221B Baker St.

Title your story part

I sighed as I shrugged off my coat and kicked my boots into a corner. I had just finished my first day at the Morgue, and it went really well.

Sherlock was sprawled out on the coach, dressing gown on, gun in hand. "Bored..."

He gave me a pleading look, which I responded to with a mocking frown. "I am not your play thing, only useful for entertainment when you are so inclined. I was thinking of going for a walk though. You are welcome to join."

He glared at me before jumping up abruptly and running to his room to get dressed, I assume. I smiled blissfully. "Its been a nice day," I said aloud. 

I went to my room and quickly changed into comfortable clothes. I was torn between my favorite sweatpants and a pair of jeans when Sherlock knocked on the door.

"I'm ready," he said impatiently.

I chuckled lightly, grabbing the jeans. My dad taught me not to wear sweatpants in public, unless you have given up in life. I have surely not. I pulled them on and grabbed my phone and wallet.

"I said you may join me, Lock," I opened the door and leaned on the frame. "That means we're going at my pace, on my time. Patience is a virtue."

He scowled, but didn't argue. I grinned as I glided past Sherlock, and pulled on my boots. Those thing were so beat up; I literally loved them to pieces.

"We'll be out Mrs. Hudson!" I called to the landlady as we passed through the entrance hall.

"Ok dears, don't get into any trouble!" She called back, pots clanging.

"I never get in trouble," I assure her pleasantly.

"We might need to change that," Sherlock whispered in my ear. I gasped and turned to him, but he just smirked and strutted out of the flat. That man...

I followed him out into the street.

"So, where to?" Sherlock fell into step next to me.

I contemplated. "How about we just walk and if we find something interesting, we'll check it out."

Sherlock stopped, and I stood beside him. He inspected me thoroughly. "OK, now that's out of the way..."

My jaw dropped. 'And if we fine something interesting, we'll check it out?' Did Sherlock Holmes just bloody check me out?

I closed my mouth, deciding to play it cool. "So, I'm interesting, huh?"

He smirked. "Oh, sure. You certainly aren't dull."

I grinned and strutted ahead. That day was a very good day indeed.

Eventually, we found a good bench to sit down on in a small park. We had gone into a shop, and later gotten coffee. The snow had almost completely melted today, and it was drizzling a bit.

"And just as he went to pick up the bucket a pelican landed on his head! He was so small, he toppled right over. It was hilarious  at the time..." I giggled, telling Sherlock a story from my childhood.

He chuckled lightly, taking a sip of his coffee.

"So, I forgot to ask, how was your first day at work?" Sherlock inquired, turning to look at me.

"Oh! It was fine. A little action, a little boring, a little chatting, a little hacking bodies apart, a little coffee with Greg. Good first day," I listed off.

Sherlock scoffed. "How was coffee with Greg."

I rolled my eyes. "You really need to calm down, Lock. It was coffee. He didn't even pay for my drink. We're friends."

"He's obviously romantically attached to you! His pulse speeds up when your close to him and his pupils dilate when you talk to him and look at him. Not to mention how his body and/or feet are always angled towards you."

I glared at him. "He actually asked my advice about asking out Molly Hooper."

Sherlock faltered. "He... did?"

"That's right," I regained control of the argument. "He only sees me as a friend. Yes, he is interested in me, as a bloody human being. Honestly, Lock, I think you're describing yourself sometimes..." I trail off, realizing what I had said. 

Sherlock turned to me. "Excuse me, what did you just say?"

I blanched. "I, uh. Um. Uh... well. um... I'll just be over-"

"Ivy," Sherlock grabbed my arm before I could flee. His eyes met mine, his hand lingering on my wrist before he pulled away. "You know, its OK to have feeling for someone."

I tensed. "That was the wrong thing to do. And say."

His eyebrows wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

I stared him dead in the eyes. "You just checked my pupils for dilation, moved in close and then felt my pulse. Then you told me it's OK to have feelings for a person." He stepped back wearily, trying to gauge my mood. My expression remained stony. "You have no right to be jealous of another man's attention when you have no intention yourself. See you later, Sherlock." 

I stalked away, my hand crushing the empty paper coffee cup. I fought the urge to let the distressed tears fall. Sherlock Holmes is a foolish man.

I had stormed through the streets of London before finally reaching my new home. I slammed the flat door shut. I was soaking wet, it had started to pour as I ran home. I shrugged my coat off and tossed it onto the rack. I took a step, and heard the wet coat smack onto the floor. I tensed, trying to hold in the impromptu rush of anger. 

With a growl I spun around and jerked the coat off the ground, and hurled it back onto the coat rack. But of course the rack tipped over. I bit back a curse as I grabbed it and set it back straight. Stupid bloody coat rack.

I turned around, ready to storm up stairs, only to come face to face with a concerned Mrs. Hudson.

"I would ask if you're alright, dear, but clearly you aren't. Why don't you come 'ere and I'll fix you a cuppa, hmm?" She smiled sympathetically, putting a hand on my back and leading me into her section of the flat.

I was too angry to protest. She lead me to a table and sat me down on the cushioned chair. As I sat, I felt my emotions deflate, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to held back the tears that were going to spring free now that I had relaxed somewhat.

I could make out the sounds of Mrs. Hudson putting the kettle on. Her flat was nice, floral curtains, cozy colors, old decor. Just like an old ladies house usually is. After a silence she turned to me, leaning against the counter.

"So, deary, what's the matter?" 

What a question. "It's Sherlock." 

Her face flashed with empathy. "He is a lot to handle. I'm sorry about him. He doesn't know when he hurts people, I think. What did he do this time?"

I paused, gathering my thoughts. "Well, he's always acted... just interested enough. Not enough to give me solid hope, confirmation. But not little enough to snuff out that little bit of hope."

She nodded. "Sherlock definitely has a knack for leading women on subconsciously. I don't think he ever realizes it at first, but he's definitely not gentle when he turns the girls down. Are you sure he turned you down?"

I took a moment to relive that conversation. I nodded slowly. "He told me, 'You know, it's OK to have feelings for someone.' Sounds promising, right? But the catch is: right before he said it he checked my pupils and pulse. Sounds like Sherlock, I know. But the thing that says no is... there was no doubt. He had none. There is always doubt when they're checking if the other person likes them back. There's always the shred telling you that you couldn't be lucky enough for that. No, Mrs. Hudson. There was no doubt."