fear_the_squee: We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. (Default)
[personal profile] fear_the_squee
First off, chapter 5 is off to the betas! Hoping to post this weekend.

Also: several folks asked about what happened when Sherlock spent the night in Irene’s room. This is… not that scene. But it is what happened the day after the mirror-writing at the end of Chapter 3, when Sherlock and Irene spent the morning together.

Written almost entirely at the behest of [personal profile] greywash, who wanted to see Sherlock and Irene being girlfriends. ;)

(Entirely unbetaed. So, you know.)



Irene, still in her dressing gown, shut the door after Greg and John left. She hurried over to the bed where Sherlock was still sprawled. “Move over, I’m freezing.” Sherlock grumbled, but scooted over and made room. “You’re warm,” she said and cuddled close.

“Bloody hell, your feet are like ice. Why didn’t you get dressed?”

“’Cause I knew you’d still be in bed, and I’m sure as hell not going to stay up if you aren’t.”

Sherlock wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed his face into her hair. “Shut up. I’m still asleep.”

They dozed for another hour or so before the travel alarm on the nightstand went off. Sherlock muttered and pushed at Irene’s back. “You first. Go shower.”

“I already did.”

Sherlock growled. “Fine.” He showered, and when he came out, Irene was rooting through one of his cases.

“Coffee’s on the way,” she said, then held up a bottle of nail lacquer. “Black? Really? That’s all you have?”

“Pink doesn’t suit me.” He didn’t bother with a towel—she’d seen everything there was to see years ago.

“Jesus, Sherlock. You look like hell.”

“Thanks ever so.” He snatched up his dressing gown and wrapped it around himself.

“Oh, don’t sulk. You're way too skinny. I was worried about you, you asshole.” The smell of acetone filled the room as Irene took off the nail lacquer she wore. She looked up at him. “Things are okay, though?”

He took his time answering, looking through the closet at his show wardrobe. “…yeah. It’s all right.”

"Was it awful?"

"Was what awful?" He spent more time than was strictly necessary considering shirts.

"Rehab. You were here in the States, weren't you?" Irene's tone was light as she went looking through her bag.

"Nebraska." He said it the way one might say "Hell" or "Holmes family Christmas".

Irene laughed, then fell quiet. "It helped though, right?"

"I guess."

"You're still sulking. Come over here." She patted the spot next to her on the bed. Before Sherlock could respond, there was a knock at the door. He could smell the coffee from where he was, so he let room service in. Once the waiter was gone and they both had coffee, Irene tried again. "Come here." When he did, she put his coffee down on the table and took his left hand. "Darling boy, this is a mess. If you're going to insist on wearing nail polish, at least take it off when it chips, yeah?"

"Irene, you are not doing my nails."

"Yes I am, and you're going to like it." She was already grabbing for the remover. "Come on, I'll do your nails and we can talk about boys. It'll be just like school."

Sherlock sniffed. "Please. I never talk about boys."

Irene grinned, swiping the nails of his left hand with a cotton swab. "Oh, I bet I could get you to talk about one boy."

"You could not."

"Aha, a challenge." Irene finished removing the chipped black nail lacquer and showed him a bottle "See? Purple. It'll be fabulous. Very sexy." When Sherlock rolled his eyes, she said. "So... what would you say if I told you I had a long talk with a certain boy last night... about a certain other boy?"

"I'd say you should stop referring to grown men as 'boys'." Sherlock wasn't going to ask her. He wasn't.

"Fine." She started applying the purple colour to his nails. "I spent last evening in the company of a man, who it seems is quite taken with another man of our acquaintance."

"I wonder," Sherlock said.

"Asshole," she said, but with affection. "He likes you."

"Considering that we'd started the evening groping on my bed, I had made that assumption," he said.

"I knew it!" Irene grinned triumphantly, finishing the last nail of Sherlock's hand with a flourish. "Ha. Sally owes me ten dollars. She bet me that you hadn't been making out when Greg came to get you. But I know you, dear boy, and you were decidedly flushed."

"Do you lot really not have anything better to do than make bets on my sex life?" Sherlock sounded put out, but he was fighting a smile. Groping aside, it was nice to know John liked him well enough to mention it to someone else.

"That's nothing. I think Greg and Anderson have a bet on when you'll actually start fucking."

Sherlock leaned over as she started working on his other hand and grinned at her. "If neither of them has money on 'the next time I get him alone for more than five minutes', you've got a chance to take all their money."

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June 2012

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