221B Baker St.

The Goddess of Logic and Deductions

I groaned as I rolled over. Per usual, I couldn't see anything, but judging by the light level it was late morning.

I went to go roll over again and go back to sleep, but because its me, I fell asleep on the couch reading, so I rolled right off onto the cold floor. Figures.

"You alright?" Sherlock said absently from the kitchen.

I sighed. "I suppose."

"Its really a yes or no question, Ivy."

"I will be soon," I grumbled, picking myself up off the floor. Sherlock was staring at me with a raised eyebrow. "Yes."

He smirked and went back to looking at his microscope. "'ave you had anything to eat yet, Lock?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

I messed up his hair as I walked past. "Is that so?"

He fixed his hair, and gave me an irritable look. "I just told you."

I put my hands on my hips. "Lock, when was the last time you ate?"

He waved at me, returning to his work.

"Answer the question," I prodded, putting the kettle on.

"Lunchtime yesterday," he grumbled.

I sighed. "Please, at least eat something small."

He kicked over the chair opposite him. "Pass the biscuits."

Good lord, I'm living with a man child. "You don't get sweets for breakfast, Sherlock. Go pick up the chair."

"You aren't my Mother," Sherlock protested, tipping his chair back and snatching the jar of biscuits off the counter.

"No, I'm the Goddess of Reason and Good Habits," I countered,  snatching the jar back.

"And I'm the Goddess of Logic and Deductions! Give me the biscuits!" He countered, making a grab for the jar.

I danced away. "Oh! My apologies m'lady! How could I be so rude? Will her majesty be having tea with her biscuits?"

We glared at each other for a moment. Then Sherlock's phone rang. "Finally."

He grinned, getting up and skipping over to the ringing phone. "Its been so long!"

"Two days, Sherlock. And pick up the chair before you leave."

I retreated to the doorway dramatically.

He listened to Lestrade for a moment before cutting in. "We'll be right there, don't touch anything." He hung up. "Come along, Ivy!" He clapped as he pulled on his coat and scarf.

I grinned. This is my favorite side of Sherlock.

"Don't forget your shoes!" Sherlock called cheerfully as he bounded down the stairs.

I giggled. He is so adorable when he has a case. I picked up the chair, pulled on my coat, and walked out the door.

And then I walked right back in as I recalled Sherlock's warning. I put my boots on.

The cab ride was short. After spending minutes on the scene, Sherlock was already briefing Lestrade. "Unhappy marriage, killed her husband and the girl he was cheating with. Hung the girl, judging by the dust on the beam, and shot the husband several times in the chest with his own gun, which she took upon her escape. Honestly, Lestrade, its practically the same thing every time, do you really still need me?" Sherlock explained, obviously annoyed.

Lestrade reddened, then glanced at me before feebly replying, "We don't always need your help."

"Rubbish," Sherlock muttered, traipsing out of the attic with a swish of his coat.

I groaned and rubbed my eyes. "I'm really sorry about him, Greg. He has no idea how awful he is to people."

Greg rubbed the back of his neck. "Thas alright, Ivy. He may not be a saint, but he gets the job done. Uh... I've been meaning to ask ya..."

He faltered.

"What is it?" I inquired kindly.

"Yes, she would like to have coffee with you on Tuesday, but she's working so it will have to be another time!" Sherlock yelled from downstairs. "Come along, Ivy."

"Maybe I will come along, if you would be a bit more kind and boring, maybe even stop torturing poor Greg over here," I yelled back at him. "My lunch break is at twelve thirty, I can do tomorrow or Tuesday if you like," I whispered to Greg.

His deer-in-headlights expression transformed into a cheeky grin. "Tomorrow works, I'll pick you up at..."

"The Morgue, St. Barts," I smiled back. "I'd better go. See you tomorrow!"

I skipped down the stairs, two at a time. But since I'm me, I tripped and pitched head first right into a wall. Or I would have gone into the wall, but Sherlock materialized (out of nowhere, I'm telling you) and caught me, holding me to his chest. I could feel his heart beat through his heavy jacket.

I sucked in a breath. I'd never been this physically close to him. His grip tightened. "Please stop falling off of things, eventually I won't be there to catch you. And we can't have you getting hurt."

He let go, leaving me standing there on the landing, pulse racing.