Okay, so I said I had finals and I DO, but this chapter came pouring out as soon as I got a really special review. THANK YOU ForeverSunshine13, your review made my entire month. I was so touched and thrilled by your sincere excitement for this story! As a writer, I feel like that is my greatest reward. It really warms my heart to know how much you're enjoying the changes I've made - I worried so much about it. I was very nervous about taking this project on again. And reviews like the one you left me make everything worth it.
So, this chapter is for you. Thank you again. You've made me a very happy writer.
-lightinside
09.
I'd broken my promise. November washed away with the chilly rain that preceded the holidays and the three-day limitation placed on my mum's visit had been shamefully exceeded. My mum hadn't found her own place, or even started looking for one. She'd grown frighteningly comfortable in the home I shared with Sherlock. And he was becoming more of miser with each passing day.
"You have to do something." He muttered to me as he dug through the fridge. It was now well stocked with food and his experiments were nowhere to be found.
I snagged a bagel and popped it in the toaster before leaning against the counter to watch him. He was a man possessed, arms moving like a boat propeller. Several apples went rolling out onto the floor and he huffed. "What are you looking for?"
"Are you listening to me?" Sherlock hissed, slamming the fridge door. "She. Has. To. Go."
"Do you want the whole street to hear you?" I groused. "Lower your voice."
"The holidays are in two weeks, Katherine. She's been here for a month. I find this to be highly inappropriate and, most of all, inconvenient."
"Pour yourself some tea and put a sock in it." I grabbed my bagel and turned to the microwave to zap my lukewarm coffee before I excused myself for work.
This was my routine most mornings, as I usually couldn't deal with Sherlock unless I'd had food or a substantial amount of caffeine. Especially now that my mother had outstayed her welcome, I found myself rising earlier to drink yet more coffee. I was up to nearly two pots per morning. I imagined that soon I would turn from coffee and embrace something a little stronger. I frowned to myself as I opened the microwave. I would be a part-time alcoholic before long.
I snapped out of my thoughts with a loud cry of surprise, dropping my breakfast on the now pristine floor.
"There they are." Sherlock sighed in relief and snatched the focus of my horror right out of the microwave. A jar of eyes. Human eyes.
I put a hand to my throat and closed my eyes as he brushed past me and put the jar right next to the toaster. Suddenly I had no appetite. I picked up the bagel and tossed it in the bin, forgetting about my desire for coffee. I made a mental note never to use the microwave again.
"Right." I said. "I'm going to work."
"Useless." He murmured to himself, studying the jar. "Completely useless. I wasn't able to study the result for myself because your mother took it upon herself to move my things."
Before I could respond, the front door opened. Sherlock shot a tired look my way as the rustle of bags reached our ears. My mother stumbled into the kitchen hauling at least twenty pounds of groceries. I leapt to help her as she greeted Sherlock and looked me over with a disapproving frown.
"What?" I asked finally as I wrested the groceries onto the counter.
"You're going to be late for work."
"I'm aware." I sighed. "What is all of this? We don't need so much food, Mum, we're just two people."
"Oh, this isn't for you, dear." She said, waving me off. She went digging through the heaviest bag and produced the most massive turkey I'd ever seen. "It's for the party."
Sherlock's jaw clenched. He fixed his burning eyes on me, torn between panicking and being furious. I made it a point not to look at him and took a deep breath that filled my lungs to the point of bursting. I needed the patience of Job to deal with whatever was coming next. I began calmly unloading groceries as my mother wrestled with the turkey.
"What party, Mum?" I asked.
"Well, I called everyone." She said, hunting for a knife to open the packaging with. "And you wouldn't believe how many people will be out of town for Christmas. So, I decided that it would be best if we had a little get-together a few weeks early." She smiled brightly at me, as if she had accomplished the most amazing feat in the world. "Molly Hooper is coming, Katherine, I know you like her. Mrs. Hudson called D.I. Lestrade in my behalf and he confirmed. Dana and Charlie. Let's see… who else? Oh! Your brother, Sherlock, I thought you might want him here."
"Brother?" I asked, turning to Sherlock. "You have a brother?"
Sherlock's jaw twitched. "Mycroft. Did he say why he was coming?"
"How does my mum know about your brother and I don't?" I asked, cutting her off before she could speak.
"I don't quite know." Sherlock responded tightly, attempting to keep control of himself.
My mum shrugged. "Mrs. Hudson and I got to talking."
Sherlock opened his mouth as she turned her back. I reached out and grabbed his arm, shaking my head. Though he narrowed his eyes, he didn't move away from me, "Out." He mouthed, turning his gaze pointedly at my mother. "Today."
"After." I motioned to all the food. "Please."
In a soundless battle of wills, we stared at one another for a very long moment before he finally seemed to relax. But the fire in his eyes never went out. Sherlock grunted a begrudging sound of agreement and disappeared into the living room. I knew he wasn't happy – I wasn't either. But, the way I saw it – which was horrible, granted – was that if I kicked my mum out now, we would be left with food for nine people. Considering that I never cooked, at least not in Sherlock's kitchen, it would be both ridiculous and wasteful if we didn't go through with this thing now.
"Your father is coming, too." My mum added, beginning to wash vegetables. The sound of the water nearly drowned her out, her voice was so quiet.
"Dad?" I started. "You called him?"
I got a very stern side-eye, the kind that would have had me shaking in my boots if I had been ten years younger. "We're adults, Katherine. I'm not avoiding him. Of course I called him."
I bit my tongue to stall the flurry of comments that threatened to come bursting out. Adults they may have been, but they were certainly avoiding each other. Otherwise, she would have gone straight home from the train station. And if she weren't in denial, she would have found her own place and vacated Baker Street. Instead of saying any of this, I held up my hands and took a step back.
"Alright, alright." I picked up my cold coffee and continued out of the kitchen. "I'm late for work. I'll see you both later."
"The party is at eight!" My mum called after me.
Sherlock was sitting in his chair scowling at the paper as I passed him. I hurried through the front door, escaping into the hallway and down the stairs before anyone could say another word.
"Mrs. Lincoln." I breezed through the exam room door, smiling as brightly as possible. No wonder people hated doctors. The elderly woman looked less than pleased to see me as she sat on the flimsy paper that covered the exam table. It shifted and crinkled with every breath she took. "What seems to be the problem today?"
As she detailed to me her symptoms, my phone began to buzz in my pocket. I paused, pen hovering above my notepad. Mrs. Lincoln stopped talking and frowned.
"Do you always bring your cell phone into consultations?" She inquired, scrutinizing me.
I forced another smile. "No. I had a whirlwind of a morning – I do apologize. You have my full attention."
She nodded and picked up where she'd left off. I dutifully began taking notes again, nodding and humming when necessary. A full sixty seconds into describing my treatment plan for her, my phone started buzzing again. I winced but kept talking. I made sure she understood everything and had no questions before I bade her goodbye and slipped out into the hall.
I pulled the cell out of my pocket and checked it.
MISSED CALL (2) SHERLOCK
Just as I was about to pocket the phone again, it started ringing. With a growl, I answered it. "What? What do you need? I was in a consultation, can you even fathom how unprofessional this is?"
"Your mother insists that I wear a tie. I never wear ties. I despise them."
I walked quickly to my office and shut the door, lest I start shouting. "You called me three times to complain about a tie."
"This is important, Katherine. Do I have to wear that insipid thing around my neck; yes or no?"
"Yes." I said. Really, I hated the thought of Sherlock in a tie. He wouldn't look like himself in one. But at this point, this was payback. I couldn't pass up the opportunity. "In fact, while I'm not there, you have to do whatever she says. I'm not the middleman, you can't call me like this when I'm at work. What have I said about this? What classifies as an emergency?"
"Never to call unless I'm bleeding, unconscious, or dying." Sherlock repeated quickly. I could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "Which is absurd – I couldn't call if I were unconscious. And if I were dying, there would be no point."
"So, are you bleeding?"
"If I were, Katherine, I would be in the waiting room of your clinic." He said. "In fact, I find myself wishing that I were. Your mother is insufferable."
"The pot calling the kettle black." I muttered. "Imagine that."
"Stop mumbling."
"Fine." I replied tiredly. "I have one patient left and then I'll be on my way back. Do you think you can manage until then?"
"No." Sherlock said. That was it, short and simple. I found myself waiting for what I imagined would be the rest of his response, but it never came. The realization was almost too much for me.
"Oh, my God." I groaned exaggeratedly. "Goodbye."
Before he could say anything, I ended the call and flopped in my desk chair, feeling a headache blossoming behind my eyes. I rubbed my temples quietly as I prepared to go out and deal with one last patient before returning home to the Christmas dinner war-zone. Could I just say I got held up at the office? That someone else walked in and needed emergency attention and I couldn't make it to dinner. I thought about it seriously, daydreaming about putting my feet up and eating the leftover pie Sarah Sawyer had in the employee fridge. I could have the pie and watch The Gilmore Girls on my office computer. And then I could go home and make a show of looking extremely haggard and stumble to bed before Sherlock could sink his claws into me.
But if I did any of that, I could consider myself homeless by sunrise tomorrow. He would be left to deal with my mother and her guests alone and that would earn me a one-way ticket out on my ass. I sighed. I could still eat the pie. But then I had to hurry home to change and prepare to chat my way through dinner. I shuddered at the thought of it. If my mum was pushing Sherlock to wear a tie, that meant that this little soiree she'd put together would be as formal as she could manage to make it. I would have to wear a dress. She wouldn't stand for anything less.
Sherlock wanted her out. And after this night was over, I imagined that I would have to talk to her, gently, about either going home or finding someone else to stay with. There was so much ahead to deal with and I didn't feel like facing any of it. Not alone, at least.
I chewed my lip thoughtfully before, in a strange turn of events, I dialed Sherlock's number. He answered after one ring. "And you say that I am the one without manners."
"Don't make me regret this." I said. "I called to tell you that I'm bringing pie. Be on the stoop in twenty minutes."
He sounded befuddled when next he spoke. "Pie?"
"Yes, pie. We will have fifteen minutes of perfect peace and quiet to enjoy said pie before we surrender ourselves over to my mother. Got it?"
"Pie." He said. "Understood."
"And, Sherlock? Don't wear a tie."
This time, I hung up with a smile. I jogged out into the hall, passed off my patient to whomever Sarah saw fit, and sneaked down to the fridge to smuggle out the pie while she was busy. I fished out two plastic forks from a drawer and slipped them in my pocket. I didn't condone stealing specifically labeled food from my co-workers, but this was… an emergency. It fit none of the criteria I held Sherlock to, but we needed this. While Sarah had her back turned, I grabbed my coat and bag and slipped out to catch a cab.
As promised, I pulled up outside Baker Street twenty minutes after ending my call with Sherlock. And there he stood, bundled up to his chin in a coat and scarf, waiting for me. I gathered my things, made sure I would be warm, and exited the cab with the promised pie. I walked past him and sat down on the top step, trying not to shiver as I met the cold concrete. He never said a word, only sat down beside me.
Knowing we were out of sight should my mother peek through the upstairs curtain, I opened the pie container and handed one of the plastic forks to Sherlock. I took a considerable bite and chewed quietly, looking out at the street ahead. He gazed at me curiously for a moment before following my lead.
A strange comradery was building between us as we sat there, frozen to the bone, happily drinking in the quiet. And while Sherlock might not admit it, I could say confidently that there was no one in that moment that I would rather be freezing next to. It was a strange truth, but I accepted it nonetheless.
And though we finished eating long before it was time to go in, we sat in the December cold for fifteen blissful minutes without words, comfortable only in our silence.
