If You Love Me, Get Clean

Chapter Twenty Nine

March 2016

Seems I get in my own way
The more I think, the less I say
I hope I communicate the craving
Now I see intentions don't mean much
If I found my body in chains, I'd lay down and wait
And I just hate to put this on her
But I swear that I will give more than I take away

They never did take their holiday, but she doesn't mind, because Sherlock is better. Manic, completely nutters, but better. He's clean, taking cases, and to put it bluntly, shagging her brains out in his down time. He is spending more time at Baker Street now, but she can't help feeling as though he's accidentally moved himself permanently into her flat. After everything that happened with the drugs, and getting shot, and Magnussen, all his belongings that slowly crept in over time have yet to leave. He spends almost every night in her bed unless he's working a case, and nine times out of ten they're gliding around each other in sync in the mornings, her getting ready for work and him getting ready to go to 221b.

They wake up, go about their routines, then come home to each other. They cook dinner, watch crap television, discuss their day, sometimes she helps with cases, and they fuck like rabbits. All in all, they've become very... domestic. Things were finally looking up.

The faux Moriarty business seems to have taken a backseat, Sherlock is simply waiting. It's on his mind, she can see it sometimes when he's staring off at a wall, the cogs turning in that big brain of his, but he eventually sets it aside again.

Rosie is a month old the first time John and Mary get a few hours off. Alice offered to take her, and they jumped at the chance to have dinner out of the house. Sherlock has been surprisingly hands on with the whole experience, apprehensive at first, but he followed Alice's lead.

She loves watching him with her. He's fascinated by every little thing she does, and is no more immune to her cuteness than the rest of them. When her fingers wrap around his the smile on his face is enough to make Alice's heart beat quicken.

Once they'd settled Rosie down for a sleep they collapsed on the sofa. Sherlock began tapping away on his phone while Alice picked up her book. An hour passes in companionable silence and she's gagging for a cup of tea, but Sherlock is too paranoid the kettle will wake the baby, so here they are.

"Is this it now?" He asks, dropping his phone into his lap and waving his hand towards the bassinet.

Alice peers at him over the top of her book. "What do you mean?"

"Well, will she just sleep? She's hardly been difficult, has she?"

"She's only little. What do you expect her to do? Algebra?"

Sherlock huffs, dropping his head back against the sofa. "I'm bored."

Her eyes narrow on him. "Don't even think about waking her up."

"I wasn't thinking that," she stares at him for a few moments before he squirms, grumbling. "Fine. I might have been thinking that."

That's the last thing they need. Rosie definitely needs a little bit of extra sleep before she's disturbed, otherwise they're all in trouble.

Alice leans forward and grabs the newspaper from the coffee table, tossing it in his direction with a pen. He scowls at her. "What am I to do with this?"

"You're bored. Do the crossword."

"Please," he scoffs. "I'm not that desperate."

She drops her book to her chest with a sigh. "What do you want to do then?"