Royalty

Chapter 36: Thought You Would Have Found A ... Goldfish

Astra's POV:

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The ride's pretty quiet. I sit and stare out the window, wishing I had my phone to listen to music (Or the headphones to listen to it with). Sherlock suddenly comments, "We could try the grounds, then."

I have no idea what he's talking about, but my mind is tired and packed and pinballing and dull, so I force myself to hum noncommitally. "Mm."

"Maybe John just wasn't in the right position to see the hound."

"Mm."

"And I don't know if he even had Henry's coffee."

"Mhm."

He sighs heavily – He does this often enough. I've managed to learn to distinguish his different sighs, whether they're exasperation, disdain, frustration, tiredness, or reluctance. This one is a mix of fatigue and exasperation.

"Are you listening?"

"Mm-hm."

"Really?"

"Mm." I shrug a little. I am listening, but like the way you listen to music when you're studying. Sherlock's brain focused on one step at a time. I can't get the image of those two men's bodies out of my head. What happened to cause that?

Some sort of hound, obviously, but whose? And was it intentional, or not? Did they mean to ... To kill those two? Or was that just an accident? Why does someone have an unpredictable murderous hound, anyway?

"The point of making you call Moriarty was to get you to stop thinking about him, you know."

I immediately turned from the window and snapped back, "I wasn't thinking about him!"

He hums. "I know. But curious that you responded with apathy for everything else I said, but once I mentioned Moriarty, you got defensive."

I bristled. "I'm not a science experiment, Sherlock, could we please leave the subject alone? My emotions are complicated enough without you and John thinking he's brainwashed me somehow."

"Fine, alright." He pauses for a moment. "You realize it's just because we think you're only going to get hurt, right? Neither of us likes seeing you hurt, and that's what Moriarty does. He hurts people."

"I know he does. But he doesn't like seeing me hurt, either. By anyone's hand."

"He literally shot you."

"And stitched me up himself," I responded patiently, tapping my fingers absently on the armrest. I'm so sick of having these conversations, but at least I know the script well enough to go on autopilot now.

"... You said in the mornings that he would ... Cuddle ... with you." The word cuddle seems to stumble off his tongue, like he finds the possibility of his archenemy cuddling inconceivable.

Well, that's off-script. "Yes."

"So you would be in bed. With him. At night."

"Please change the subject."

"Have you two had sex?"

I let my eyes close as I looked out the windshield. "I have never wanted to crash a car so badly. Sherlock, that's really none of your business."

"But have you?"

"Nunya."

He frowns. "Astra, if you continue to avoid the question, I'm going to be forced to assume that your answer would be in the affirmative."

"No! I slept with him, yes, but not like slept with him slept with him. Satisfied?"

"Do you make out?"