Restless as the Night

63 4 5

The next thing Irene saw was the door to the flat swinging open, and Sherlock storming through. He was in good spirits. His gait suggested things were well with little Miss Hooper, and this made Irene glad.

Then she remembered why her face was wet.

The flat was dark, so he couldn't see yet. Sherlock closed the curtains and switched on the lamps at the low tables. Irene lazily propped herself up into a reclining position. Sherlock switched on the lamp at his computer desk near the window. Turning around, he quickly studied her face as he walked from there to the kitchen. Her features were inexplicably plain and frozen.

"How long did you cry for?" he asked, illuminating the kitchen as he powered on the overhead lights.

"Long enough," she replied.

"Who else was here?"

"Jim came by."

"Besides him."

"No one."

"You're not fooling anyone."

"I know."

He was preparing a cup of tea in the kitchen, but stopped at these words. He watched her face and found it looking almost traumatized. He glanced the book on the floor.

"How far did you get in Psalms?"

She raised her eyebrows and craned her neck at the little book on the floor.

"Not far."

He chuckled.

"What?" she asked.

"No one ever does. Especially not Psalm 88, which is where the pages have stuck. I haven't touched that book in ages. What made you pick it up?"

"I don't know."

Sherlock's wheels were turning inside his mind. Something had happened to her. Something had gone wrong. She had opened a Bible, of all things. If he didn't find out on his own, he would never know what had occurred during his absence. Nevertheless, he wasn't worried.

Casually, he asked, "Have you eaten?"

"No," she replied, languidly.

"Are you hungry?"

"For what?"

"Food. Don't make jokes."

"In that case, no. I'm not hungry.... We could still have dinner all the same."

"Please, Miss Adler."

"Fine," she drawled, sighing at an exaggerated volume.

"I'm going to bed. I'll be waiting for you," she added, before rising wearily from the sofa and walking with an almost drunken stride toward Sherlock's bedroom.

"I'm sleeping in John's room tonight," Sherlock called after she disappeared in his bedroom.

She returned, hands on her hips as she leaned against the doorway coquettishly.

"Too bad," she said. Then swinging back around and heading back into the room, Sherlock heard her say, "I was planning on telling you the specifics of Jim's visit whilst we fell asleep."

Sherlock waited a few moments. He could hear her changing in the room, and decided he'd wait before going in. He heard the bed settle as it accepted her weight upon it.

He set the tea cup down and advanced toward the room like a soldier going to battle.

She was under the covers on the bed and staring at the ceiling. She wasn't wearing anything suggestive, unless the thin, white camisole from the night before can be considered that. He stood by the doorway, looking in at her from a safe distance.

The Emotional ChildrenWhere stories live. Discover now