anything decent to snack on, (she wasn't going to look in the fridge again; that was for sure.).
Once Irene's eyes adjusted to the sunlight she searched through a couple of cupboards eventually coming across a loaf of bread and paired it with strawberry jam. She popped the bread into the toaster; and another, she might as well make something for Sherlock, he wasn't on a case, one of the few circumstances where he would eat.
Whilst she waited for their breakfast to cook Irene walked barefoot across the flat to reach Sherlock's desk. She ran her fingers delicately over the violin eventually making their way down to a small drawer.
She looked behind her before returning her gaze to her hand hovering over the handle. 'It wouldn't hurt to take a quick look', She thought to herself and slid it open as quietly and as carefully as she could.
Inside the small drawer was stuffed full of interesting bits and bobs, an small origami flower, various notes and small sheets of paper; one reading 'Beware of the Hound'. And then there was one item that caught her eye, underneath all of this, hidden beneath the clutter was a familiar phone. Her camera phone. She held it in her hand and turned it on, for one reason only. The screen came up 'I AM - LOCKED', she typed in the password; 'I AM SHER LOCKED'.
The phone unlocked, it was empty, yet he had kept it. This phone was of no use for information anymore, it had been wiped. The only reason he kept it? Sentiment she thought immediately, she felt her own pulse raise slightly at the shock and delight.
She smiled before replacing the phone in it's rightful place, in Sherlock Holmes's drawer of souvenirs. The toast leaped out of the toaster, making her jump with surprise.
When Irene re-entered the bedroom she had every intention of waking him up, but to her surprise he was already awake sitting on the centre of the bed. 'Bored.' He muttered.
'Pardon?' She said sprawling herself delicately over the covers near him. 'I said I'm bored.' He spoke up, turning his head round to face her. She looked adoringly at him, for a moment lost in her own world where the only thing that mattered was him; and her.
She sat up to face him; joining his gaze out the window, 'Well I think that I can help you with that.' She smirked.
'Miss Adler. If you have not noticed in the past two days the last thing on my mind is...' He said, she interrupted during his pause, 'Is what Mr. Holmes?'
'Is sex.' He said sharply laying down and turning his back to face her like a stroppy teenager. Irene giggled and lay facing his back. 'And what made you come to the conclusion that that is what I wanted?' She smiled, he only grunted in reply.
'I know what we can do. Tell me a detective story.' Said Irene. Sherlock turned around to this, he hardly ever told anyone of his cases as stories, no one seemed to be that interested, John was usually with him throughout the case and he wouldn't dare burden Mrs Hudson with tales of murders and criminals.
And so that was how their morning went on. He told her stories of the speckled blonde, the geek interpreter and so many more that she couldn't count. She laughed at his witty and sarcastic comments, and when he mentioned Moriarty she went silent. Jim was a dangerous man, one that she had not thought about for a long time, it only brought back bad memories, though without Jim; she would have never met Sherlock Holmes, that was one thing she would thank him for.
Hours later they exited the room together, still in nightwear, to find a rather suspicious and inquisitive John peeking at them from behind his newspaper. 'Good morning Dr. Watson.' Irene said.
'It's one in the afternoon!' John attempted to appear calm but failed miserably, he had yet to conclude his thoughts on what on earth they were up to for all those hours, some of his theories he would rather not think about. 'Yes, I am well aware of that.' Sherlock said emotionlessly. John rolled his eyes returning to his newspaper.
'Well Lestrade called, he just needed you to identify the body from the last case at the morgue.' He said from behind the paper. Any other time he was required to carry out what he thought to be a mere unnecessary job he would have dismissed his participation, yet his boredom forced him to crave what little action and activities he may part take in.
Nevertheless he sighed and retreated back into the bedroom to get dressed.
Some time later Sherlock was joined by Irene to their trip to the morgue.
Her heels tapped loudly on the floor behind him as they walked together to St. Barts. The dreary interior flashed past them as they sped across the dull hallway until they found themselves in another room.
It was reasonably sized, the walls were covered with shelves which were adorned with bottles and jars of various different colours and chemicals. In the middle of the room was an examining table; holding a body covered with a sheet. No wonder that this was Lewis Fisher, poor soul, coming to the police was the worst mistake he ever could have made, though it did benefit them. They could not afford to underestimate Moran's growing power.
Only seconds later a short woman with mousey brown hair tied up into a ponytail emerged from a cupboard. 'Oh, hello Sherlock!' The woman gave him a shy smile, until she spotted Irene that was. 'Molly.' He merely acknowledged her presence, '...and...umm.' She continued.
Irene stepped forward to shake Molly's hand, was it a mistake to let these two meet? Sherlock thought. 'Irene, Irene Adler.' She said coolly with her mask of confidence placed firmly. In reality Irene was feeling rather protective; possibly even just a hint of jealously, very unlike herself indeed.
Sherlock impatiently wandered over to where the body lay, she watched as Molly followed him with her eyes, almost adoringly. 'She's my-.' Sherlock began in means of explanation, 'girlfriend.' Irene finished his sentence (however most defiantly not correctly.) and smiled maybe a little too sweetly at Molly as she moved herself closer to him; their shoulders almost brushing.
Sherlock however seemed to take this quite well, under the circumstances, he continued with his work hardly giving Irene a single glimpse, yet he wanted to per usual. He didn't bother checking Molly either, he could easily deduce her thoughts without seeing her upset facial expression that was attempted to be hid by a smile and flushed skin.
Without wanting to wait any longer Sherlock removed the sheet himself to identify the body, 'Yep, that's him.' He said tediously and slowly circled the table, even though he was certain.
'Oh...well it's nice to meet you Irene. Sherlock didn't tell me he had a girlfriend.' Molly said; ignoring Sherlock's analysis, trying to disguise her distinct annoyance. 'Don't try to hide your emotions Molly, they're blatantly obvious.' Said Sherlock coldly, he couldn't stand to see them mentally fighting over him; it was rather distracting and embarrassing. Though he did feel sympathetic towards Molly, although she was a nice girl and someone he could trust, she could not be compared to Irene, who he had such a different relationship with, one that he could not begin to explain.
The poor woman looked terribly vulnerable and shy whilst surrounded by the consulting detective and the woman. Irene was certain though, Sherlock was her's; even if he would not admit it they both new that she was the only person he had ever had these feelings for, surprisingly Irene likewise she had never been in love, but she would hardly go as far enough as to call what they had at the moment love.
Molly opened her mouth slightly as if to start speaking but no noise came out, she walked off in a huff with bright red cheeks. Sherlock turned to Irene with an expression that read 'Have I done something wrong?'
'Just. A bit not good.' She replied quietly then took his arm as they exited.