The Case of the Season

Chapter Twelve

Sherlock smiled at Robin across the tea table. She was beaming from ear to ear, and despite her repeated assertion that she was only distantly related to the Bridgertons, he had noticed that she looked exactly like her aunt when she smiled like that.

Multiple people had stopped by to congratulate them on their engagement, which Violet had immediately told everyone about. He could see that an enormous weight had been lifted from Robin's shoulders. She had fulfilled a family obligation, and her future was looking bright.

He was suddenly having a hard time believing that he'd ever considered not being a part of it.

Of course, the plan was still for them to separate shortly after their marriage, as far as he knew, so he supposed he should enjoy their time together while they had it. Surely he'd be tired of her companionship by then anyway. There was no point in convincing her to prolong something neither of them would want by the end of the season.

"Try this one," she urged him, holding up one of the cakes they had been served.

He was glad for the interruption to his dour thoughts. The shop he'd brought her to was Enola's favorite, and she was enjoying it too, which made him exceedingly happy.

He leaned forward and opened his mouth teasingly. She raised her eyebrows, then giggled and fed him the cake.

He chewed, nodding his approval at her, winking as he wiped crumbs from his lips with a napkin.

"How would you like to proceed with your case now that I am free to accompany you, Sherlock?" she asked obligingly, selecting another cake.

"I would like you to come with me to Miss Beverley's various residences, Robin," he informed her. "I've been to them already, of course, but I want to see what you think. Perhaps your more expansive knowledge of women might reveal some secret information or hiding places I did not find."

"Well, Sherlock, I'm glad you've so quickly come to see how useful a woman's perspective can be," she replied with mock gravity. "I think that's an excellent plan."

"Speaking of plans," Sherlock continued, "we have to make some. For our marriage."

She nodded. "Yes, we do." She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "Do you see yourself living in the city or the country, Sherlock? I assume the city, considering your work."

It wasn't exactly the question he had expected, but he was willing to follow where she led. "Actually, I prefer living in the country. When I am working, the proximity of my flat is generally optimal, but as you know, my cases can take me anywhere, so that's not always true."

"So where do you see yourself settling?"

He shrugged. "I hadn't thought much about it until recently. Mycroft and I both live in the city, and the estate was always meant for my mother and sister. Now that's not the case, but it technically belongs to Mycroft, and I never thought to ask for it."

She lowered her voice and leaned forward. "I know we talked about living separately, Sherlock, but if you would like, we could renovate a wing of Norland for you. I would stay out of your way whenever you desired it. But I want you to be comfortable, and I don't want you to have to buy your own estate just because you think we can't live together in peace. Unless you want your own estate, of course," she finished, biting her lip nervously.

He chuckled and reached out to grab her hand, squeezing it gently. Despite his earlier assurances to himself that he would tire of her, her suggestion of living together in her vast estate, which hadn't occurred to him, wasn't an entirely unpleasant one.

"I think there might be some merit to that idea," he admitted softly.

She brightened again. "I don't want you to think I am disillusioned about what we are to each other, Sherlock. But some proximity would be useful for your work, and if it ever became necessary for us to have children. I wouldn't want them to not know their father, especially when he is so extraordinary. And I hope we will always be friends, as we've previously stated."