The real fall

Chapter Twelve

"Still. Bored." Sherlock huffs after a while. I smile and shake my head. Honestly. "You should find a case." Molly suggests. His face lights up and he grins, grabbing my arm and tugging my out of the lab. "I still have half an hour left!" I whine. He ignores me and I give up with trying to reason with him. He hails a cab and soon we're back at the flat. He runs upstairs and slumps down in his chair with his laptop, quickly typing something and then closing it down.

I start to tidy his room when I hear him shout through asking when dinner is. "Why don't you make it?" I suggest. When I don't get a reply I roll my eyes and walk into the living room. "Cook with me today." I say, not leaving room for argument. He stands up and lets me lead him into the kitchen. I order him around and lecture him when he does things wrong to which he learns from. "Do I wash the rice with cold or hot water?" He asks me. "Cold!" I say and he turn he tap on hot. "I said cold!" I groan. He smiles sheepishly and turns it the other way quickly.

After dinner I wash up whilst he dries up. Well, he dries ONE thing. I turn to him to see that he's still drying a knife whilst I'm halfway through the washing up. "I know what you're doing." I say.
"Drying?" He guesses.
"You're doing it super slow so that I'll get annoyed and do it myself. That's not gonna work so hurry up!" I demand. He pouts and continues drying, quicker this time.

Sherlock slumps down in the bed and I pull him back up causing him to groan. "Leave me alone Rachel." He snaps. I flinch at his sudden mood swing and scowl. "Fine. I was going to make the bed but fine. Whatever. Have a good night Sherlock Holmes." I shout, slamming the door and curling up in an armchair.

I can't sleep. I toss and turn - uncomfortably may I add - to no avail. I check my phone and groan. It's 2am. I boil the kettle and sip a cup of coffee in darkness, relaying the argument I had with Sherlock. I hear a door open and my head whips around to see Sherlock stumble out of his bedroom and yelp when he sees me. "What the hell?" He groans, slowly making his way to the kitchen and boiling the kettle himself.

A cup of coffee later and Sherlock is more awake. "I - apologise for earlier. I'm just very confused about you and..
and stuff." He grumbles.
"Me?" I scoff.
"Yes. You. You distract me and yet help me focus at the same time. It makes NO SENSE! I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU!" He yells at the end, slamming his hand on the table in anger. I jump and place my hand over his. "I'm sorry. Should I leave you for a bit?" I suggest.
"NO! No don't. Please don't leave it makes things worse. Or would it make them better? I DON'T BLOODY KNOW!!" He hisses, his hands fisting in his hair. I gently pull them out and push the dark curly hair out of his blue eyes. He looks up at me and strokes my cheek gently, his eyes boring into mine. "Sometimes I think you're pretty. Other times I think you're even prettier." He mumbles, smiling.