Thirteen
Recalculate

My chest rose and fell with each hefty breath my lungs took to try to replace the oxygen that had been lost from my bloodstream.

"That was, uh," I somehow managed to make out in my ragged state of mind, "interesting."

I was glad to hear that Sherlock too was somewhat out of breath when he spoke his next words. "If you say so."

I gathered my strength and turned my head to the side, my cheek flattened against the soft pillow below. The man beside me, half of his upper body propped up by the cushions and wall, didn't seem at all nonplussed by what had just happened. At least he wasn't immediately running away like he usually did.

"It's good to see you're feeling better after yesterday." I commented trying to sound as casual as possible.

Sherlock's eyes flicked to me, a scowl beginning to pull at his forehead. "I was fine yesterday. John has an insufferable tendency to exaggerate."

I rolled my eyes. "Sherlock, I was here when you got back."

Now his eyes were undoubtedly narrowed. "And you therefore saw that I was fine."

A smile tickled the edges of my lips. "Of course, yeah."

There was a moment's silence. Sherlock wasn't in a talking mood for once. Maybe it was the embarrassment of realising that I had seen him in his drugged state, or maybe he was just too busy thinking to chat or show off.

My curiosity got the best of me. "Did you want to be a pirate when you were a kid?"

With that question Sherlock decided that enough was enough. He grunted before starting to pull himself up, rolling into an upright position and twisting until his legs dropped out of the bed and onto the floor below.

There was still something wrong, though. Unlike most times, I just couldn't let him leave like that – not until I'd got a few of the answers I was looking for anyway.

"Sherlock, wait." I said, lifting my tired body up and sliding over the sheets until I was leaning against the wall behind me.

I was pleased to see that Sherlock abnormally listened and paused his movements. He sighed in frustration and glanced back at me over his shoulder.

"No," he started in a voice that stated just how unnecessary I was being, "that wasn't a reaction to yesterday. No, I was not feeling powerless. And no, I am not attracted to Irene Adler."

So that was her name.

I blinked. He had seen through my concern like it was a sheet of tissue paper, knowing my worries and what was causing them. And he had responded to them. He had tried to settle my nerves. Something, however, inside my mind wasn't completely sure that he had been telling me the entire truth, and that something wouldn't stop whispering to my reasoning.

"Oh," I muttered, "Ok then."

But Sherlock wouldn't tell me the truth if I asked him; he would just sweep away my questions and tell me I was being paranoid and ridiculous. So I'd have to shut up and leave it. Perhaps I could find the truth some other way.

The detective scanned my features, searching for something that I didn't know was even there. He must have found it, as he decisively looked up to the ceiling in annoyance. Then, suddenly, he snaked his form back around, leant over and kissed me. At first it was so unexpected that I didn't really know how to react, but as his palm found its way to the back of my neck my senses kicked in. I ran my hand up his arm until it settled on his shoulder, savouring the deep, slow kiss. I still felt confused and a little upset, but the sensations of Sherlock's tongue against mine temporarily swept my anxieties to the side. We leant further into the pillows, neither of us hurrying our movements.

Then, abruptly, I heard it.

I pushed Sherlock away and frowned.

"Did you just moan," I asked warily, "like a girl?"

Sherlock sat up and turned away. "No, that was my phone."

"Your phone…" I began even more cautious than I had been before, "… climaxes now?"

By the look Sherlock gave me I knew that he wasn't impressed. He got out of bed and started moving across the room.

I was not going to let this one go. "Why does your phone make that noise?"

"Joke with John." He told me blankly, reaching down and rummaging through the small pile of clothes on the floor, clearly searching for the troublesome mobile.

Something here wasn't making sense, and I had a sneaky suspicion that it wasn't to do with my reasoning skills. "You and John joke about the sound women make when they orgasm?"

Sherlock finally managed to find the pesky phone and stood upright once more. "Yes. And?"

For some reason, that reaction did not soothe my qualms. John and Sherlock might enjoy a laugh every now and again, but usually it was about inappropriate situations and absurd crime scenes. They didn't laugh at these kind of things; I don't think I had ever heard them even talk about them. And even if they did, then Sherlock would never do something as normal as recall the joke later. Changing his text alert noise would be obscene.

His eyes flickered over the screen of the mobile.

"Is that from John, then?" I asked, wanting to sound like I wasn't really interested.

"Yes."

He absently dropped the phone onto the bedside table, before starting to gather his clothes.

"What does it say?" I questioned as he began leisurely pulling on his trousers.

"Nothing important." He replied evenly. He smoothly grabbed his shirt, tugged it onto his shoulders, picked up the phone from the table, and walked out of the room, the door shutting softly behind him without another word being spoken between us.

This could not be good.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Sherlock, the man ran away! That's an irrefutable confession!"

"That doesn't mean he did it." Sherlock quipped back instantly. He had been pacing the small living room for over a minute now, waving his arms about when he got especially excited and simply refusing to listen to common sense.

My head wilted back onto the top of the armchair. "It all adds up."

That got his arms waving again. "No, it doesn't!"

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, annoyance bubbling up inside me. "It's not even important."

I could feel the glare from Sherlock without even looking at him. "These things are always important."

"Look," I said with a sigh, "I know that you want everything to always make complete sense, but a Miss Marple story does not have to stand up to a Sherlock Holmes level of scrutiny."

Sherlock swept around and continued stamping across the floor. "Well, it should!"

"Which one is his complaining about now?"

I brought my head up to see John walking into the room, two plastic shopping bags in his grasp. He was making his way over to the kitchen without blinking at his flatmate's odd behaviour.

"They Do It With Mirrors," I answered tiredly, "apparently the embezzlement isn't a good enough motive."

John opened the fridge and starting unloading the shopping bags. "Ah, never read it so can't comment."

I gritted my teeth. I should have said that. Then maybe I wouldn't have been subjected to this rant by a mad crime-fighting genius.

"I'll explain, John," Sherlock said. Or maybe I wouldn't have been spared. "There was-"

"So how was Flora?" I swiftly interrupted.

John placed the bottle of milk onto the middle shelf and shut the fridge, crumpling up the now empty carrier bags. "Yeah, good thanks. I think she's actually forgiven me for running out on our last date like that."

"No she hasn't." Sherlock interjected before quickly returning his voice to its previously aggravated state. "Does no one care about the horrendous reasoning skills being imparted onto the vulnerable by dishonest literature?"

Mine and John's responses were synchronised.

"No."

There was a scrunching noise as Sherlock flopped down onto the sofa in dejection.

I sighed. "So where did you take her to?"

John flipped the switch on the kettle and the little red light flared into action. "You know that little Malaysian place on Edgware Road?"

"Uh, don't think so. It any good?"

The mug made a low clatter as John placed it onto the worktop surface. "I think so, but…"

I was distracted from the rest of John's speech by the quiet noise seeping into the room, rotating my head to the left in fascination. Sherlock dug his hand into his jacket pocket and brought out his phone, checking it quickly before promptly placing it back into its rightful place as if it hadn't gone off at all.

"Melanie?"

I pulled my attention away from the event and back to John, who was standing with a fretful expression on his face.

"You alright?" he asked kindly.

"Uh," I started, trying to get my thoughts in order, "Yeah, sorry. I've just remembered, though, that I promised I'd pop round to Lucas' at some point today. He's not taking his break-up with Becky too well."

I stood, maybe a little too fast for it to be considered normal, and swiftly picked up my coat from the back of the chair.

"Oh, ok." John said, sounding a tad surprised by my sudden change in mood. "See you later?"

I grabbed my bag from the floor and checked I had everything I needed in my pockets.

"Yeah," I muttered without conviction, already heading towards the door, "sure."

"Bye." I heard from John even as I was jogging down the stairs and out of that wretched flat, not saying goodbye to either of the men inside.

Once the front door was safely shut behind me, I leant back against it, taking deep breaths to try to settle my nerves.

He had lied.

I had known it at the time, of course – the doubts had been there even before he had spoken – but I had always had hope. That wasn't possible anymore. I had heard Sherlock's usual text notification sound a few times today, so knew that that special one must have been allocated to one single number. And now I knew it wasn't the one he had told me it was.

It had gone off when John was in the same room, his fingers nowhere near the keypad on his mobile. That erotic moan wasn't a signal that it was John who'd written the text just received. It wasn't a private joke between them.

It was from someone entirely different.

And I could guess who that someone was.

Yeah, I'm afraid there was a bit more angst in that one. Hopefully, it won't swamp the story over the coming chapters. There should be some comedy lurking about as well, since that is what I like writing the most.

I want to get a GtWP chapter up to go with this one, but since I still haven't had the chance to write the last one yet, I don't know when that'll happen. Sorry to anyone who desperately wants to read them. It will come, eventually. Patience, my friend, patience.

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