I Am Offering This Scarf

Chapter 14- News...

My forehead wrinkles. "Say what, Sherlock? What does Irene mean?"

He lets his head fall into one of his hands, rustling through his hair. "Nothing, John. She must be able to see that it's bothering me..."

I stand up and walk over to my chair. The material of the robe feels weird against my chest. It's not exactly silk. Something a little coarser.

He lifts his face and smiles warmly. "John." He says. He only has to say the one word.

I try to be angry with him, honest, but it never holds out. My resolve falls away. "How do you always do that Sherlock?"

He scrunches up his shoulders, lifting the blanket more. "Do what John?"

Chills go through my body and goosebumps form on my arms. The contrast of Sherlock's hair and the blanket, mixed with the minute amount of light coming from the window make him look like a god. Absolutely perfect. The blanket drapes over him in just the right way. His face looks worry free when he's looking at me.

He blinks. "John? Do what? Why are you looking at me like that?"

I shake my head. "Um..." I have trouble regaining my train of thought, "How do you make the anger fade? I mean, I'm not angry, or at least, not anymore, but you did that. You made it go away. And I always loose my train of thought, and..." I trail off, aware of the fact that I'm rambling. "I feel like a teenager..." I say, my face pinkening. I look down at the arm of the chair. My fingers fiddle with the red strands that are coming off. I'll cut them off later.

From the corner of my eye, Sherlock's face is confused, with a hint of sadness tucked in there, too. "Because you love me." His eyes widen with surprise at what he just said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put words in your mouth. I don't even know why I said that out loud. Besides," he adds at the end of his frantic apology, "you really shouldn't."

I open my mouth to object but am interrupted by Mycroft bursting into our flat. He stops when he sees what we're wearing. Two men in black suits walk in behind him and I can tell they're trying to resist rolling their eyes.

"Do put some proper clothes on this time, you two." Mycroft says, sounding terribly exasperated.

I look over at Sherlock, but he's still looking at me with confusion etched in his features.

I lift my socked feet up onto Sherlock's chair. My eyes flash back to Mycroft. "Sorry, but I'm thinking it'll be a no."

***

We're dragged out of the flat by the men in suits. They're stronger than I would have believed at first glance. They keep their hands around our upper arms, grasping a little harder than necessary.

We're thrown into a cab, almost literally, and we watch Mycroft and the men shrink behind us. "Are they not coming?" I ask Sherlock.

"They are, but we'll have to wait for them. Maybe I'll take another ash-tray." He adds quietly, all seriousness.

I scoot over next to him and relax at the heat between my left and his right. "We're going to Buckingham Palace again, aren't we?"

He purses his lips. "Those were the same men who kidnapped me last time, so I'm going to have to say yes."

I nod. My eyes start to droop. How much sleep did I get last night? Not much, I presume. I yawn. "Sherlock, sorry about what I said to Irene. I know you loved her. It wasn't my place."

He sighs. "It had to happen sometime."

I look up at him. "Wait, what did?"

He smooths a piece of hair off my forehead. "I knew there would be some sort of an argument between you two. I guess you could call her an 'ex'. Although I shudder at the word, it does, very accurately, describe what she is."