S⃞ h⃞ e⃞ r⃞ l⃞ o⃞ c⃞ k⃞ H⃞ o⃞ l⃞ m⃞ e⃞ s⃞ x⃞ F⃞ e⃞ m⃞ a⃞ l⃞ e⃞ O⃞ C⃞
Ivy Liu takes a slow drag of her cigarette, watching Sherlock with those sharp, unblinking eyes that seem to s...
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Threesome?
As Sherlock closed the suitcase lid and reached for his jacket, John still stared at his phone in disbelief, the reality of what was unfolding in front of him slowly sinking in.
"Have you talked to the police?" John finally asked, looking up.
Ivy, who had been standing nearby observing the whole exchange, nodded. "I'll call Lestrade. He'll want to know."
Before she could pull out her phone, Sherlock's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. "Put it away, Ivy," he commanded in his sharp, rapid tone. "Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police."
John frowned at Sherlock's abruptness. "So why are you talking to us, then?"
Sherlock didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced around the room, his sharp eyes scanning the space. "Mrs. Hudson took my skull," he muttered, almost to himself.
John blinked, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. "So I'm basically filling in for your skull?"
Sherlock tugged his coat on. "Relax, John. You're doing fine," he said, brushing off the oddness of his own statement as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
John still hadn't moved from his seat. "Well?"
"Well, what?" Sherlock asked, turning to face him, his coat flaring slightly as he moved.
"You could just sit there and watch telly," Sherlock suggested, but it wasn't really a suggestion.
"You want me to come with you?" John asked, slightly incredulous.
Sherlock's face was unreadable as he explained, "I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just... attracts attention."
Ivy, who had been quietly listening up until now, crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. "Well, I was about to head back to the station to inform Lestrade. You can manage on your own, can't you?"
Sherlock turned to her, his lips thinning in mild frustration. For a brief moment, his eyes met hers, calculating as always. He opened his mouth, closed it, then almost awkwardly said, "Your... knowledge in human behaviour might come in handy. Plus... I need the company."
Ivy couldn't help the small smirk that crept onto her face. "Oh? You need me, Sherlock? What's the magic word?"
Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes. "Sadist," he muttered under his breath, glancing briefly at John, who grinned at the exchange.
"Problem?" Sherlock snapped at John, catching the look.
John shrugged, feigning innocence. "Yeah, Sergeant Donovan."
"What about her?" Sherlock's tone turned colder, his patience wearing thin.
John shifted uncomfortably. "She said... you get off on this. That you enjoy it."
