Chapter Ten

"It doesn't look at all busy," Ivy casually mentioned as they approached the café's door. It was true that there were only a few people inside, two of which were John Watson and his roommate.

Sherlock agreed and held the door open for his companion. He was trying to be as gentlemanly as he possibly could, knowing that Ivy appreciated it. After all, her lips did perk up slightly into a tiny smile whenever he did.

As soon as he stepped into the café, he strode up to the counter and ordered two teas, dismissing Ivy's attempt to pay for her own. As soon as he handed over the money to the cashier, he noticed Ivy, in the corner of his eye, see John and gracefully move over to his table. He was told his drinks wouldn't be too long by the waitress, and standing in front of the machine, he subconsciously watched the brunette, in the metal, be introduced to John's friend – his roommate, judging by John's character. He counted the times she unwarily tucked tousled waves behind her ear – four, including the one when she was walking towards them. As he observed, he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so infatuated with someone else.

His eyes cut away from the reflection when the two mugs were placed onto his tray. Swiftly, he picked up his order and turned to join the others.

"Sherlock," John greeted him, "this is Mike Stamford – "

"Your roommate," Sherlock interrupted him, shaking Mike's hand.

Mike laughed, his shoulders shaking. "Fascinating," he murmured, beaming.

"Do you two want to join us?" John asked, grateful for the new company to break up the monotonous morning.

Ivy smiled and nodded. John shuffled along the sofa as Ivy slid in next to him, with Sherlock silently sitting opposite. Even with his gaze focused on the other sofa, Sherlock could see the questions burning up inside the Geordie next to him. He suppressed his bored sigh and whipped out his mobile. He hadn't really planned on spending his time with – well, was she his… Furrowing his eyebrows, he just couldn't bring himself to think of that. He couldn't deny the attraction, but any sort of label almost made him run a mile. He looked back up at Ivy, who was listening intently to whatever John had to say. Obviously talking about his girl problems, in such a vague sense that he was clearly not close enough to Mike to trust him. Sherlock frowned slightly. Mike would have to be an idiot not to understand, anyway, so the vagueness was pointless.

"…I'm just a little nervous in case it goes stupidly horrible and I'm a big idiot," John mumbled, almost pleadingly. He stared at his discarded sandwich, waiting for Ivy's reply.

"John, I'm not an expert but I think you're probably going to feel like an idiot if you don't do anything, anyway," was the response. There was a very slightly undertone of boredom in Ivy's dulcet voice – an undertone that only Sherlock noticed, it seemed. As much as she liked John, she had spent the best part of fifteen minutes listening to the self-loathing complains of his non-existent love life, and with that subject, fifteen minutes can feel like a very long time.

"So, so you think I should just go for it?"

Nodding, Ivy smiled reassuringly towards her friend. "I think it's probably the best thing."

John grinned back, like a weight had just vanished off his shoulders.

…

The science lab was growing darker by the minute around Sherlock's bright computer screen. He had taken the liberty of the Saturday night to get some extra research done, stealthily getting inside the university's laboratories. Technically, he had broken in, but it hadn't been anything of a challenge to him since no doors had actually been locked. It was just prohibited for students to use the very expensive equipment without supervision.

He clicked the mouse through the data he had obtained previously, his analysing eyes shrouded in concentration. He had felt the need to be distracted from his racing mind, and what else was perfect for that than science? Science was logical. Science was understandable. Science was easy.

What wasn't logical, understandable or easy was Ivy.

He had accepted the fact that the young woman enraptured him. In fact, he definitely couldn't refute it. Her bedroom in his mind palace was almost full to its brink with evidence and data to support it. Plus, he had even asked her out on a date. He went on a date with Ivy Coates. He accompanied said female to a restaurant, shared a pizza and almost kissed her. Almost. He had stopped himself. One of the things he didn't understand was why he had stopped himself. Perhaps he was scared to change things. Or maybe he just didn't want to.

He subconsciously shook his head. No, that definitely wasn't the reason. He unquestionably had wanted to. He had implored himself to. Maybe it was the fear that, if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. He wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her every inch. He wanted to memorise every freckle and mole, every contour of her body. To breathe in nothing but her scent. To hear nothing but her sharp but feminine voice, breathy when she's moaning his name…

Sherlock tore himself away from the room in his mind and ventured down the corridor to the Science Gallery, focusing on his current research. Though, like a recurring visit to the refrigerator, he found himself back through the threshold and into Ivy's room once more. It was as if this room controlled all maps of his own mind palace. Like Ivy had become the centre of gravity.

Distractions wouldn't divert his thought pattern any longer. Still staring at the computer screen, he laced his slender fingers together and mentally locked himself in Ivy's room. He was just going to have to face his… problem. At the café that morning, he had shrugged the nagging confusion away and concentrated on the conversation and the behaviour of his companions. Mike hadn't said or done much, probably still a bit confused as to how Sherlock could deduce his conclusions, and John had switched from utterly perplexed to euphoric throughout the conversation. And Ivy… Sherlock had, without a doubt, noticed her eyes flicker over towards him more than a few times, accompanied with a scintilla smile. Dilated pupils: one of the signs of attraction.

The main thing he didn't understand is why he felt… was it fear? He couldn't even tell. He had scared himself at the café when he couldn't bring himself to even call Ivy his – Sherlock scowled into the light and pursed his lips – girlfriend. He cringed at himself. He didn't understand why he – they – should put a label on it. Who cares what people thought? Who cares what people called them, or each other? It doesn't make any difference.

But was she? He frowned. They had only been on one date – two, if you counted the rendezvous at the library.

"You sure are concentrating," a confident voice echoed through the laboratory, dragging Sherlock away from his mind palace. The main lights flicked on, causing Sherlock blink several times.

He turned towards the main entrance of the workroom, to find the petite posture of his biology lecturer.

Sherlock didn't say anything as Professor Overstreet sauntered up to him, the sound of her stilettos on the wooden floorboards reverberating, and leaned against the bench at his right. "Whatever you're working on must be incredibly enthralling."

Sherlock chuckled and, saving his work, switched off the computer. "One of my more boring experiments."

"Oh, well, you do know it is forbidden to use any of the equipment in here without a lecturer present, Mr. Holmes?"

"Of course, Professor – "

"Then I must order you to put anything and everything back in its proper place before I report you to the head of the department and the deans."

Sherlock turned back to the petri dishes on the bench, with an amused look splashed onto his face.

Overstreet laughed nervously. "What's so funny, Mr. Holmes?"

"I think you might not want to do that, Professor," Sherlock tittered.

"And why is that?"

"Because I know you sleep with most of your male students."

Taken aback, the professor stood straight, her eyes wide.

"Perhaps you should try to behave differently when interacting with those you've – to put it delicately – had. Sometimes, it's so dreadfully obvious I'm surprised no one else has noticed it too."

"Well," Overstreet took a step forward, "if that's what you want too – "

Sherlock interrupted her with a deep laugh. "No, thank you." Overstreet stopped dead. "But I won't say anything about your seductions."

"Oh?" Her voice quivered with fear of being exposed. "You won't?"

"No, I won't," Sherlock echoed, bored. "If you don't say anything about this experiment, and the experiments I will do, using any equipment I want."

"And what makes you think I'll agree to that?"

Sherlock smirked, looking at the professor's fear stricken face. "Your job is the only stable thing in your life. You would hate to loose it."

Reluctantly, and with a grimace, Overstreet stiffly nods once, indicating her agreement. Satisfied, Sherlock stood tall, towering over his lecturer, and straightened out his tight-fitting shirt. He collected his coat from the back of the chair and left the laboratory, flicking off the main lights as he went.

I'm sorry for not updating for a while but here's two new chapters! I've realised that perhaps the plot's going quite slow at the moment? I promise to try and speed the pace up a little - I'm aiming to get it all done in 30 chapters, and I have the outline of the plan all sorted out, so I'll just see where it goes.

Review? :-)