Chapter 7
"You did what!" John wasn't sure whether to be outraged or amused. He picked the latter. "I bet she was proud of herself. And you said she beat you?" John grinned uncontrollably at Sherlock's scowl.
"Yes John for the forth time, she beat me" Sherlock was sulking on the sofa, after recounting last nights escapades with Irene, who, he conveniently forgot to mention was asleep in his bedroom.
John laughed again so Sherlock threw a jack knife at him. He thought back to the night before, ignoring John's loud swears as the knife ripped his favourite (and only) black coat. He remembered exactly what happened. Just after they… She won the game;
He wouldn't believe it. Narrowing his eyes he looked down at the board. She was correct. And she'd done it in the most undignified way possible. Her last pawn was standing wear his king had been moments before, the king having toppled off the side of the table.
He'd fallen for one of her tricks again. She'd distracted his attention again. Worst of all, she'd beaten him again.
Sherlock closed his eyes, silently cursing, then stood up and stowed the board away, planning to burn it later, along with this bad memory.
"I have a feeling I will regret this later" she smirked at him, was she waiting for something?
"Good game" Sherlock replied dismissively, clearly an invitation for her to leave but Irene Adler had never been obedient.
"You're not going to make me walk out in the snow are you?"
Part of Sherlock was thinking "I will throw you out of the window if I have to". Only part of him.
But wait. Snow? What snow? Had he missed that as well? It was infuriating how she distracted him.
Instead of answering, he picked up his violin and began to play a slow, sad tune he's thought up a minute before, facing the window.
She watched him, mesmerised. Unlike John who often complained when he played depressing pieces, Irene listened, and enjoyed it, not realising when the tune changed to that which he had written when he had thought she was dead.
When he stopped to see if she was still there, Irene just said "Keep playing" in a low slightly sensual voice. He obeyed.
After another few minutes he stopped again to see The Woman asleep in his chair, the dressing gown having slipped from her grip.
Quietly he walked over to her and, slipping his arms under her back and knees, lifted her up. She was surprisingly light and Sherlock wondered whether she'd been sleeping rough judging from her weight and thinness. Irene Adler certainly wasn't the sort who's choose to live in poverty.
As he opened the bedroom door with his elbow she opened one eye, her smile hidden in the shadows. He lay her down on his bed gently and pulled he sheets over her shoulders.
"Goodnight, Miss Adler".
Sherlock opened his eyes again. He didn't want to think about last night anymore.