If You Love Me, Get Clean

Chapter Seven

2012

Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?
Time went on for everybody else, she won't know it
She's still 23 inside her fantasy
How it was supposed to be

Alice rings the doorbell, rocking back and forth on her heels. She could use the key, she did think about it, but decided not to. Despite her short stay at Baker Street it wasn't her home any longer, and there was never a discussion about her being free to come and go, so best to be proper about things. Not that Sherlock takes that into consideration when it comes to her own flat.

"Oh, Alice," Mrs Hudson beams brightly, beckoning her in off the doorstep. "Why didn't you use your key, dear?"

"Uhm. Just... being polite, I suppose."

Mrs Hudson tuts. "Don't be silly, you're welcome any time."

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock's voice booms down the stairs, a crash of something hitting the floor erupts over their heads. Mrs Hudson rolls her eyes. "If it's a client tell them to go away!"

"He's been in a tizzy for weeks, abusing that poor violin. Maybe you can sort him out."

"Actually, I was coming to see if John–"

"Who is it?" Heavy thumps on the stairs follow, then a head of dark curly hair appears over the side of the banister. "I told you– Oh," he disappears for a second before coming farther down the steps while ruffling his hair and righting his shirt. She wasn't sure exactly what he was attempting to correct, he looks just as put together as usual. "Alice."

She waves timidly. "Hi."

"Hello," he purses his lips. "Why didn't you use your key?"

"I didn't know if I could just come and go–"

"Don't be daft. Use the key next time."

Mrs Hudson has a funny smile on her face, her head turning back and forth between them like she's watching the most enthralling game of tennis.

"Er, I was coming to see if John wanted to go to the cinema. There's a film out he wanted to see."

Something flashes across Sherlock's face but it's gone too fast for her to decipher. His hands twitch at his sides. "He's just gone out, can't remember where, didn't ask."

"Ah," she deflates. "Never mind then. I should have probably text him first–"

"I can go with you. If– If you like."

Alice snorts.

He frowns.

"Oh, no. Sorry. It's just... I know you, Sherlock, you hate that sort of thing. Thank you, though."

"Stay for a cup of tea," he says, a little bit desperately. "I have a fresh pot."

Alice glances at Mrs Hudson. She looks far too happy observing this utterly awkward conversation.

"Okay," she nods. "I'm not cooking you a bacon sandwich though."

His entire face lights up. It warms her all the way through. She's fifteen again.

Alice climbs the stairs, bidding farewell to Mrs Hudson, following Sherlock up.

She removes her jacket and folds it over the back of John's chair, looking around. The flat is actually relatively tidy, if she ignores the music sheets spread over the floor and the stand that's very clearly been shoved over in a temper.

Sherlock gestures to the table by the windows, rapidly collecting items up off its surface and stuffing them out the way. She has no idea why he's nervous. In the three weeks since she moved into her new flat he's been over almost every other day. They had easily fallen back into their old habits of sitting closely on the sofa, holding hands, casual touches to the small of her back as he walks by, gentle squeezes to his shoulder when she puts a plate in front of him.