I Am Offering This Scarf

Chapter 13- Backward

"Mycroft told me she was dead!" I growl at him. We're standing outside my old room. If we haven't yet woken her, it'll happen soon.

He cringes. He's only wearing a bed sheet. Second time this's happened. He moves it out of discomfort with the situation. "Well, she's kind of...not."

I glare and cross my arms. "He also said they'd done a thorough check of the body. When I questioned it, he said the only way she could away with it again is if Sherlock Holmes was around." I pause. "So?"

He shifts, appearing evermore uncomfortable. Good, he should be. "If you're asking if I was there at the time of her 'death', yes, I was..."

"How long has she been in our flat?" I ask, pointing sharply at the door.

He shrugs. "I didn't know she was here."

I roll my eyes and step away. "God, Sherlock, that's a god damn lie and you know it. You know everything. How did you not know this?" He's Sherlock Holmes; he's supposed to know things like this.

He sighs. "You think too highly of me, John. I don't know everything. Just enough to piss people off."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Well, you not knowing is pissing me off."

He snorts at the irony.

I shake my head. "Shall we wake her or leave her be?"

He looks at the door nervously. "I believe we've already woken the beast." He whispers. He starts to back away from the door. "I'm just going to go make some tea..."

I grab his sleeve. Well, the part of the blanket over his arm. "No you aren't. And beast?! You're not 'going into battle' anymore Sher–"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." She says. She opens the door the rest of the way and steps out in a blue silk nightgown. It's very nice. Trying to impress Sherlock, no doubt. Like always.

She steps past me, swishing her hips the whole way. Damn her.

"That cup of tea sounds magnificent, by the way." She says as she slides past Sherlock, a little too close for my comfort, her body just barely touching parts of him that are not allowed to be touched. Only a thin layer of nightgown and blanket separate them. She steps away and heads off toward the kitchen.

Sherlock glances at me apologetically.

I glare. "We are going to talk later." I mouth.

His eyebrows pull down, I can tell he's getting frustrated. "Whatever John." He says quietly, and follows her to the kitchen.

I stand there silently for a second. She works for Moriarty. Why could she be here? If all roles are supposed to be switched...am I supposed to fall for her this time? I shudder. No, I'd never do that. Must be a different part of the plan involving her. Then again, it may not be that everything is switched, but just jumbled up. Things haven't exactly gone in order.

I walk into the living room and find that they're already sitting in the chairs. She's sitting in my chair. My bloody chair. I grind my teeth together, it's just for a little while, just until she tells us what's going on. I sit myself on the couch and glance at Sherlock and then Irene.

They're just staring. At each other. Sherlock could be trying to deduce the reason she's here. She could be doing the same. My stomach curls and I push myself up off the sofa immediately. Too uncomfortable in here. "Well. I'm going to go get something to drink. When you guys are done having eye sex we can talk." I hear a slightly amused chuckle come from her as I walk past into the kitchen.

"Jealous John?" She purrs. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. It's almost as though every bit of her being was put on this earth to quarrel with mine.