Welcome to Baker Street

59. Under false pretenses

The next day. Christmas day.

Sherlock walks into the quiet living room; Giulia is curled up in front of the fire, immersed in the reading of an adventure book. He gazes at Giulia devouring every page with an insatiable curiosity and almost smiles at the scene: she is so absorbed that she doesn't hear him coming.

"Good morning," he greets, rousing her from her entrancement and causing her to jump in her seat, startled. She looks up at him; the vermilion shadows of the flames crackling in the fireplace reflect on her cheeks, painting a dance of colourful patterns. He is so engrossed in the contemplation of the reflections of the fire on the soft curve of her smile that for a second, he forgets why he even entered the room.

He blinks twice to awake from his daydream and looks around the place. "Where is John?"

"Off to his sister Harry. He said he'd spend Christmas day at her house trying to keep her off the ponce," she says with a hint of sadness. She was hoping for a slightly more 'crowded' Christmas day.

Sherlock nods. Good: at least he won't have to explain to him what he is about to do next.

"Giulia, would you—" he stops mid-sentence to clear his throat, slightly uncomfortable. Is he nervous? Preposterous.

He tries again in a more confident tone. "Would you be my girlfriend?"

She gapes at him, unable to even blink. After a few seconds of bewilderment, she stammers out, "Are you high or drunk, Sherlock?"

He frowns. "No. Why do you ask?"

She stares at him wide-eyed and starts babbling, "Because I wasn't expecting that. I mean you are... What you asked... I am flattered—"

He rolls his eyes and hastens to specify, "For a case."

"Oh," she pauses. Now, she is puzzled. And maybe, possibly, slightly, unconsciously disappointed? Her own brain teases her.

"And what case do you need a girlfriend for?" She asks with sheer curiosity.

"A very important one, potentially dangerous, too. I'd understand if you didn't want to be involved," he says, pacing the flat, uncommonly fidgety.

She narrows her eyes at him. "And what's in it for me if I accept?"

He looks out the window in anticipation of what would come later that day.

"You would prevent a triple homicide."

"Are you serious?" she blurts out, goggling.

He shrugs, unfazed. "Possibly."

She ponders the idea for a second, stealing a side glance at him; she can't help but wonder what in the world he might be up to. Then her sense of duty, justice, and compassion prevail.

"Well, it's three human lives we're talking about. I'm in." She stands up, closing her book.

"Excellent." He claps his hands and simpers at her. "Now, go dress nicely. I'm taking you out." He almost pushes her out of the living room and toward the stairs.

She throws him a confused look and reluctantly goes to her flat to change out of her comfortable tracksuit and hoodie.

One hour and a half later

Sherlock and Giulia are driving silently in a rented car. No one has spoken since they left Baker Street. It isn't an awkward silence, though: it's a tranquil stillness. Giulia knows that her quiet driver is probably lost in his labyrinthine mind palace, even though she keeps wondering how he manages not to kill them both in a head-on crash. She is relaxing in her seat when she notices that the landscape is quickly changing: they are getting out of the metropolitan area of London, approaching the countryside.