"Still no luck?" John sat down next to Sherlock and turned on the telly. It had been a week, and still there was no sign of Moran. Irene had picked up a part-time job at the boutique across the street (it was her third day), so both Sherlock and John could keep an eye on her. Though all had been quiet, Sherlock and John recognized this to be foreshadowing to something huge. They weren't sure how huge, but they knew it was huge. Irene had speculations, but she hadn't been there when they were around discussing it. Thankfully, she was there that night, cooking dinner for all three of them. John's new fling named Mary was coming over, so Irene was in high-maintenance mode. She was flying all over the kitchen, spilling tomato sauce all over her blue blouse (thank God it was an old one of Sherlock's) and blue jeans.
Sherlock shook his head. "He's been quiet."
"It's just like him," Irene added, breaking pasta over a pot of boiling water. She sighed. "When he does, it'll be huge."
"We already figured that. I just don't want any surprises from him tonight." John took another swig of his beer. Irene shrugged, chopping an onion. Sherlock continued to type away on his laptop ferociously, eyebrows narrowed. Things were quiet in the flat until someone knocked on the door. John hopped up, smiling.
Irene glared at the door. "Shit. I haven't even had time to change clothes yet!" She turned to Sherlock. "Be a dear while and watch the sauce while I change?"
"I'm horrible at that type of thing, Irene-"
"You-"
"Sherlock, Madeline, meet Mary. Mary, meet Sherlock and Madeline, my flatmates." John motioned to both of them, Irene in the middle of bending towards Sherlock. She straightened and smiled as she took in the sight before her. Mary was tall and slender, with dark blonde hair. she was dressed in a cream colored eyelet dress and a beige cardigan. Her wedges were strappy; they wound around her ankles many times. Her eyes were a sparkling blue, almost green. She had freckles dancing across her nose, but only a few. John had a glitter in his eyes as he smiled, and Irene felt herself getting warm in the stomach. She was happy for him. However, she was just afraid that Mary wasn't ready to be involved in all this.
"It's nice to meet you both." Her voice was light and fluttery, much like the girl she appeared to be. Sherlock kissed her hand, and Irene shook it afterwards.
"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to change. Time just flew by while I was cooking." Irene smiled.
"It's quite alright. I look the same exact way after baking. Except I'm covered in flour," Mary chuckled, leaning into John.
Irene nodded. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get changed quickly. I hope you enjoy dinner." With one last smile, she retreated to Sherlock's room, shutting the door softly.
They turned to Sherlock, who was busy deducing Mary. Teacher; probably elementary school students. Not very athletic; genetic high-metabolism. Faint scars on wrists- confidence issues? Knee-locks, most likely from being on her feet all day. Faint tan line on ring finger- used to be engaged/married? Engaged, too young to be married. Kind eyes, but vulnerable. Chipped tooth- fight, perhaps? Yes, crooked nose helps case. His thoughts were rudely interrupted when John cut the silence.
"Stop it, Sherlock. It's rude."
"She's fine, John. No worries. She's not a serial killer or anything." He shrugged, turning back to the sofa, sitting down with his laptop. John sighed, giving Mary an apologetic glance. She smiled warmly, silently telling him it was alright.
"Mr. Holmes, it's a delight to meet you. John speaks highly of you," Mary said, causing Sherlock to arch an eyebrow.
"Really? I figured he'd be bashing my horrific manners."
"Well, it's a social thing. I run into the same thing with my students."
"Elementary, correct?"
"Second grade. Just when they really start learning."
"I think the stages before school are when the child learns most." Sherlock shut the lid to his laptop, standing at Irene emerged from his room, clad in his favorite green satin dress of his. It was dark, contrasting against her pale skin. The waist was tied with a black bow, and there was lace around the v-neck. She had taken her hair out of the messy bun she'd had earlier, and it was now tumbling around her shoulders in loose waves. She had put on a fresh coat of mascara, as well as her signature red lipstick. All three of their mouth's dropped opened as her Louboutins clicked across the floor. She smiled, and put the bowls of spaghetti noodles, sauce, and chicken on the table.
"Yes, listen to Sherlock. He seems to know all about education," Irene joked as she pulled out a bottle of wine from the fridge. Everyone laughed, except Sherlock, who rolled his eyes.
"Like you know much more."
"Actually, I do. You're forgetting how educated I am. So educated, in fact, that it was my minor. My original minor." Sherlock's eyes widened as she set it in the bucket of ice in the center of the table. She then turned to everyone else. "Dinner's ready. Please, come eat. My modified version of chicken parmesan needs to be critiqued."
So they all sat, serving themselves personal portions. As they dug in, Mary turned to Irene. "This is wonderful, Madeline. Do you cook professionally?"
"No. Cooking is just a side-line thing of mine. Nothing special." Irene took a sip of her wine.
"Then what do you do?"
"Well, I have a number of majors and minors. I can never settle down. I'm always a bit jumpy."
Sherlock jumped in his seat suddenly, shaking his head. He'd sworn there was something crawling up his leg- Irene.
"Like Sherlock over here?" John chuckled, knowing perfectly well what had gone on. Mary, of course was oblivious.
"Something wrong, Mr. Holmes?"
"No, probably just a Daddy Long Legs or something. Nothing of worry," Sherlock sneered, glaring at Irene. She made a pouting face and rolled her eyes. Mary turned her attention back to Irene.
"What has been your favorite major so far?"
"Well, there was Microbiology. And then there was International Affairs. I think that was my all-time favorite. Criminology was a close second." She winked at Sherlock as Mary focused on scooping more chicken onto her plate. In response, he rolled his eyes.
"Wow. Microbiology? That's interesting."
"Falls under the International Affairs, dear."
"How?"
"Very carefully." Mary arched an eyebrow, stopping her movements. Sherlock kicked Irene under the table lightly. She started smiling. "Microbiology is the up-and-coming international weapons field. It then becomes an international affair. I'll give you a small hint: every college major- no matter how difficult, easy, insane, or boring it is- are all related. Every single one of them."
Mary nodded. "It seemed as much when I was in college." She turned to Sherlock. "How about you, Mr. Holmes?"
Sherlock shrugged. "I never finished any degrees."
Her mouth dropped open. "Really? Why?"
"Too smart for the classes. I was bored. So I just dropped out." His eyes hooded for a brief moment, and Irene stared at him. Had it been because of the drugs? Or had he pissed off the wrong people? But surely something that simple could've been fixed by Mycroft. Something wasn't right, but she just couldn't figure it out.
Mary laughed. "I should've guessed."
They continued their meal, laughing and making small talk. Soon, it was near eleven at night, and Mary was consistently yawning (she almost fell asleep on John's shoulder twice since they'd moved their get-together to the couch). This bodily function in turn made Irene do the same, as well as John. Only Sherlock sat with a stone set face. Finally, Mary could barely move.
"I should be getting home."
"I'm sure the boys wouldn't mind if you stayed the night," Irene murmured, leaning into Sherlock slightly. He resisted the urge to wrap his arm around her shoulders, and instead placed his hand on her knee gingerly. "I'm sure you and I wear the same size."
"Not at all. I can sleep on the couch, Mary," John slurred, voice barely audible.
Mary smiled. "Thank you all. And you don't have to sleep on the couch, John. You act like you've never slept in the same bed as a woman before."
Sherlock snorted, rising. "There are blankets upstairs in John's closet. I'm sure that he is quite capable of getting some for you. It gets cold in here at night. Old building."
"Of course. Thank you."
From the outside, they looked like a group of three young roommates welcoming a third. It seemed like things were alright to them, that life was good. The smiles on their faces as they all bid each other goodnight made it appear that it was all rainbows and sunshine.
From the window, you couldn't see the butt of the cigarette. You wouldn't know that a tall, broad man was leaning against a light post, one hand in his pocket, finger lightly placed on the trigger. His eyes were cold, menacing. It was time he got his payback; he'd lay low for too long. It was time to put his plan in action. He threw his cigarette, still lit, to the pavement. Squashing it in one stride, he walked away, breath puffing in the cold night air.
Sorry it's taken me so late guys, I've been really busy. Hope you guys enjoyed!