Various Array of One Shots ✔️

Dinner? >> Sherlock Holmes X Irene Adler

Title: Dinner?

Paring: Sherlock Holmes X Irene Adler

Sequel: no, Prequel to "And The Penny Drops"

Warnings: none

Spoiler: maybe

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She slunk out from the bathroom of 211B, wearing nothing much more than the adopted shirt of Sherlock's, and gave a laugh. Since he had saved her life from a beheading and managed to convince his own brother, who was practically the British government, that she were dead. John had no idea she was in the flat; Dr Watson was paying his compulsory once-a-year visit to Clara. It astounded Sherlock that siblings as hostile toward each other as John and Clara could behave civil at all. That wasn't - and never would be - the case with himself and Mycroft.

"Off in your head again, Sherlock, you're always off in that massive head of yours," she rolled her eyes, taunting.

An ordinary man would have flinched with such a woman as Irene Adler as close to them as she was, but Sherlock only smiled. "It's called a mind palace," he corrected, "and yes, I suppose we should have dinner. The food type. Not-,"

She laughed. "The Virgin must be nervous, isn't he, to be stuttering over a euphemism." she japed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Not that anymore, Adler..." he drawled, "Besides, it's late. You must be hungry."

She chuckled, amused. "Yes, I suppose I am. And what do you suggest? I am terrible at food preparation, like you - I don't suppose you like charcoal."

Sherlock shrugged. "No, not particularly." With a frown, he added, "What if I order from the cafe downstairs...and you stay?"

Irene pouted. "Playing dead is no fun."

"Tell me about it," Sherlock drawled, rising from his seat. Whisking John's rainy day fund contents from beneath his friends chair, he continued to the door to face Irene. "I'll see you soon. Don't get into too much trouble."

Irene laughed. "You know me, Sherlock..."

- THE NEXT DAY -

John Watson returned from his sister's house, still aggravated from the last argument - how often would she rub in her height? And on turning the key to open 221B's lock, John frowned.

"Sherlock?" He called out.

A muffled reply came from the couch. As John glanced around the corner he saw the messy curls of the detective, wearing nothing but a sheet. Again.

"I - er," John stuttered, "I'm back. Clara wasn't any better this year."

"Hmmm," Sherlock hummed, and quickly added, "What would you expect from her?"

John nodded. "I dunno." At this, John gazed over the surface of the apartment. "Sherlock, was anyone over here when I was gone?"

Sherlock turned in the couch to face John with a face of faux perplexity. "Me, social?" He laughed. "No, John, you must be mistaken. Nobody comes for me."

Shaking his head, John bent down to the item that had been by his feet the whole time, and tossed it to Sherlock. The small black lacy underwear landed on the detective's face with a flop.

"What do you deduce from that?" John wondered, and went off to his room.

"Damn!"