Chapter 12

Later that day, John and Erika were sitting at the table, catching up for the first time in to long without any lies. They were laughing and smiling, enjoying each other's company again. John would like to say she was completely happy but every now and then, she'd turn away and her face would fall in sorrow. He knew that the loss of a child wasn't something you merely brushed off, so he let her be, waiting for her to come back to reality.

It was during one of these moods that Sherlock came over to the pair, carrying two mugs filled with liquid. He hands them to the pair who looked up at him, suspicious.

"What is this?" John's voice is suspicious and a little pointed.

"It's coffee. I made you both coffee." Sherlock then smiled slightly and John sighed.

""Sherlock, you can stop apologising. It's all fine."

Looking ever so slightly dejected, Sherlock nodded sadly. John let out a sigh and lifted the mug to his lips before he came in contact with Erika's hand which she had placed across the mug. He looked up and she smiled at him. "Don't drink that John."

"Why?" She winked at him, picked up both their mugs and pushed past Sherlock who glared at her pointedly. She smirked before going into the kitchen and dramatically poured both cups down the drain with a puff of steam. Then she put them both down on the bench and walked back so she was standing directly in front of Sherlock.

"You are never allowed to make coffee again."

"And why is that?" the detective enquired innocently, but Erika saw straight through him.

"Because formaldehyde isn't a standard ingredient."

What!?" John stood quickly but his reaction appeared to have no effect on the pair who now glared at each other. Despite this, the doctor was desperate to be acknowledged. "You tried to poison us?"

"No," Sherlock said, turning to his flatmate sharply. "It wouldn't have caused you any real harm. Well, no lasting harm. It was an experiment."

"A bloody experiment!"

"John, please," Erika said levelly, raising a hand to him, indicating that he should calm himself, before turning back to Sherlock. "I don't care how bored you are, you don't experiment on us. I don't care what purpose you think it has. We aren't your test subjects."

Sherlock glared at her. "What if it saves a life?"

"I don't care if it saves the bloody Queen! You don't test anything on us without our knowledge!" The angrier she got, the more her accent slipped and she began to sound more Russian with every syllable. Sherlock looked at her with a mixture between anger and boredom.

"Dull."

"Necessary."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something when he remembered John was still in the room, his eyes darting quickly to his flatmate. He bit his tongue before hissing out, "Vy dolzhny opredelenno izuchatʹ nemetskiĭ yazyk. Vse natsist·skie nyeobkhodimosti govoritʹ na odnom yazyke." (You should definitely learn German. All Nazi's need to speak the same language)

John looked at Sherlock, confused by what he said but he was aware that Erika must have understood it from the way she recoiled.

"Yanatsist·skoĭ potomu chto ya khochu zhitʹ?" (I'm a Nazi because I want to live?)

"Balʹzamirovanie zhidkosti ne sdelal by vam nikakogo vreda." (The embalming fluid wouldn't have done you any harm)

"Na etot raz," (This time). At this a flash of guilt crossed his face and Erika let a small smile cross her face. She pressed a hand to his cheek, returning to English. "I just got off death row, Sherlock. Please don't put me back on."

"I'm sorry." John's head snapped up from where it had previously been looking at the floor after this statement. Sherlock Holmes rarely apologised unless he felt truly guilty. Unsure of what was said in Russian, John wasn't completely sure what he had heard the pair exchange, but he had a reasonable understanding. He watched as Erika brushed her thumb along his cheek and smiled. It was then she turned to John and noticed his staring. She pulled her hand away and smiled.

"How about I make us all some real coffee?" And without waiting for an answer she disappeared back into the kitchen. John and Sherlock remained still, John staring at Sherlock and Sherlock staring after Erika. A minute later Erika appeared with two mugs of coffee.

"Here you are, boys. I'm going out." She handed them both to the two men before turning to Sherlock, looking a little sheepish. "Umm, I was wondering if I could…I mean…I left everything behind so…"

Sherlock smirked a little. "Your bag from Thornton Place is hanging near my coat and you can take my card."

Erika made a disapproving look. "I only need a few coins."

"You're not performing in this state. Take my card."

She smiled widely and leant down, kissing Sherlock on the cheek before going to get her bag and Sherlock's card. She was on her way out when John called after her. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Shopping. We're out of milk, bread, butter and in fact anything even vaguely edible. I'll be back."

And with that said she disappeared out the door with a careful wave, her arm still hurting her. When she left, John turned to Sherlock with a smirk on his face. Sherlock tried his best to ignore him but eventually couldn't avoid his curiosity. "What?"

"Nothing," John started, shaking his head and chuckling. "It's just that you're the last person I would ever have pictured in a domestic situation."

"Shut-up, John."