Data Doesn't Lie (Johnlock)

Chapter 16

JOHN

  "I don't understand, John!" Sherlock whined from the other end of the couch. "If he loves her, why doesn't he get help for her instead of feeding her homicidal tendencies!" The small black novel in his hand shimmered reflectively when he moved it around, as if shifting its place could reveal an answer.

  "I dunno, Lock," I mumbled, emersed in my own book at the moment. The nickname had come around when a small toddler with no front teeth had been walking with her mother, who must have recognized us and said "Sherlock." I assume the child tried to echo it, with no success, and I'd been teasing him with the name ever since.

  To my surprise, he said nothing about it this time, scowling at his novel and tossing it aside. "I don't like Rebecca anymore, she's too much like The Woman," he spat. Me hand twitched when he mentioned Irene Adler, and a twinge of jealousy flared up within me when I recalled how drawn together they'd been. I didn't like hearing her name in such a peaceful moment, but Sherlock pressed on.

  "Speaking of her!" he announced, leaping up from the couch and bounding off to his, now our room. I frowned to myself, not daring to look up until he returned. He came rushing back seconds later, and my breath hitched.

  In his hands were two sleek, slender, obviously expensive black shoes with dagger heels and professional bottoms. "She left these!"

  I laughed nervously, not sure what he was getting at. To further unnerve me, my detective sat back down on the sofa and examined the shoes. "They're a bit dusty from being in the closet so long..."

  "Like you?" I interrupted, smirking. He half-smiled at me. "Shut up...They're very big, aren't they?"

  I glanced back at the heels with distaste. "Yeah, I guess," I muttered flatly, not wanting to be a part of whatever the hell this was. But he was entranced. "John? Do you think I could...?"

  It finally clicked. "No, Sherlock. Don't you dare!" It was no use, as he had already slipped on the heels and stood to examine himself. I groaned, slapping my forehead with my palm in defeat. "You're tall enough!" I protested, feeling nauseas because of how he loomed over me. The man was a bloody skyscraper from down here! "No, love. You're just short," he insisted, twirling around. How he managed to balance in those things was beyond me.

  "They look good on me, John," he commented with a small smile. "I look like a businesswoman." I sighed to myself. "You're not a businesswoman, Lock. You're not even a woman!" I snapped with a frown, though I had to admit he looked rather feminine.

  "If I'm not a woman, can I be Tim Curry?"

  "No, Sherlock."

  "Famous actress?"

  "No, Sherlock."

  "A transvestite?"

  "I said no to Tim Curry, remember?"

  "Can I be your boyfriend?"

  "No, Sher- dammit."

  He didn't seem to bothered by my error, laughing loudly. It was that light, bouncy laugh that brought me out of my jealous stupor and warmed my heart. One of his laughs saved just for me.

  He paraded in circles around the carpet, strutting like a runway cat. I tried to ignore him and focus on my book, but I couldn't help glancing up and smiling every now and again. "I used to model in highschool, did you know?" he asked. I was shocked out of my reading, staring back up at him with a confused smile. He merely shrugged. "I needed a way to make money, I was offered a position. I suppose I'm used to-" he made a dramatic pose in front of me. "Flouncing," he concluded with a flourish.

  I laughed, despite myself. "You're ridiculous," I commented. He struck another pose, throwing one hand out like he was checking his nails. "I prefer the term 'fabulous,'" he joked airily. I shook my head, turning back to my book as he sat down daintily, one leg crossed over the other.

  He must have gone back to his book, because in a few minutes time a thin black whiz went flying across the room, followed by the two heels Sherlock had ripped from his feet in a rage. "Sherlock!" I exclaimed as he gave a big huff, crossing his arms and leaning back into the couch like a frustrated child. I frowned, crossing over to him and leaning against his arm. His tension seemed to seep away by the second as I cuddled up to him, bit by bit until he found his voice.

  "She killed Jeremy, and he did nothing," he grumbled quietly. "She killed his kid brother, and he let it happen." I rubbed my detective's shoulders supportively. "I'm sorry, love. She'll get what's coming to her, I'm sure." It was an awkward sort of preposition, as I had no idea what he was talking about. Only inferences made this conversation decent.

  Sherlock sighed, leaning  against me and nuzzling into my shoulder. "This book is rather frustrating," he mumbled against my skin. A sneaky thought popped into my head, and I kissed his cheek gently. He only jumped, staring at me. It didn't stop me from peppering his face with kisses, even when his cheeks went pink and a quiet chuckle sounded from those perfectly shaped lips. "That's better," he confessed, catching one kiss with his own.

  We stayed locked in that kiss for quite a bit until we finally had to pull away. "It's late," I told him softly, as we were still nose-to-nose. And it was, almost midnight. I yawned, just to prove my point. My detective huffed stubbornly. "I don't want to sleep," he protested. "You don't have to," I assured him with a chuckle. "But you have to go to bed. You may think you don't need rest, but you do."

  He agreed eventually, leading me back to our bedroom. Damn, was I proud to be calling it that. I turned off the lights before stripping down into a nightshirt. A loud thump sounded, followed by a flat "ow." I assumed Sherlock had fallen. "Are you okay, love?" There was a quiet groan, but a faint outline of shaggy curls bounced in a yes.

  I had to haul him up from the side of the bed, as he was trapped on the floor in case he fell again. He curled up next to me almost immediately, always rather affectionate by bedtime. It was one of the perks that made him so bloody adorable. A little yawn escaped him, and I pulled the covers over us both.

  As I turned to say something to him, I noticed he was already asleep. I chuckled to myself, kissing his forehead. "Goodnight, Lock." I was half-asleep by the time he responded, though I doubt he was fully conscious at the time. "Love you too, Jawn."

Wowza its been a while since I last updated. Sorry for such a long wait, but I've been so busy with school and work and bleh. I promise to have a new chapter up asap! Thank you for everyone who stuck with me this long, and for all my adoring readers. I appreciate you all, and hope you like this more humorous chapter. Teetee a fen, tata for now!
~Shay