Chapter 27

Sherlock smirked as he pressed the 'end call' button on his phone. It was all too easy to tease her. His expression evened out to a more thoughtful gaze. True, he had been battling with her on her possible connection to Moriarty, and there were plenty of signs that she was, but...

I don't know why it's important, but Helen's flat contained no sign of shoes upon my exit. I think she wanted that bit of news related to you, but she didn't specially ask for it. How is the case going?

Mycroft Holmes

Sherlock reread the old text, one he had received several hours before Helen herself called and subsequently made his mind up. She was too boastful, too smug, acting so high and mighty as if she had seen this play out before. It irritated him. She made conclusions in such a way that didn't convince Sherlock she had actually made the leap of logic herself, so much so that while Sherlock did not think she was clever in her deductions she might be clever in the application of foreknowledge. How she got that foreknowledge remained to be seen. But her application was not perfect, so perhaps by keeping her closer instead of pushing her away, he might see through the facade.

I 'grrr'ed, placing my phone in my pocket. I looked over at the pieces of my bed, still not put together. All in all I was still too angry to start putting them together, so I put the sheets on the mattress and resigned myself to sleeping that way. I fitted them on and stood back, admiring how poor a job I had done.

"This is my design," I muttered to myself. My phone beeped, so I got it out and saw a message from John.

Just got a message from Sherlock. We'll be heading to see Lestrade, then after wards back to the flat. It shouldn't take us more then half an hour. If you want you can get the food and let yourself into our place. There's a spare key underneath the mat.

JW

Really? A spare key? That can't be Sherlock's idea. Must be for when John forget his key. Don't they know that's reckless? I swear, I'm going to murder them one day and make it look like an accident.

I picked up my handy dandy phone and called a takeout place, ordering enough food for three of us and saying I'd be there in ten minutes to pick it up. I lowered my phone and sighed. There were so many things I didn't understand and had no way of understanding. Like how long was this dream going to last? Would I wakeup halfway through? Was it just some complex illusion? And scariest of all, would I even remember it happened? I read some where that you dream several dreams a night, but the last one you have is the only one you remember. If that was true, then I didn't want to forget this one. I'd been having so much fun. Forgetting any of it happened... I didn't even want to think it possible.

I walked down to the place and picked up the food, balancing it carefully in my arms as I handed over Mycroft's supah awesum credit card in payment. He'd probably take a look at the order and see how much I bought. God damn, I just hoped he wouldn't bug me about it. I could imagine it then. That seems a bit much for one person. Would you like to take a look at my diet plan? Jerk face. I giggled while walking home, thinking about how he hadn't technically done anything wrong yet but I was already insulting him pre-emptively. So it goes.

I let myself into their flat and groaned, seeing no visible place to set down the food. I know stereotypes are bad, but these boys definitely needed a bit of organisation. I placed the food temporarily on the floor and cleared a space on their table, putting dirty dishes in the sink and trash in the dust bin. Then I got out some new plates and set the table for three, and divided up the food nice and neat like.

But after that, I just kinda stood there. What was I supposed to do now? Eat? Wait for them? My stomach grumbled, and I curled my lip in confusion. I supposed I could maybe find something to snack on in their fridge. I walked over and opened it. Oh. Head. There was a head. I had forgotten. Well, I suppose it didn't matter. I bent down and picked out a bag of baby carrots from a drawer. They would be fine to munch on.

I sat down on the sofa, kicking my legs up and relaxing. These were good carrots. My eyes closed for what seemed like one second, when suddenly...

"Fwah!" I landed on the floor unceremoniously, the bag of carrots flying out of my hands and strewing themselves all over the hardwood floors. My joints ached as I looked up, seeing Sherlock standing over me. "What in the bloody, rum soaked, bug covered, shit stained, carcass laden, piss filled hell, made you think that I would prefer being dumped on the floor like a sack of potatoes to lying comfortably on the couch?" And indeed, he did dump me. My sides were starting to feel the place where his fingers pried me off. I can say with absolute certainty that being touched by Sherlock Holmes was not as pleasant as one would hope.

"That's a loaded question," Sherlock replied icily. "Besides, there are many cultures that call the floor their bed. I was experimenting to see if you were receptive to such a situation."

"Like hell you were." I grabbed at some carrots and started cleaning up.

"In any case," Sherlock said, retreating to the table. "You were in my seat." He picked up his food and returned to the sofa, sitting down with his meal.

"We're eating at the table." I said firmly. He ignored me and started eating. Let me explain something. I don't like being ignored. I don't think anyone likes being ignored. In fact, it amazes me why people ignore other people when clearly everyone thinks it's annoying. Some people just deal with it. I am not "some people", and so thus Sherlock sealed his fate. I grabbed my food and sat down next to him. But I didn't just sit down next to him, I really sat next to him. Nearly on top of him. So close we were nearly touching. He kept ignoring me. So, I began chewing. I began chewing so loud and obnoxiously that he would have no choice but to move.

I could see his eyebrow twitching in anger. Good. I leaned in closer, and chewed even louder.

"Is that strictly necessary?" He asked in frustration.

I took a huge bite and talked with my mouth open. "Of courf it is, what do you tink I am? Juft fomeone who likefs to confume my food like dif for the lulz?" I swallowed and cleared my throat. "In fact if I'm sitting at a table with my friends I'm much less likely to do so. But in the mean time I suppose we'll just have to make do with how it is." I took another bite and repeated my actions.

At that point John walked in on the strange sight. I can only imagine how odd it looked, me leaning as close as possible to Sherlock whilst with a huge mouthful of food open, and him, attempting to lean the other way whilst consuming his own food. We probably looked incredibly childish. Oh well. Better to be happy then right I suppose.

"So," John said. "Looks like you're learning the meaning of the phrase 'personal space', eh Sherlock?" He smirked and retrieved his own food, sitting down in his chair to watch from afar.

"I'm not so much learning the meaning of the phrase as I am witnessing its subjugation," Sherlock replied.

"Har har," I replied. "Well since Sherlock seems to not want to learn the meaning of what it's like sitting at the table, I decided being childish was the best way to react." My shoulders shrugged as John laughed.

"Sherlock, just sit at the table," he said. "You could save yourself a lot of trouble."

"I refuse to submit to her will." Sherlock threw me a dirty look. I smiled back and leaned in so close our thighs were touching. He twitched away.

"You're a little jumpy there Sherlock, is something wrong?" I looked at him innocently. I moved mine so we were touching again, and I saw him take a deep breath to ground himself. Suddenly he was off the couch, and I whispered a tiny "success". But it was short lived, as John and I both watched him move past the table and hide in his room. The door slammed with an unspoken yet resounding "fuck off".

I looked at John. He looked at me. We both started laughing hysterically. I wiped tears of mirth from my eyes as he shook his head. "Have you ever considered giving him a break? John asked me.

"What for?" I countered. "He acts like a child and someone needs to call out his bull shit."

"But don't forget," John said in a stern voice. "That you're acting just as childish as he is."

"Well of course I am," I told John. "But the difference is that he won't admit to be a dick, and I will. Taste of his own medicine and all that. Call a spade a spade John, but he's the pot and I'm the kettle and we're both black. Maybe some time if he can come off his boiling point, we can all share in a nice cup of tea."

He looked at me. "Well, what I am in all this?"

I tilted my head to the side, considering. "You are two things. You are Sherlock's pot holder, and my tea cozy. You absorb both of our heat and make sure we don't scorch anyone in the process."

John rubbed his forehead. "I think that's enough metaphors for one day." He finished up his food and stood up, stretching. "I'm heading to bed. If you could lock the door on your way out," he said. I nodded, and he left me to finish up.

Sherlock leaned against the back of his door, breathing heavily. He set his noodles down on his side table, then ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He heard their laughter filtering through his door, and balled his fists. Nostrils flared, his nails dug into his palms, but most of all Sherlock could feel a pounding in his chest.

His mind flashed back to that moment, when her leg touched his, and the pounding increased exponentially. He paced the room, trying to shake off the feeling. He did not like this. It felt unnatural, like a growth that dragged him down. He rushed over to the mirror, taking his pulse and looking into his own eyes.

He did not like what he saw.

I wrote part of this chapter to Stayin Alive. I'm not sorry.

Oh, and whoops. I was in Maine, but then I went for a college visit in Massachusetts and got in at the last second, returned home to Ohio, got a bunch of stuff, and am currently riding in the back of a huge ass car as I type these words. So now I'm going to college in Boston. Woot woot! Life is good people. Life is good...

But it could be better if I get some reviews and stuff. So review for the author currently about to go thousands of dollars in debt. Thanks!