Now and Forever

19

Sherlock had forgotten it was his Sunday with Benjamin and Jacob.

If he had remembered, he certainly would not have gone out with Lestrade and Ben and Dean the previous night, to the lovely little bar just round the corner from Sherlock's flat. He certainly would not have drunk eight shots of whiskey and he definitely would not have invited that woman back to the flat. Not that he remembered inviting that woman back to the flat. Honestly, all he knew was that his head hurt like a bitch and there was a pretty dark-haired woman lying on top of him.

And he knew that the doorbell had just rung and it was his children, obviously, no one but John rang the doorbell. He could hear Jacob chattering excitedly about sodium, and if he really strained his ears he could almost hear Benjamin texting away on that bloody iPhone. Sherlock would never have bought it for him if he hadn't thought it would buy him cool points in the aftermath of the separation. For some reason Sherlock had been convinced that John would try and sue for full custody of their sons, sure that because of the way they had parted, John would hate him. But in the first court hearing, when they had met for the first time, John alone and Sherlock with the best lawyer in the country (courtesy of Mycroft), John had simply turned to him and said, 'I won't deny my children their father,' and he had smiled.

Sherlock had smiled back.

It was still unbelievably awkward everytime they laid eyes on each other.

Upon hearing the doorbell, Sherlock had sat up and turned on the light, glancing at the calendar on the wall and gulping frantically. The custody arrangements were fairly lax: the second weekend and following week had to be spent with John, the fourth weekend and following week with Sherlock, and then the kids generally picked on the other fortnight.

Sherlock had gotten confused because Benjy had been with him for most of the previous week, leaving on Thursday to spend the Friday and Saturday with John, and now it was Sunday and Sherlock was screwed.

He flung himself out of bed and the pretty brunette stirred, glancing at him with hooded eyes he didn't find seductive when he was sober. 'What's wrong?' She said. She was Irish, Sherlock noticed, and he closed his eyes, shuddering slightly as his face flashed in his mind. 'You need to leave.'

She made no move to get up, eyes following him as he dashed around pulling on clothes. 'But last night was so fun...can we not hang out a bit?'

Sherlock sighed, running his hand through his messy dark hair. 'Listen...' he paused and looked at her expectantly: she sighed. 'Janine.'

'Listen, Janine.' He continued. 'Last night was stupid and I'm not looking for a relationship and blah blah blah, etc. etc. The bottom line is you only slept with me to get back at your cheating boyfriend, who was also at the bar yesterday. You find me attractive but I'm at least fifteen years older than you and I'm mostly gay. Go and call your boyfriend, you obviously want to start things up again.'

Janine cocked an eyebrow. 'Wow. I mean, I had heard you were smart, but that...'

Sherlock sighed. 'You've read about me in the newspapers.'

Her smile widened. 'Something like that.'

Sherlock smiled, unexpectedly finding himself liking the girl. 'You seem fairly intelligent yourself.'

'Oh, I am.' She said and Sherlock laughed, buttoning his tight, purple shirt. 'Modest, too.'

She stood up and began pulling on her clothes, grinning wickedly all the while. 'You're wrong, you know. I don't want to get back with my boyfriend. I'm looking for someone a little more...mature.'