The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Eighteen

Sherlock stared down at the napkin in Vivian's hands. Of all the ways he'd imagined this experiment going, blindfolding him hadn't been one of them. His stomach tensed, though he didn't know why. "That isn't necessary."

"Yes, it is. You'll peek otherwise."

"I will not," he said, affronted. "I'm a scientist. I would never sabotage an experiment."

Vivian looked like she might argue, but then her expression cleared. One alabaster shoulder exposed by the Grecian cut of her gown rose and fell. "Alright. We won't use it then." She set the napkin back down on the table.

Sherlock smiled, pleased with himself and the evident success of the meal. A well-fed Vivian was a cooperative Vivian. He was definitely going to carry around sweets from now on. And perhaps some sort of emergency food kit. It might save him from being throttled at some point.

She lifted one brow. "If you open your eyes though, you'll have to wear it. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Then let's continue. Please close your eyes."

Sherlock complied. He expected to hear the clink of the platter's lid, but it didn't come. All was quiet. Thirty seconds passed. His heart rate picked up. What was Vivian doing? Staring at him? He continued counting. One hundred twenty seconds. Still nothing. Understanding flashed through him. This was a test. Vivian wanted to see if he'd break the silence, open his eyes, or interrupt the experiment somehow. An internal snort. She was going to be disappointed. No one could out-stubborn him. Not even Mycroft.

Forty-five seconds later, he felt the weight of her knees shift against his thigh. She was moving. The sweet fragrance of jasmine grew stronger, and heat suddenly bathed his face like he'd approached an open flame. Vivian. Sherlock's heart rate accelerated further. She hadn't moved toward the table. She'd moved toward him. The tiny hairs on his face prickled. The tip of his nose tingled. If he leaned forward the slightest bit, he was certain he'd touch her. Strange. He couldn't feel nor hear her breath. Frowning, he strained his ears for --

"Boo." A puff of air against his lips.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. Vivian was only a few centimeters away, a devilish glint in her gaze. She'd been holding her breath. Clever. His attention dropped to her mouth. Her lipstick was a different shade than the one she'd bestowed upon him in the electrical closet. This one was the deep pink of an English rose. He bet it was a different flavor as well. Pity he couldn't prove his theory. In the name of science, of course.

Vivian drew back, grinning like a vixen who'd lured a hunter into a bog. "So, about that blindfold."

Sherlock's mouth quirked. It was impossible to be irritated with her when she'd played the game so well. "Touché." He held out a hand for the napkin.

"No, no. Allow me," she said, all sweetness and sunshine. The vixen had vanished, replaced by an innocent fawn.

Sherlock wasn't fooled. Helping him was the last thing on Vivian's mind. She wanted to rub her victory in his face. Or at least tie it around his head. "You're too kind," he drawled, tone sardonic.

A smirk broke through her candied countenance. "That's me."

After folding the napkin and smoothing out any wrinkles, she brought it up over his eyes. Even with them open, the dark material fully blocked his vision. There'd be no peeking this time, involuntary or otherwise. He felt Vivian lean into him, elbows brushing his shoulders as she reached around him to knot the two ends behind his head. He inhaled sharply, still unaccustomed to the rush brought on by her close proximity.