Emily Prentiss One-Shots

Emily/Irene Adler (Sherlock)**

Title: If I Should Fall Worn - ArwenLalaith (AO3) 

Summary: Emily gets an average of twelve texts a day from Irene. And all of them are hilarious. And all of them make her heart feel like it's in a vice.

According to the latest flurry of texts, Nero has Irene halfway to a nervous breakdown. And Emily isn't laughing about it, she isn't. But she also isn't rushing to get home to experience the terror that is their son for herself.

Rating: Mature 

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Emily gets an average of twelve texts a day from Irene. And all of them are hilarious. And all of them make her heart feel like it's in a vice.

As much as she loves her son, as much as she wanted him, she was never meant to be a stay-at-home mother. Irene wasn't either, but she couldn't exactly entertain a client while a baby screamed two floors above, so they'd agreed Emily would continue working while she stayed at home with the baby. It was an odd arrangement, even for them, but it worked. For the most part.

According to the latest flurry of texts, Nero has Irene – a woman who has never once backed down from anyone or anything – halfway to a nervous breakdown. And Emily isn't laughing about it, she isn't. But she also isn't rushing to get home to experience the terror that is their son for herself.

When she does walk through the door that evening, she takes a moment to enjoy the silence that precedes the clamour of little feet across the floor to greet her and all its accompanying chaos. (Sometimes, that chaos is finger paint...all over her brand new white suit jacket.)

Today, Irene is the first to greet her at the door with a quick kiss and a tired sigh. She looks like she's been awake for about three days, so she guesses Nero didn't nap. He hates naps. He's getting a little old for naps anyway, but it's the only break they get during the day, so they've stubbornly continued the practice, much to his chagrin.

"Where's Nero?" Emily dares to ask, trying her best (and failing) not to smile at Irene's exasperation. She knows Irene loves their son, she does, but some days it's harder than others.

"Doing penance," Irene says wryly. That means he's thinking of new and exciting ways to create trouble.

Though she'll never admit it, Emily is secretly proud that her son takes after her. She imagines she'd feel differently if she were the one staying home with him, though. "What did he do this time?" she asks, doing a piss poor job of hiding her amusement.

Irene does not appreciate her delight. "He was playing Detective Agency..." Most stories about Nero started that way. "He went down into the basement, picked the lock on the dungeon, and got into the toys..."

"Oh, dear God," Emily muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. She'd had this fear from the first day he'd learned to walk, which is why they'd had a lock installed on the dungeon in the first place. They hadn't anticipated on her having given birth to a small cat burglar, though. If he doesn't grow up to be a detective, apparently he's got a lucrative career as an escape artist ahead of him.

"He then wrangled Sergio into bondage gear and set him loose around the neighbourhood."

Emily's not laughing, she's not, even though she's just gone through the five stages of grief, knowing they'll probably have to move if they ever want to show their faces in public again.

"But wait," Irene interrupts her laughter, "There's more." She is not laughing.

For a moment, Emily is almost impressed that one small child is capable of so much chaos. Almost.