Chapter 48 – I Met Her At Your Wedding

Sherlock carefully scrutinised Rose. Why was she getting upset? Didn't she have any confidence in her ability to talk to people and put them at ease? All these months of online crisis centre work and now she's supposedly going to offer counselling to sex workers who want to exit the—

Oh!

Rose is staring at me as if I were the most insensitive bastard in the world because she thinks I'm asking her to have—"

"It's not about sex, Rose! I'm talking about your ability to talk to and listen to others and get them to trust you. Then you can steal their wallets. Okay?"

Rose studied Sherlock's eyes for a few seconds longer before her face softened.

"Lucky for you," she said. "But you did say flirt. I'm still not going to talk about this at three o'clock in the morning."

"Fine," Sherlock replied, straightening up. "I'll leave these here for you to look at later, then you can choose one to meet."

He deposited the security guard profiles—the male candidates for CAM Global News infiltration—onto Rose's bedside table, then stood up.

"Where are you going?" Rose asked in surprise.

"I've got things to do."

"Sherlock, that's ridiculous. You need sleep."

"Sleep? No sleep's dull."

He wandered out of the bedroom, grabbed his coat and left the flat. At some stage he lit a cigarette and a few seconds after that, his phone beeped with a message from Rose.

Did you just leave?

Sherlock's heart twinged. He almost wanted to turn around and go back. Slip naked between the sheets, curl his body around Rose and sleep for a hundred years. Forget about all this. But he had work to do, and before that, he needed space to think.

He replied, Yes I did. But you go back to sleep. You have work all day, then I expect you to hang out in a pub all evening.

Rose didn't reply so Sherlock continued on in his early morning walk, satisfied that Rose had acquiesced. Hours later, he found himself seated on Bart's rooftop, leaning against a ventilation shaft and watching dawn chase the night away.

He actually needed sustenance. Not sleep. Sleep was for boring idiots. All these years of John Watson nagging him to eat (or was it two years chasing and dismantling criminal networks around Europe?) had Sherlock realise the importance of the daily meal if he was going on a sustained pursuit. And this was going to be one such occasion. Just what was he pursuing, exactly?

He stole down to the hospital canteen, where the kitchen staff were preparing breakfast. He grabbed a bowl of baked beans, a carton of yoghurt, and a banana, strutting about as if he owned the joint. Nobody batted an eyelid. He'd perfected this pantomime in Berlin, or had it been Salzburg?

Sherlock consumed the first two items in the empty cafeteria, then pocketed the banana and left the hospital. He had been wondering how to use Magnussen's employees to his advantage. To gain inspiration, he needed a full employee list, not just the security company's employees. He remembered seeing such a list in hardcopy, in amongst the documents Tonya Small had acquired for him, but he had only noted its existence, and not its contents.

He caught a cab back to Bayswater, and walked a maze of backstreets until he could navigate unseen along the alleyway behind the Leinster Gardens block of flats.


Rose had just gulped down the last of her tea when Sherlock entered her flat. She was almost fully dressed for a day at Roches, the home entertainment store.

"Get everything you wanted done?" she asked.

"Almost. I was thinking. Never underestimate the power of quiet contemplation."

"I won't," Rose said, with a quiet chuckle to herself as Sherlock shed his coat.

He frowned at some foreign object he had discovered in one of the pockets as he was hanging up his Belstaff by the door. "Would you like a banana?"

"I'm fine thanks. I'm just about to leave. Are you going to have a sleep now?"

Sherlock carried his banana as he crossed the living room looking for all the world like a man who had no intention of sleeping.

"No, Rose," he said, stopping in front of the dining table, and dropping the banana onto it. He began to shuffle papers around again. "Weren't you listening?"

"I guess not," Rose said, with a sigh. She came up alongside Sherlock, and gently rubbed his arm. "I'm heading off to work now."

"Mmm," Sherlock said in response, without lifting his eyes from the HR list he'd found.

"So I'm waiting for my goodbye kiss."

Sherlock turned over to the next page.

"Sherlock."

"What?" he said, turning his head toward Rose. "Oh. Goodbye, Rose."

He leant forward and planted a quick kiss on Rose's lips. Rose grabbed his lapels and said, "Let me remind you what a goodbye kiss entails."

Rose pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips, then she increased pressure, expecting Sherlock to part his lips so she could dart her tongue inside. Instead his mouth remained closed. Not firmly closed, for his lips still felt pliable, but he made no moves to enhance the experience. Rose drew back, her brow furrowed.

Sherlock appeared to be staring into space. Suddenly his eyes widened and he murmured, "Janine Hawkins." He quickly lifted up the HR list that was still in his hand, and stepped back from Rose, giving himself room to turn back to the first page. "She's Magnussen's PA."

"What?" Rose asked, still bewildered by the non-existent kiss.

"There, Rose," Sherlock said, pointing to an entry at the top of the page. "Janine Hawkins! How did I miss that?" He thrust the document at Rose, and strode away from her.

Rose looked at the name Sherlock had pointed to. It seemed vaguely familiar.

"It can't be a coincidence," Sherlock muttered, pacing across Rose's floor. "The universe is rarely so lazy."

"Well, I have to go," Rose said, shrugging to herself and dropping the employee list to her side.

"Still, I can't give a horse a gift… in it's mouth, or something."

Rose smiled ruefully as she approached Sherlock.

"You can't look a gift horse in the mouth," she said, then she held out the list to him. "Here's your gift horse. I have to go." She strode over to the door and grabbed at her coat. "Tell me about her later. It sounds like you've got a way in. That's great."

She drew her coat around her, then felt for her keys. Sherlock had waved a hand at her, without looking up from his document. Rose wasn't sure if it was a half-hearted wave goodbye, or an irritated dismissal. She wondered if she should even bother trying to instigate their goodbye ritual again. Sherlock was muttering to himself and had turned his back on Rose as he scrutinised the list.

Rose drew out her keys and unlocked the deadbolts.

From behind her, Sherlock called, "Rose."

Rose left her key in the lock and met Sherlock halfway across the floor. She was just about to twine her arms around his neck and ask if he loved her, when Sherlock held up the list again.

"Janine Hawkins is Charles Augustus Magnussen's personal assistant. But she's much more than that, Rose. She was one of Mary Morstan's bridesmaids."

Rose's stomach dropped an inch. "Oh," she said, her declarations of love dying on her lips. That Janine.

"And!" Sherlock exclaimed so suddenly he almost made Rose jump. "She actually likes me. Which is unusual for a woman."

"Not really," Rose remarked in a small voice.

Sherlock turned from her, and drifted away.

"Now how can I use that to my advantage?" he murmured. He headed toward the kitchen as Rose made for the front door once more.

She told herself that Sherlock was busy sorting things out; he was working on her case, so she should really cut him some slack.

"Just making tea," Sherlock called back from the kitchen. "Do you want a cup?"

But Rose had exited into the passageway, and had quietly closed the door behind her.


Sherlock heard the deadbolts sliding back into place and strode into the living area.

"Rose?"

The absence of his girlfriend initially stunned Sherlock. Her coat was missing, and her handbag. Had she left for work already?

"Bit rude," he muttered to himself as he headed back toward the kitchen. "I was just making tea."

He fished his mobile out from his jacket pocket, and sent Rose the same text she had sent him in the early hours:

Did you just leave?

He placed the phone down onto the counter, next to his mug, to finish making his tea. When Rose's reply came in, he glanced at the screen, and his breath hitched.

Sorry yes. You seemed busy and I really had to go. I love you!

The goodbye ritual! He'd missed it, and now Rose wouldn't get her fix for the day.

Sherlock absentmindedly dunked his teabag several more times as he turned over Rose's last three words in his mind.

I love you!

He could just type back his response. He may not be able to vocalise the words, but surely he wouldn't have any difficulty pressing the letters on his phone.

I love you, too.

Go on. Just do it.

Sherlock continued jiggling the tea bag and scowling at his phone.

Just type the fucking words. You're a genius for Christ's sake.

But he couldn't. And the more he jiggled, the less likely it was going to be that he would respond at all. And now far too much time had passed. Rose would know he had been overthinking it, and his response would've lost all spontaneity.

Yes, that's right. Spontaneity, he thought in an effort to reassure himself that it was definitely too late to reply.

He dropped the tea bag onto the counter then turned to grab the milk from the fridge. Only there wasn't any. Rose's scalding hot tea last night! They'd used up all the milk. Sherlock narrowed his eyes in scrutiny of the fridge contents. But Rose was finishing a beverage when he entered the flat. Would she drink black tea? He continued to stare at the items in the fridge.

A coffee mug.

Now who would…?

He inspected the mug and found that it contained milk. So Rose had borrowed a cup of milk from Ms Small this morning. And now the milk was fixing its accusatory milky eyes at Sherlock and reminding him that he had contributed to the ongoing sexual exploitation of women by men.

Sherlock tutted and took the mug of milk back to his half-prepared tea. And he was going to have to pour the milk out of a coffee mug. Not an easy thing to do because there was no spout. But if he tipped it quickly?

"You fucking idiot!" he said out loud as the milk coursed a determined path along the side of the coffee mug and onto the counter top, and not into his tea at all.

Sherlock plonked the mug of milk next to his tea. He leaned heavily onto the counter and dropped his head.

"I'm a fucking genius and a graduate chemist," he murmured to himself. How was he not capable of pouring one liquid into another? Idiot!

His phone chimed as if in confirmation.

"Oh, don't you start," he retorted, straightening up, then grabbing the phone from beside the two silently mocking cups.

Do you love me?

And now he felt like a callous dickhead.

Rose had probably waited for his rely, thinking along the same lines as he had—that Sherlock Holmes was perfectly capable of bashing out a reply. And when he hadn't, she must've realised he was more emotionally stunted than she'd initially thought and obviously needed prompting.

Wearily he began to type Y – E, until his phone's predictive text function ever so helpfully listed Yes as a suggested word. Because you need help typing three letters you moronic, insensitive bastard, it appeared to be saying.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his phone, as if in the issuing of a challenge. He pressed Rose's contact details, and then clicked on the Call button.

I'll show you, he thought, directing his ire onto all three inanimate objects: the two mugs and his phone.

"Hello!" Rose appeared to be laughing. The surrounding sounds indicated she was entering the Undergound.

"I do, Rose," Sherlock said.

"Sorry, can't hear you. What?"

"I DO!" he shouted.

Rose chuckled again. "I know you do, Sherlock. Thank you. I'll see you later!"

The call ended, and Sherlock felt strangely invigorated. He puffed out his chest and said, "There, you see? You tried to distract me…" He reached over and grabbed at the HR listing that he'd placed next to the kettle earlier. "From this," he added, glaring at the conspiring beverage making items. All of them. "Sentiment!" he spat.

Faffing about with forgotten goodbye rituals had disrupted his thought processes on the case. He fixed one more accusatory glare at the two mugs and watched as a single drop of milk fell to the floor. Hardening his heart against crying spillt milk, Sherlock made a beeline for the living room. He stretched out onto the sofa, the list of employees on his chest, and he closed his eyes.

He needed to think. How to use Janine to get to Magnussen, and how to make first contact with her. If only there were post-wedding duties to perform, then he'd have an excuse to ring or email her.

In two seconds, Sherlock Holmes was fast asleep.


Sherlock's eyes snapped open three hours later.

The wedding photos! He swiftly sat up, dropping his feet to the ground and vigorously ruffling his hair. Where were they? They hadn't been distributed because…

Oh! The camera must still be in Berkshire.

Sherlock stood, frantically looked around for his phone, then found it again in the kitchen. He rapidly dialled his favourite Detective Inspector's number and waited rather impatiently for the D.I. to pick up. Ignoring the fact that the Scotland Yard detective's message clearly began with, "You have phoned Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade," Sherlock gushed out the following message, "Graham. The photos from John's wedding. Where's the camera? What have you done with it?" Ending the call and dropping his phone into his pocket, Sherlock decided to return to Baker Street. If he was going to wait around for either the camera or the camera's memory card to be sent to him, then he couldn't stay here, in Leinster Gardens.


Rose's chest heaved with exhaustion. She'd left Tonya and her puppies and decided to jog the rest of the way home. What a bad idea that was. She was so unfit! It took her two attempts to unlock the deadbolts, but then her door was opened for her.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, his brow furrowed as he held the door ajar.

"My fingers were slipping," Rose replied. She pushed past Sherlock and into the flat. "I went for a jog. I'm so fucking exhausted."

"Why were you doing that?"

Sherlock locked the door and followed after Rose as she strode toward the kitchen. Rose noted her laptop sitting on the dining table. So Sherlock was working on something, she thought. She was glad that he wasn't so focussed that he hadn't noticed her struggling with the lock.

"I thought I'd get fit," she called back.

"Why?"

Rose paused so she could catch her breath. Sherlock had stopped at the dining table and was checking the computer screen.

"For a healthy lifestyle," she said, reaching for a glass tumbler and filling it from the tap. "Everyone needs a good balance of healthy nutrition and exercise."

"Why do they?" Sherlock murmured, bending over to click the mouse before straightening up again.

"Do I really need to explain this to you?" Rose took two large sips of water before heading for the dining area. "Everyone knows this whether they live by it or not. How do you keep fit?"

"I keep moving and I eat only when I absolutely need to," he replied, his eyes still on the screen. "I don't know why people need to buy fancy trainers," he said, making a point of glancing down at Rose's shoes, "and buy frozen boxed lunches. All they need to do is move a bit more and eat a whole lot less."

"Move more and eat less," Rose said, laughing lightly. "I think you're onto something there."

Sherlock remained silent as he watched the screen. Feeling curious, Rose came up beside him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, before draining her glass.

"Wedding photos," Sherlock replied. "I'm copying the files from the memory card that the Thames Valley Police sent to Scotland Yard for me. Photos from John's wedding."

"Wow, fantastic. Show me later, yeah?" Rose said, as she made to leave the area. "I just need to have a shower."

"Oh, Rose!" Sherlock called out.

Rose immediately returned. Having a two-sided conversation with Sherlock was a bit of a novelty at the moment.

"They also returned these."

Sherlock was over by the door and had retrieved an item from his coat pocket. His grin was lopsided as he held out a pair of handcuffs to Rose.

"Oh, thank you," she said, returning Sherlock's sly smile.

She made to leave him, but he gently grasped her elbow.

"Wait," he bid her. When Rose turned back to him, Sherlock said, his voice pitched low, "I haven't given you a hello kiss yet."

Rose tilted her head, and Sherlock touched his lips lightly to hers. His kiss was soft and undemanding but it slowly burnt through Rose. When he eased back, her eyes remained closed for a split second longer. And when she opened them again, she found that he was watching her, with a faint smile playing on his lips.

"I'm having a shower," Rose murmured regretfully.

"Fine. Don't be long."

Sherlock strode away from her, leaving the air frigid and empty in his wake. Rose mentally roused herself and drifted toward the bathroom, depositing the pair of handcuffs back into her kitchen drawer on the way. She needed to remind herself of Sherlock's ability to change direction as suddenly as the wind.

When she finished her shower and returned to the living area wearing her tank top and pyjama bottoms, she found Sherlock on her sofa, his legs stretched out on the coffee table with her computer perched on his lap.

"I've got soup if you're hungry?" she called to him on her way to the kitchen.

When Sherlock didn't reply, Rose exhaled deeply. Was it going to be another one of those nights where her boyfriend didn't acknowledge her existence?

She had just placed a container of potato and leek soup, courtesy of Tonya Small, into the microwave when Sherlock called out, "Do you want to see the wedding photos? They're uploaded now."

"Sure," she called back, swiftly pressing the desired number of minutes on the oven.

She settled comfortably next to Sherlock, leaning into him and tilting her head so that it rested on his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind, and Rose was grateful for his warmth, both physical and emotional.

Sherlock clicked through the photos at a regular interval, pausing now and again to say something random yet interesting about one or more of the subjects in the photos. Comments such as, "That's Archie. He's got a good imagination for solving crimes. I hope he doesn't lose it as he gets older," and "Mr Chatterjee—Mrs Hudson's current boyfriend. I always thought she had the raw end of the deal, what with the wives he's got squirreled away all over England. But look at those lines etched on the corners of his eyes and mouth. You only see those kind of long-suffering markers on the face of one who's regularly exposed to a constant stream of witless babble."

Rose chuckled lightly at Sherlock's words.

"I like your landlady," she said. "When we had morning tea that time, she told me all about her life in Florida. Did you know she used to be an exotic dancer?"

"Mmm."

"Apparently someone's uploaded some old footage to YouTube."

"Have they," Sherlock replied disinterestedly. "Now these are the bridesmaids," he said unnecessarily, on clicking through to the next set of photos showing three women dressed in the exact same shade of lilac standing outside the church holding small bouquets. "I'll email them a link, as well as Mary, giving them online access to all of the wedding photos. It's a way of re-establishing contact with Janine. My way in."

Rose silently ruminated on Sherlock's plan. Her insides churned uncomfortably for reasons she couldn't immediately determine. Sherlock continued clicking through his slide show, with Rose redirecting her focus to the good looking best man.

"Aw," she remarked at one photo, where Sherlock appeared particularly dashing in his grey morning suit and waistcoat with his buttonhole flower still fresh and upright. Two creases featured prominently between his brows as he directed an unimpressed gaze at the photographer. Rose squeezed his arm affectionately, and said, "Would it have killed you to smile once in a while."

"I don't smile, Rose."

Rose sat up and turned to look at him, just making out the beginnings of a smile on Sherlock's lips that threatened to betray his assertion.

Rose leant forward and brushed his lips with hers.

"Liar," she whispered.

Sherlock slipped his arms around Rose and held her in place.

"That's our little secret," he murmured, his eyes locking with hers and his mouth just a breath away.

When their lips met again and both immediately parted in response, Rose could taste Sherlock's desire, and it sent a delicious shockwave through her system. His warm mouth, supple lips and clever tongue stirred an urgent need within her. Her kiss became more demanding and she shifted restlessly within his embrace. Finally Rose used every ounce of willpower to draw away.

"Has it been a week yet?" she asked, breathlessly, of Sherlock's self-imposed week-long celibacy.

"It was more of a general mood than a strict seven day abstinence," he replied, his mouth beginning to roam across her face. "I'm sure you can read my thoughts on the matter now."

Rose eased away from Sherlock and fixed him with a meaningful look. She reached for her computer, snapped the lid shut, and removed it from Sherlock's lap. Having placed it onto the coffee table by his legs, she stood and held out a hand to the detective. He wasted no time getting to his feet, his own eyes darkened with passion.

Rose barely stifled a yelp in surprise as Sherlock suddenly yanked her toward him. He closed his mouth over hers, staggering her with the power of his kiss. His hands began to roam, fingertips skimming underneath her tank top, before he grasped the bottom of it. He left off kissing her long enough to pull her top over her head, dropping it onto the sofa behind him.

Rose grabbed Sherlock's hand before they could lock lips again. She didn't want to waste any more time standing in the living room. But as they passed the dining table, Sherlock suddenly pulled Rose to a stop, shoved his thumbs inside her pyjama bottom waistband, and pushed them downwards. He leant her against the tabletop, pulling her pyjamas and underwear off her in one fluid movement, and sending papers flying.

As his mouth feasted on hers again, Rose attempted to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. Their liaison felt a tad unbalanced. She was completely naked, and Sherlock still wore his shirt and trousers. But she had barely reached the last button before Sherlock had unzipped his trousers and released himself. Her breath was forced out of her lungs as Sherlock lifted her to the table, pushed her backwards and plunged inside her with one hard thrust.

One hand sought his hair and Rose fisted his curls as her own greed forced her to pull him in deeper. It was fast, yet erotic, and she arched against the sharp edge of Sherlock's passion. His mouth covered her breasts, his tongue teased her nipples and she shuddered and moaned in pleasure.

Rose's pulse danced madly, and she had the feeling Sherlock had been influenced by their many games of Cluedo and the uninhibited sex they'd indulged in when they were both stoned. Would the bed no longer be enough for him?

When the pressure became too much, Rose raked her hands down Sherlock's back. His head dropped to the crook of her neck and he emitted a half gasp, half moan. The sound of his unrestrained pleasure thrilled her, and the urgency built unbearably inside her. They matched pace and rhythm until their bodies erupted in a tumultuous release.

Rose clung to Sherlock, the pair of them breathing in ragged, shallow bursts. When Sherlock slipped out of her, Rose dropped her hand, with it landing on something cold and hard. She curled her fingers around it as Sherlock straightened up. His eyes widened in alarm at the object in her grasp.

"What are you doing with the banana?"

"Um..." Rose said, the yellow fruit coming into focus. "Nothing." She quickly dropped it as Sherlock stepped back from the table. He eyed her suspiciously before pulling up his boxer trunks, which had still remained around his hips during sex. Rose slid from the table. She chuckled at the thought of what had just happened, and stepped past Sherlock. She couldn't resist a backhanded slap to his rump before he could step out of his trousers as they lay in a tangle around his feet.

"You didn't even get undressed," she laughed, walking away from him.

Sherlock tutted and stooped to retrieve his trousers as Rose gathered up her pyjama bottoms and retreated toward the sofa for her tank top.

"I'm... ah..." Sherlock stammered, and Rose regarded him in interest as she dressed by the coffee table. Sherlock shook his head a little and drifted away, dressed in just a gaping shirt and trunks, having given up on explaining his intentions. Rose assumed he had meant to say that he was going to have a shower.

Rose chuckled to herself again. She found it amusing that Sherlock still felt awkward and embarrassed about letting his deeper physical desires out. Even after everything they'd been through, she found this quirk of his to be a little bit charming.

Now what was she doing? she wondered, looking over toward the kitchen. Oh yes.

Soup.


Sherlock finished up in the shower and left for the bedroom to change into his pyjamas and dressing gown. Rose had stuck her head into the bathroom to ask if he wanted soup for dinner and he had swiftly agreed. It wasn't as if saying, "No, thank you," was going to bring up the subject of what had just happened between them on the dining table. Being agreeable didn't take away the fact that he was as primitive and base as any ordinary man.


Rose was just about to close her textbook when Sherlock said, "No, keep reading. I have to send a few emails anyway."

He took the seat across from her, and Rose saw his eyes dart toward the sidetable in the living area on which she had neatly stacked up all of the CAM Global News documents, with the banana placed on top.

"I wasn't going to use the banana," she said, as Sherlock lifted his spoon to his bowl. "It was just there."

"I know," Sherlock hastily replied. He took a mouthful of soup, swallowed, then asked, "What are you reading?"

Rose chose to ignore the fact that Sherlock had swiftly changed the subject. She closed the cover of her book, leaving her hand inside as a bookmark. "Forensic psychology," she said, showing him the cover.

Sherlock took another spoonful of soup, raising his eyebrows in appreciation and nodding toward the textbook.

"We may end up working together one day," he said, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

Rose returned Sherlock's smile. "I don't know," she said, shrugging. "I may end up working in the prison service, assessing offenders and developing rehabilitation programmes. And there's a whole lot more besides. There's very little work in the police service, and certainly not in providing offender profiles."

"Most of the profiling is conducted by idiotic police officers anyway."

"That's a bit harsh, Sherlock."

"Harsh? You try working with them."

They continued eating in a comfortable silence, with Rose studying her textbook, and Sherlock tapping out an email.

"There," he said finally. "I've sent Mary and the bridesmaids the link to the wedding album."

"Great," Rose replied. "So have you spoken to John and Mary since their honeymoon? Do you know how it went?"

Sherlock shrugged non-committedly and appeared to find something of far greater interest on his phone.

"Have you seen John at all?" Rose asked, gently pushing the conversation topic along.

Sherlock drew in a deep breath that he then exhaled noisily.

"No. And I don't expect to."

His eyes returned to his phone screen and Rose knew not to push him further. Eventually she piled up their bowls and spoons and took them into the kitchen.

As she began washing them, Sherlock called out, "Shouldn't you be going to the pub sometime soon?"

Rose looked over to Sherlock as he entered the kitchen. She didn't know what Sherlock was talking about.

"What?"

"To meet one of the employees. Have you chosen one?"

Rose sighed deeply. She thought Sherlock had forgotten about the manic idea he'd had at three o'clock in the morning.

"Do I still have to?" she asked, shaking the suds from her hands over the sink, then grabbing a dish towel. "You have Janine to contact now."

"We still need to obtain a security pass," Sherlock replied, before getting distracted by his phone chiming with a message. He frowned, then muttered, "And they can't stand me."

"Who?"

"The other two bridesmaids. They've just replied with a quick, 'Thanks.' But look at Janine's reply."

Sherlock handed his phone to Rose. She read the email to herself.

The mysterious Mr Holmes! Thanks for the photos. It looks like you were already suspicious about the photographer, the way you're looking at him. Did you ever get your handcuffs back? You know they come in pairs don't you?

Rose's gut twisted, and she gave the phone back to Sherlock.

"At least she's interested enough to ask about the case," Sherlock said.

"Barely," Rose muttered under her breath. She turned off the kitchen light as Sherlock strode over to the other side of the room to do the same with the living room lights.

"You know she's flirting with you," Rose said as they both headed toward the bedroom.

"Nonsense."

Sherlock shed his dressing gown as Rose turned on her bedside lamp.

"She's asking you about the handcuffs," Rose said, slipping in between the bedcovers. "Why would she want to draw attention to the fact that you need a pair of them?"

"She's being funny," Sherlock said, sliding in beside Rose and turning on his lamp. "It's a joke, Rose."

Rose tutted when she realised she'd forgotten her textbook. She left the bed again, and made for the door.

"Oh, can you bring me your laptop since you're going out there?" Sherlock asked.

Rose silently brooded as she retrieved both items. She didn't like the sound of this woman, Mary's maid of honour, if she remembered correctly, and Charles Augustus Magnussen's personal assistant. How could anyone work for that sleaze? What kind of woman did that make Janine, Rose wondered.

Back in the bedroom, she handed Sherlock her computer then joined him in bed once more. She opened up her textbook and began to study again. When Sherlock started hammering the keys beside her, Rose looked over.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Replying to Janine," he said, continuing to tap away. "I need to continue this banter with her and somehow get around to asking her out for coffee. Where did you say you purchased those handcuffs from?"

Rose's heart stuttered. She'd bought the handcuffs in a sex shop, so for that reason, she didn't respond immediately. She didn't want Sherlock to give Janine Hawkins the impression that he'd been shopping in an adult entertainment store.

"Do you really have to do all this just to get a security pass?" she asked him, finally ignoring the question about the handcuffs.

Sherlock stopped typing.

"It's not just access, Rose. Anyway, that's your little job. You need to starting frequenting the pubs that one of the security officers goes to."

"Not on a Wednesday night I'm not," she said darkly. But would she go at all?

Continuing unabated, Sherlock said, "And I need to establish a close enough relationship with Janine so I can find out everything there is to know about Magnussen—his schedule, his offices and residences all over Europe, likes, dislikes, favourite eating places."

Close enough relationship, Rose thought. What exactly did that mean? She looked down at her page once more, but her eyes couldn't focus on the text. The section titled, Assessing Competency to Stand Trial went unread.

Finding out all about Charles Augustus Magnussen by flirting with his PA was going to cost way more than one cup of coffee, Rose thought.

.


A/N: Hope you don't mind that I'm taking my time building emotions in these chapters. I think a lot of things have to go on inside Sherlock's mind before his descent into drugs—something I don't want to make light of, despite Sherlock dismissing it as nothing in the show.

And for those who enthusiastically showed their support for my idea (thank you!), the first chapter of my illegal bare-knuckle boxing backstory is up! (That is, the boxing is illegal, not my fic, haha!) I said it would be a one-shot, but because I didn't want it to be too lengthy, I've split it into three much more manageable chapters. The first chapter is up! I'd love you to check it out. It's called Squaring Up.

Oh, and... please review. Pretty please :)