Chapter 8: The Day After

Author's Note:

I'm alive guys! And so is this fic! Sorry for the long hellatus, as my friends in the Supernatural fandom like to say. But I'm back now, so on with the show! 

I looked down at Irene lovingly. It was uncharacteristic of her to get so drunk, so fast, but off of something so... not strong as champagne. It wasn't as if it was vodka or something. I sighed with contentment as I thought back to the previous night. Everything has gone so well I almost thought that we were in a fairy tale, and that she was the princess and I th gallant knight. Or we might have been in a glorious dream... That would've made sense, as I could hardly believe my good luck when she fell asleep in the car, giving me an excuse to keep her in my place for the night. I sighed again, and perhaps that was what woke her up, because all of a sudden, her eyes fluttered open.

“History repeats itself,” she said.

“What?” was my intelligent response,

“I'm in your bed, you're looking down one me-”

I cut her off with an “Ohhhhhh....” of enlightenment. She rolled her eyes.

“Really, Sherlock. You must be tired. Come rest with me,” she said, patting the bed next to her.

At this point, I was torn. My brain said “Are you as stupid as you don't look?” And my body said “Yes. And?” Eventually my flesh won. And I slipped into bed with her. I lay quite a respectable distance away from her though. What do you think I am? A hormonal teenager?

“Such a gentleman, Mr. Holmes.”

And she slid across the bed until she was cuddling against my chest. I froze, entirely unsure of what to do.

“Now you put your arms around me,” Irene instructed dryly.

I automatically lifted my arms to do as she said, but then I hesitated. For no good reason. Other than simple nervousness. Sherlock Holmes does not get nervous. But I did it anyways, covering up my hesitancy with a “Of course, milady,” trying to regain some of my suave smoothness from the night before. My last thought as I drifted off was “Definitely a hormonal teenager.”

We were still in that position when John found us several hours later. He flicked on all the lights and said “Are the lovers hungry? Because dinner's on the table.” He looked over at our position and added a “I still vote for the baby to be called Hamish.”

Irene started to laugh long and hard, and my heart did a little skipping dance at the sound. I scowled to cover the foolish smile undoubtedly forming on my face at the thought of a baby.

“Where would a baby come from, John?”

“So you did use protection. I thought, in the eagerness-”

“For god's sake, we did not have sex!”

“Sure, sure- oh. Um. What did you say?”

“I said, we did not have sex.”

“Oh. Um. Okay. Dinner's on the table.”

And John slipped out, undoubtedly muttering “Awkward” under his breath.

Irene laughed again, and then got out of bed.

“The poor man.”

“Where are you going?” I whined.

“To take a shower and go eat the dinner that John keeps talking about. Unless you want to actually have sex...”

I quickly rolled out of bed.

“Ouch. Rejected,” she said.

“No, it's not that I don't want to have sex with you, it's just that I realized that I'm starving.”

“I know, I know. No need to be the blushing virgin. Oh wait.” And with a smirk, she headed off to the shower, leaving me with a stupid little grin on my face. Screw that woman. Oh wait.

As we headed down to dinner, Irene turned to me.

“Wanna totally freak John out?”

“How?” I asked, busy watching her beautiful lips move.

“Follow my lead,” was all the cryptic advice that she gave me. But whatever. I'm Sherlock. Just because I have a sort-of girlfriend doesn't mean that I can't still solve cases. Then she grabbed my hand as we walked into the dining room and my brain drew a blank. 5 seconds later, she went “John sure does make good-looking food. You're so lucky, honey.” And then my brain went “Ohhhhhh.....”. Damn. This wasn't going to be good for a case.

We spent the rest of dinner looking, acting, and basically being as couple-y as possible. I thought I died and went to heaven. John thought he died and went to hell. And Irene? Irene was just getting a kick out of messing with all of our heads. Except for mine. Nobody messes with my head. 

Author's Note:

Sorry for the horrible chapter guys! School started and my muse has abandoned me. But hey, crap is better than nothing, right? Right? (Don't forget to comment!)

Peace, Love, and Baby Ducks,

Wendy KL/ vivagreen