221B Baker St.

You're disrupting my evil aura

"So, of all the places in London, you want to go to the library?" Sherlock had been trying to get me to talk for the past five minutes.

"Yes, Lock, is that really so unbelievable?" I finally let out.

He grinned triumphantly. "No, it makes perfect sense. You probably practically grew up in a library, so you feel safest in places with lots of books."

I grinned at him. "And now the intellect's coming through. Very good."

I pushed the library door open. It was quiet inside, and smelled comfortingly of paper. I immediately made my way to the history section.

Walking past shelf after shelf, I was brought back to my childhood days of pacing down the isles at every book store or library within walking distance of my home.

I finally settled on a pile of books about the life of Henry VIII. He's most well known for his mistreatment of his wives, but the rest of his life was actually quite intriguing. I let myself get carried away with the stories.

It was two hours later when Sherlock found me, tucked away in a corner, sitting up against a shelf and hidden behind a barricade of books.

"Ivy, of course," he gave me an amused smile. There was a pencil behind his ear and his arms were full of large volumes. Just by scanning the spines I saw he had been in the physics department. "I was beginning to think I would never find you." 

I scoffed. "You're Sherlock Holmes. You may have taken your time, but you'll always find me one way or another."

He smiled softly, his cheek bones turning rosy pink. "So, King Henry VIII? Wouldn't have guessed."

I nodded. "Yeah, not many people take the time to look into him, but there's more to him than his wives."

Sherlock hummed in understanding. "Are you bringing any of those home?"

I surveyed the carnage. "I suppose I'll bring this pile."

He chuckled. "Naturally, that is the biggest pile."

I smirked up at him. "Don't get cheeky with me!"

-

"Dinner is ready, Lock!" I called from the kitchen. Silence. "Sherlock!" I crossed the space and shook the man vigorously. "Get out of your bloody mind palace and come eat food!"

He slowly opened his eyes. "... Pardon?"

I rolled my eyes. "Food, Sherlock, food."

He put his hand out so I could pull him up. I reluctantly grabbed it, but before I could start pulling, he dragged me down into his lap. I let out the most undignified squeal. "Sherlock!"

He chuckled. "Do I annoy you?"

I was taken aback. "What? No! Why would you think that?"

He shrugged, resting his head on my shoulder. "You just seem to get annoyed at me sometimes."

I tucked a curl behind his ear. "Well, I do get annoyed sometimes. But just at the world in general. Never at you."

He nodded slowly after a moment. Then his face relaxed and he sat up. "So, how about that food?"

-

When I woke up, sunlight was streaming through my bedroom window. I sighed contentedly. Today's Saturday, so I have a whole day to do whatever I feel like. I surveyed my room and groaned. The full laundry basket and untidy pile of paper work was indicative of my chores for the day. But I don't have to think about them yet. 

I sat up and pulled on sweat pants and a T-shirt. Although the snow had stopped some days ago, it was still cold in London. 

Making my way to the kitchen, I noticed that Sherlock had started a fire in the hearth. I could just make out the raven curls above the top of the sofa. 

I smiled, and went and started the kettle. The flat was very peaceful that morning. The early light and lack of noise created a very surreal atmosphere. I made some toast and took my tea into the living room. Sherlock was hunkered down on the sofa, nose in his book on blood spatter. I flopped down in an arm chair, kicked my feet up on the coffee table, and took a big bite out of my toast. 

Sherlock looked up. His hair was a wild mess that morning, but the circles under his eyes had diminished greatly. "Do you have to do that so loudly?"

I snorted. "No. And there's nothing you can do about it."

He rolled his eyes. "You're disrupting my concentration."

"And you're disrupting my evil aura. We all have problems."

He raised an eye brow. "Someone's in a mood this morning."

I nodded sweetly. "Yeah, is anything the matter, Lock? You're in a mood this morning."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't you have dishes to do, or something?"

I flung my left leg over my right. "No. And if you don't stop patronizing me you will have dishes to do."

Sherlock just shook his head, but I could see that his ears had turned a little pink. 

That's how we spent the majority of that morning, reading and teasing. I was so glad that I had stumbled along that place. There's no telling where I would be if I hadn't seen that notice.

Finally, just before lunch, I decided it was time to at least get a move on with my laundry. 

"But you have to make lunch..." Sherlock frowned.

I glanced at the clock. "It's only eleven forty five, Lock, I'll be back in less then ten minutes."

He sighed. "If you say so."

I giggled. "Maybe if you started eating breakfast you wouldn't be so hungry right before lunch."

"I need a case."

I sighed, "Yes, I dare say, you do."

I slowly, lazily even, collected my laundry and dragged it down the stairs. Being back in the laundry room reminded my of when Moriarty was here, and it sent chills down my back. I began shoving the clothes into the white machine, and I heard an eerily familiar sound. The front door creaked open.

I froze. Holding my breath, I tried to listen for the intruder. I could hear soft foot steps crossing the carpeted front room. Suddenly, a burning in my lungs reminded me to breath. I let out a slow breath, which turned into a cough. I clamped my hand over my mouth. But it was too late. The foot steps had stopped.

I couldn't move. All the muscles in my body were clenched. The flimsy folding door slid back. I could hear it, feel them coming closer behind me. I felt a warm breath on the back on my neck, the hairs standing up straight. 

"I told you that would cost you, sweet heart."