221B Baker St.

You're wrong

I giggled absently, looking up from my book. Sherlock gave me a look. "My ziti was good, and you know it!" I just giggled harder. "Honestly, Ivy, what is it?"

I desperately tried to compose myself. "You look... absolutely... adorable... in a floral apron!"

He face palmed. "Mrs. Hudson insisted."

I sighed, wiping a tear from under my eye. "Doesn't make it... any less hilarious."

"True, I guess... Ivy," He said, staring into me. 

"What?" I flopped onto my side.

"How many glasses of wine did you have?"

I tried to think. "Like... four, I think."

He sighed. "You can't even handle four glasses of wine."

I glowered at him. "I am quite short, I'll have you know. It's not my fault, I haven't had a drink in like three months."

He shook his head at me.

"No, really..." I stood up, grabbing the mantle piece for balance. "And why are you getting mad at me?" I pouted, stepping over and leaning against Sherlock's chair. "You had like... six."

He rolled his eyes at me. "I can handle alcohol better than you."

"Riiiiiiight," I flopped down on him, lying horizontally across his lap. He stayed tense. I frowned. "You alright?"

He paused before meeting my eyes. "Uh... y-yeah."

I crossed my arms. "Don't lie to my face."

He hesitantly rested his arm on my leg. "You'd rather I lie behind your back instead?"

I propped myself up on my elbow. "Nuh-uh. You don't get to turn the conversation away from that. What's wrong?"

He sighed, staring across the room. "You know how in the park, when I tried to open up to you, and you just got mad and ran away?" I stayed quiet, remembering that day. "I really have no idea how to treat people the way everyone else does. And every time I try it doesn't work. Everyone thinks I'm a cold hearted monster," He sighed.

"You're wrong."

He turned to look at me. "... what?"

"I said, you, Sherlock Holmes, are wrong."

"What do you mean?" He ran a hand through his hair.

"Everyone doesn't think you're a monster. And you want to know why?" He nodded, not breaking eye contact. "Because I certainly don't. Lestrade doesn't. Molly doesn't. Heck, even Anderson doesn't, even though he doesn't like you. You aren't a monster Sherlock, you're just not the same. Everyone usually thinks different is bad, but it really isn't. It's just not the same. And honestly, Sherlock, I think the world is lucky to have you. I mean, someone needs to counter balance Anderson's stupidity."

We shared a laugh. He nodded, "Yes, I think you may be right."

"Of course, I am," I smiled, and rested my head on the arm rest, curling into a ball. "G'night, Lock."

And just before I drifted off, I heard to unmistakable sound of, "Sweet dreams, Ivy."

-

 I woke up to the sun shinning through the living room window. It was awfully pretty, and with those drapes I could just imagine being somewhere super fancy, like a hotel in New York. Wait.

I rolled over, to find the blurry view of sleeping Sherlock under me. "Bloody hell..."

I sat back on his knees, rubbing my eyes, trying to get them to focus. It was true. I indeed just woke up on top of the best detective in England. 

I thought back to last night. Was I that drunk...? No. I had just fallen asleep in his lap. That was all. I guess he was too tired to move me. Well... his hair looks heavenly in the morning. Not going to lie. He shifted. 

"Ivy, what are you staring at," he murmured, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"You," I said cheekily, jumping off his lap. He nodded, closing his eyes again. "Oh, no, you don't."

I shook his shoulder. "Sherlock, your neck is going to be killing you today from sleeping in that chair."

He groaned. "I don't care."

"Sherlock, at least go to your real bed if you insist on sleeping more."

He gave me an odd look.

"What?"

"Nothing, you're just super agreeable this morning."

I shook my head at him. "I'm getting myself food, want any?"

He shrugged. 

"Yes or no, Sherlock."

"Maybe."

"Maybe means no in my book."

"Why? Maybe means you can convince me of either, or I have no opinion."

"No, its how I would tell my little brother no. 'Wanna play legos with me?', the answer is maybe later, and then it never happens."

Sherlock let's out a deep chuckle. "That sound like something you would do."

I giggle in response. "Well, that's 'cuz I have done it. Many, many times."

He nodded, finally standing up and pacing around to the window. He then commenced muttering to himself.

 "Sherlock, what are you muttering about?" I asked irritably. 

His head jerked up at the sound of my voice. "I'm deducing the people down on the street."

"Well, at least speak loud enough for me to hear!"

He gave me an odd look. "You're excitingly unique, you know."

I laughed softly, spreading cream cheese on a piece of toast. "As long as that's a good thing, I have no qualms."

He turned back to the window. "Good lord woman, you're like a talking thesaurus."

"I did quite a lot of reading and writing in my youth, which caused my vocabulary to be exponentially superior to other children of my age."

He nodded. "Sounds accurate... stressful job, used to be deployed... military man... wife, no kids... cheating on her. Vegetarian. Second child. Many siblings..."

I hurried over to the window next to him to get a look at this man. "With that hair color and weight? No way is he vegetarian or one of many siblings."

Sherlock glared sideways at me. "Why ever not?"

"Because, he obviously had a jelly doughnut for breakfast, and his muscles are few and underdeveloped. Poor self discipline. He was in the military though, but the only thing he retained was his hair cut. And if he had so many siblings, how come at him obvious age he has such colorful hair? Under stress if would have paled and grayed by now."

Sherlock stared after the man. "Yes..."

I smiled quietly. It's fun putting Sherlock in his place.