The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Thirteen

"Are you done, or would you like to interrogate me further?" she snapped.

Sherlock opened his mouth, but nothing came out. John had been right for once. There really was a reasonable explanation. Perhaps he'd been a bit hasty storming over here.

"Fine. It's my turn." She smacked him in the chest with his hat, but the limited space made it ineffectual. "What in the hell were you thinking coming here?"

The wisp of contrition vanished. "My job."

"Your job?" Her voice rose in pitch. "I'm not one of your cases, Sherlock."

"Well, you're certainly acting like one. You hid your injuries and lied about them. And today I discover you're going by another name and leading a double life." He scoffed. "Of course I came here. What did you expect?"

"I expected you to ring me up like a normal person, not invade my privacy and jeopardize my work."

"Oh please. I'm not jeopardizing your work. No one recognized me."

"I did!"

She had. And it irked him to no end. He scowled at her. "Only because I smelled like the morgue."

A finger jabbed at his sternum. "You made a mistake. One of many. Now, listen to me very carefully. You might have saved my life, but that doesn't give you the right to invade it. I--" Her eyes widened. "Someone's coming."

Sherlock couldn't hear anything, but he didn't doubt Vivian's sensitive ears. Her gaze swept the tiny room as if in search of an alternate exit or place to hide, but he already knew there were none. Mind racing, he quickly sifted through their limited options. Only one had an actual chance of working. Steeling himself, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

The hat slipped from her grasp, and her palms shoved hard against his chest. "What are you--"

"Think. There's only one believable reason why two people would be in here," he said, tightening his hold.

She frowned, then understanding dawned on her face. "Oh."

"Yes, 'Oh.'" With his other hand, he cradled the back of her neck. "Now this needs to appear reciprocal, so do try and keep up."

The calculated taunt spurred Vivian into action. One hand gripped the front of his uniform in a tight hold, while the other slid up the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair. A shiver sparked down his spine at the contact, but this was no time to get distracted. He could hear footsteps now.

Vivian pulled his head down, and the smooth skin of her cheek glided along his. Warm breath teased his ear. "It's not me you should be worried about, Scott."

A spike of adrenaline surged through Sherlock, and his pulse raced impossibly faster. He'd only intended to goad Vivian just enough to get her to cooperate, but he realized now he may have pushed her too far, especially considering how furious she already was with him. If the door didn't open within the next thirty seconds, she would be certain to call his bluff. Despite his bold words, this really wasn't his area. The footsteps stopped just outside the door, and a faint murmur of conversation could be heard above the hum of the oscillating fan. Vivian's hand tightened in his hair. Sherlock's heart stuttered. She was going to do something. He braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.

Lips - harsh, wet, and hot descended on the skin just below his ear, followed by the faintest hint of teeth. The searing touch of her mouth burned into him like a brand, sending molten heat through his veins. From somewhere deep inside him, an answering fire roared to life. Sherlock's breath caught and held. His vision tunneled. The world dimmed.