Chapter 2: The Question

Author's Note:
Hello my lovelies! I’ve decided that it’s best that the time is in the present day, though the tone will be kind of formal. So Sherlock will stop calling John “Watson” and start calling him “John”. This decision came about because it would be too hard to write the type of story that I want this to be in Victorian times. Also, I originally wanted to have a formal-ish story, so that’s why I decided that it should be old-fashioned, but after reading some other fics, I realized they were all formal. I’ll stop blathering now. Enjoy!

I sat there, watching Irene’s chest slowly rise and fall. Suddenly, I was overcome with the feeling that she was only faking her sleep and in fact watching me. I knew that she was not, but I felt an irrepressible urge to leave. But before I did, I leaned over her and brushed my lips against hers.

“Sleep well, my love.”

I left to lounge around in my armchair and wait for John to return home.  He would know in an instant that I knew that Irene had been here all along, and that might give away my long- cherished feelings for her. But all of a sudden, I didn’t care. I was going to sit here and wait for my flatmate to come home and find out that because of his carelessness, my love had sneaked into our flat and I was lounging in my armchair without waking her up and turning her out. This was the absolute worst plan that I had ever come up with. And people called me a genius.

“Sherlock! I’m home!”

Oh no. Oh no no no. He was home and I still didn’t have a better plan.

“Irene Adler’s sleeping in my bed.”

I heard John stop dead in his tracks.

“She’s what?”

“Sleeping in my bed.”

“But… how did she get in?”

“Well, my dear John, you, once again, neglected to lock the door.”

Once again I heard John pause.

”But I could have sworn the door was locked when I left to go grocery shopping.”

“Well, you could have sworn wrong.”

I knew quite well that this question was going to come up. The “Why didn’t you wake her up and turn her out?” question. However, this time, this time, I just might be prepared to tell my flatmate exactly why I didn’t turn her out. Because I loved her. And that was that. But how on earth was I supposed to tell John Watson that Sherlock Holmes, the man with no feelings, had fallen in love?

“Why didn’t you tell her to get lost?”

There it was. The Question.

“Because… because…. I liked seeing her in our flat and in my bed.”

“WHAT?”

“Because… I think John, that a chemical imbalance might have occurred within my brain, causing me to look upon Irene Adler as… an… object of romantic interest.”

I said the last part very quickly, hoping that he wouldn’t catch it. But I thought he did, given the incredulousness of his face.

“You’re joking, right? Sherlock Holmes, my flatmate, in love? Has the world gone crazy then? I mean, you’re Sherlock freaking Holmes! Sherlock Holmes does not fall in love, he scorns it!”

But despite all this, John was crying tears of joy at my being what he called “humanised”, as if I did not belong to the species Homo sapiens sapiens. But still, if I was going to succeed in my plans with Irene, I was going to need John’s help.

“John, would you… um… help me in asking Irene out?”

I tried the unfamiliar language out on my tongue, all the while turning a shade of red previously unknown to humanity. John stopped crying and started laughing instead. Angered, I grabbed the harpoon from where it was leaning on the edge of a table.

“Don’t you dare laugh anymore.”

John stared at the harpoon pointed to his chest.

“Relax, Sherlock. I won’t laugh anymore. Honestly. You just looked so ridiculous blushing...”

The memory set him off again, but I persuaded him to stop by pushing the harpoon a few centimetres forward.

“I’ll stop… Jesus Christ! Calm down. You need to learn how to be laughed at without freaking out like this. And yes, I’ll help. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Friend, he said. I had friends. John, and Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, and Molly, and yes, even Mycroft in some twisted, brotherly way. I had friends. And that’s when I knew that even if things didn’t work out with Irene, I would still be fine. Because I, Sherlock Holmes, was blessed with friends.

Author's Note: 
So, it didn’t work out quite the way I wanted it too, and I’m not sure if I like the ending, but it stayed because I wanted to show how his meeting with Irene changed him so completely that he understood what ‘friends’ really were. So sorry for the long-ish wait, and if you like it and want more, just fill out that box under this. You know, the comment box?
 Peace, Love, and Baby Ducks,
Wendy KL/vivagreen 

Chapter 1: The Woman

What Sherlock Didn't Know
Sherlock/Irene
Set in the original time period, but with all of the things from the BBC series (aka my life. Cumberbabes ftw!).

She lay in my bed as she had lain in my thoughts. The Woman. Far from the only woman to capture my thoughts, but the only, only woman to have ever captured my elusive, dancing, bird of a heart. Her dark, wavy hair tumbled around her, her lips red even without rouge. I had always seen her with her face powdered and a fine gown on. But now, as she only wore a silk lace nightgown and no powder or rouge, she was at the most beautiful she could be. With her fine gowns and powdered face, she was just like other woman. But now, now, she was different, far more ethereal and nymph-like, beautiful with her flaws. My first thought was as to how she had come about sleeping in my bed, but Watson has always neglected to keep the door locked. That solved, I sat and contemplated how she had gone from a case, to a friend, to the keeper of my heart. She had loved me. I had known that. When she was but a case, I scorned her love, sneered that such an intelligent and interesting woman had fallen prey to the oldest trap known to mankind: love. As a friend, I loved her as I love Watson, but somewhere along the way, that love changed. It became purer, deeper, sweeter, a forbidden nectar I had never dabbled in, but tasted so pure. As I now found myself a prisoner of the selfsame, many times scorned trap, I realize it did not need to be scorned.  I had solved her case without difficulty, to my relief, and I expected to fall into morphine-fuelled dreams and to be constantly thinking of her, but I found myself able to think quite as clearly as before, and I did not need the needle because she, The Woman, was my cocaine, my pipe, my love.


Author's Note:
Okay, so I'm not entirely happy with it, but I wanted to show Sherlock falling in love, and I had always shipped Sherlock/Irene, so this is what turned out. If you people like it, then COMMENT! And if I get enough comments, I promise Chapter 2 will be up by Sunday (and it'll be longer!), but if I don't get any comments, then Chapter 2 will be up by Tuesday (and probably short because I'll have no inspiration to write!) On fanfiction.net, I'm vivagreen. Follow me! This fic will be up there as well.
                 Peace, Love, and Baby Ducks,
                 Wendy KL/vivagreen