Chapter 19
"You don't want to come?" He asked indignantly.
"No Sherlock," I said exasperatedly. It was the following morning and I was sitting on my sofa with a red pen and the day's newspaper, circling job openings. "If you haven't deducted already, I need a job." My stomach growled audibly. "Can't keep freeloading off the two of you for the rest of eternity can I? Need to get a proper job. Something stable, easy, pays reasonably."
"Something dull," Sherlock muttered.
"Yeah, that's what I said. Stable, easy, with good pay. Dull kinda comes with the territory." I circled a few offers. "Unless you can make me a more tempting offer, this is what I'll be resigned to." I mock sighed and put the back of my hand to my forehead dramatically. "How will I go on living without your conceit and arrogance in my face at every hour of the day? And for that matter, how will you live on without my glittering personality to smack your pride in the face? Oh the horror! The pure, unmitigated, horror!" I dropped my hand to see him rolling his eyes. "Now go on, let the secretary know what utter fortune she has decorating that pretty little head of hers." My hands shooed him away.
Of course he didn't budge. Asshole.
"I could invoke my right, as per our agreement, to have you accompany us on this trip," he said.
"Sorry Sherlock," John said, poking his head in my flat. "Helen already cleared it with me, and frankly I agree that a proper job is necessary. Even if she did make fun of me for getting one." When Sherlock glared at him, he put up his hands in defense. "I believe the saying is the early bird gets the worm."
"Preposterous," he replied. "The punctuality of the avian species has no bearing on its ability to catch itself a lunch." I raised my eyebrow at him. "In fact it would be far easier to capture a worm after heavy rainfall, when the soil is moist and soft. Time of day is irrelevant."
"Yeah, but saying that the bird who digs for food right after a significant down pour gets the worm doesn't exactly have the same ring to it, does it?" John patted his friend on the back. "Come on, let's go. We have to pick up that check that Sebastian said he'd give us."
Sherlock stood next to me and held out his hand, waiting. I looked at it. He looked at me. I looked at him. He raised his eyebrows. I raised mine. John coughed pointedly.
"Well?" Sherlock asked.
"Well," I replied.
"Come on, hand it over," Sherlock told me.
"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific Mr. Holmes. If you were unaware, I in fact do not have access to your innermost thoughts and can not therefore interpret each of your vague statements as they apply to me." This was more then just being snarky. I truly didn't know what the hell he was after.
"My cheque," he said. "The one from a few days ago that Sebastian gave me to consult on the break in. You have it. I would like it back if you don't mind." He wiggled the tips of his fingers ever so slightly.
"My apologies, dedouchebag." I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. It was all crumpled and weird. "Here's your damned cheque."
"That's a new insult," John commented. "Dedouchebag. Rolls right off the tongue."
"Like it?" I said excited. "It's a combination of deduce and douchebag. I thought it was quite fitting."
"No, no, I like it," John insisted. "I might borrow it for myself if you don't mind.
Suddenly a piece of paper was thrust into my face. "Here."
I looked at Sherlock, unimpressed. "What's this?"
"While the two of you were talking your useless prattle, I used my phone to take a picture of the cheque and cash it," he explained. "Then I retrieved my own cheque book and wrote down that same figure, and wrote it in your name. See?" He waved it impatiently, and I grabbed at it in disbelief. "Now you have money. You no longer have need of a job. So, come on." He motioned his arms towards the exit. "Let's go."
I flicked the edges of the cheque. "You know, I think I'll just pocket this and keep looking for work. Thanks for the free money though."
"If you aren't going to use it then give it back!" Sherlock made an attempt at getting it but I used my foot to hold him back. Imagine a taller kid stopping a shorter kid by placing his hand on the other's head, thus preventing him from coming closer. Well, that was kinda what we were doing, except it was more like my foot on his chest.
"Eh now, no need to get physical." I smirked as he narrowed his eyes at me. "If you want it, you'll just have to reach it." What happened next I will never forget for as long as I live. As he moved once more to retrieve the cheque, I stuffed it into my bra, and we fell back upon the sofa simultaneously. "Well, isn't this a compromising position you've put yourself in."
Let me make something clear: Sherlock does not blush, he does not stutter, and he does not feel embarrassment. Sherlock simply stays silent. It was a particularly awkward place we were in. In an effort to further myself from him I had leaned back into the cushions of the couch, and he was on his hands and knees on top of me. I giggled. His curls fell messily in front of his eyes, and his gaze never left my face. I expected him to draw back, but he remained exactly where he was. Suddenly I began squirming and fidgeting, feeling my own face grow warm from... something.
I cleared my throat, not even sure what John was thinking at this point. I'm sure he was plenty embarrassed for me. Still, there was no way I was giving up.
"RAPE," I yelled. He flinched. Good. That's precisely what I wanted. "DEAR GOD SOMEONE HELP ME I'M BEING RAPED. SHERLOCK HOLMES, PUT THAT THING AWAY. I DON'T WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU." He drew back slightly, but not all the way.
"Alright, that's enough," John said, and pulled the startled Sherlock off of me. "You," he said pointing at me. I sat up and looked innocent. He started to say something, but couldn't find the right words. "I-I'll get to you later. And you," he began, turning his finger on Sherlock. "Dear God, you know what never mind." He dropped his hand. "Let's just get going."
"Fantasticidealet'sgo," Sherlock said, his words running together, probably from shock. The two turned to leave my flat.
"Now wait a minute," I called to them. John looked back at me, but Sherlock kept his front side turned away. Coward. I must use this to my advantage. "I changed my mind. I wanna go too!" I picked up my jacket. "Come on boys." I saw Sherlock turn his head imperceptibly towards John, and gave him what looked like a very scary look. John looked at me pleadingly, and I smiled. This was the perfect chance to make the great Sherlock Holmes feel self-conscience. I was not going to pass this up.
"If she wants to come and she will not be swayed, then so be it." Sherlock flipped his coat collar up. "Let's carry on. I don't want to be late."
It was an uncomfortable cab ride down to the bank. John insisted upon being in the middle, giving some half-assed excuse as to why he needed to be there. It was obvious why. As sure as I was giddy with anticipation, so was Sherlock possessed by disdain. Not a word was spoken the entire time.
When we arrived, Sherlock immediately split off to inform the secrecy about the pin. I started to follow him until John pulled me back, giving me a warning look.
"Aww, come on. Pretty please? I just want to watch him sulk a bit more is all."
John was not amused. "No, he's my friend and I can see that he needs some space. So don't." He was dead serious, and I paused.
"Okay," I replied. He let go, and the both of us relaxed.
"Though I must admit, that was a damn good technique you pulled back there." We glanced at each other for minute. I grinned and he laughed. "What I wouldn't have given to see his face right at that moment."
"It was pretty priceless," I said, chuckling. "I bet that's the last thing he thought would ever come out of my mouth." We made our way to Sebastian's office to collect the other half of the cheque. I let John do the talking as personally I thought the man was still pretty creepy.
We were about to leave when he stopped me. "A word?"
I looked back at John, thoroughly not amused. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a wave, closing the door on his way out. I mentally cursed him as I turned back to Sebastian and forced a halfway decent grin on my face. "Something you needed?"
"As a matter of fact, there is." He looked me up and down and, I kid you not, licked his lips. He mother fucking licked his lips. I can't even- NOPE. "As I'm sure you know, Sherlock is a near universally despised person because he's an arrogant bastard. So I can't help but wonder how he has someone as lovely as you in his company." I didn't like where this was going. He reached his hand and wrapped it around my waist. "How much is he paying you? Whatever it is, I'll double it."
I nearly gagged. After composing myself, I put on my best act and gestured for him to lean in using my finger. He obliged, looking exited. I whispered, in my absolute best sexy voice, "Go fuck yourself." I drew back and kneed him in the groin. He bent over in pain and cried out. "Have a nice day you great big man whore." I opened his door and found John waiting for me, looking perplexed. He peered inside and gave me a quizzical look.
"Do I want to know what happened?" He asked.
"He behaved in a less then gentlemen like manner," I said simply. "First he insulted Sherlock, second he touched me without invitation, and lastly he implied that I was a prostitute." I rolled up my sleeves. "I find it entirely insupportable for people other then myself and you to insult Sherlock. I also heavily dislike being touched by people I don't know. And as far as being a prostitute, well," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Even if I was, he couldn't pay me enough to do him."
"Well said," said a voice from around the corner. I snorted as Sherlock rounded it, looking back to his usual self. I smiled.
"Isn't there a movie about a prostitute falling in love with a client?" John put in.
"Indeed there is," I said. "But that's a fairy tale. I've never been one for fairy tales. Maybe as a kid, but now?" I shook my head. "Seems childish. I don't see any real use for them. I've known adults who still had their head in the clouds, and believe me it was not a pretty sight. What about you Sherlock?" I asked him playfully. "What do you think of fairy tales?"
"I've always found them irritating personally. Even as a child I could not fathom their weak characters and story lines." He turned on his heel, looking back over his shoulder. "The case is over now. I suppose I'll have to find something to relieve my boredom." For a moment he paused, then turned back to John and I. He walked over to me and stuck out his hand.
Which, stupidly, I accepted, not sure why he wanted to shake in the first place. That should have been my first clue. Once again I heard a faint clicking. My eyes darkened. His brightened. He didn't dare...
"Oh but I did dare," he said in his low voice. Screw him and his mind reading skills! I was nearly beyond words.
John put his head in his hands. "Sherlock, why'd you have to bring out the handcuffs again?"
Aaaaaaaand scene. So against my better judgement I am uploading this now instead of before I receive my desired number of sacrifices- I mean reviews, because I truly do love each and every one of you.
So review damn it! Hahaha, but no seriously review. Please? Life is crazy and I work long hours, and the fact that I find time to write at all is a miracle unto itself. And because of my greed, I will not be updating until I reach 200 reviews. Steep I know. Call me names and unfair, i play by my own rules. You can do it. Don't fail me now. I will hold this story hostage. I am convinced that I am a female version of Stephen Moffat, so don't underestimate me.
The Great Game... Muahahahahaha.