The Emotional Children

XXVIII

"I don't need pity, and I don't need your sympathy," he retaliated. "Please shut up; I find your remarks more of a mental inhibitor than everything else combined. So just please...shut up."

"Fine," she said, rather loudly. "I'm not even here." She fixed a glass of water for herself and returned to the sofa to read. The annoyance on her face was more than self-explanatory. Sherlock huffed furiously.

John took a mental note: he was witnessing Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler have their first "domestic" as a married couple. He decided that history was being made. Eagerly, as though he were at a football match, he waited for who would speak next. When no words came, he sort of just sank back into his chair and dully checked his phone.

At that moment Sherlock's mobile rang, and he answered it after the first ring.

"Hello?"

John still looked at his own phone, but his eyes were vacant circles of fraudulent concentration. He was no longer paying attention to the contents of the screen, but merely staring into it to conceal the obvious crime he was committing: eavesdropping.

Irene was doing the same with her book; her ears were straining to hear the words of the caller, which were loud, rough, and Scottish accented. She took note.

"How long ago was this?" Sherlock asked, rising from his place at the table and walking down the hall towards his bedroom. He shut the door behind him.

Sherlock's voice was now far out of earshot, and Irene, with an air of defeat, disappointedly returned to reading And Then There Were None. John sighed as he picked up where he had left off on his phone. Rosie cooed, trying to push buttons with her slobbery fingers.

Sherlock's voice could still be heard in a muffled tone from behind the bedroom walls, but neither the doctor nor the woman was desperate enough to put their ears to the door...especially in front of each other. If they were alone it might have been different, but...they decided it was best not to think about that.

After five minutes of excruciating patience, Sherlock returned wearing his coat and scarf. In his gloved hands was his violin case. Stopping at the door, he slipped on his shoes.

"Where are you off to, darling?" Irene asked, sitting up and putting her book down.

"So I'm 'darling' again now, am I? What happened to five minutes ago?" he asked, grinning like a boy who's just gotten away with terrible mischief.

"Say no more, or I might grow cross again," she said with an artful turning of the lips. John's face was splitting into a smiley mess in spite of himself. He silently chuckled into his phone...to an onlooker, it might have looked creepy. But he was only pleased with the domestic life his friend now seemed to live. This was so good...too good.

"I thought I recall you saying you fancied it when I grew cross," Sherlock remarked, almost to himself. She mocked an indignant expression.

"Don't be trivial, dear; there are more important matters at hand," she said. "But do tell me: why are you off to Sherrinford so soon? Don't think I didn't notice that Scotch accent on the phone or the violin case in your hands," she said, throwing her head back in triumph. Sherlock almost laughed.

"Apparently Eurus is demanding she see me. She says she'll kill herself if she doesn't; whatever that means, I don't know. But they tell me she's frantic and keeps repeating it over and over again. Quite possibly she just wants me there as soon as possible."

"Probably right," John said. "She's mental, that one. No offense, Sherlock, but..."

"None taken," Sherlock replied; John had every right to hold negative opinions of Eurus. She had almost killed him once, so spiteful emotions toward her were fair and warranted.