Strangest Stranger

3

I sit in front of the fire place in Sherlock's 'living space', trying to warm up. Sherlock says nothing, which is a little weird, while I find myself studying him. The elegance that he seems to have; it's beautiful. The crisp, white shirt he's wearing compliments his eyes and his pale face, though I find that the buttons seem to be hanging on for their dear lives. The sleeves are pushed up, as if it got too hot for his liking. His black, ironed pants and shoes give him a professional look, even though he sometimes acts the complete opposite of qualified.

He finally says, making me jump at the sound of his voice, "Are you discovering how to observe?"

I smile, saying, "No, I'm just looking at you."

He looks confused, asking, "Why?"

I start to say, "Because you're..." but I stop, muttering, "Nevermind."

He seems to be trying to figure out what I was going to say. He says, "Because I'm strange? Because I enjoy crime, and people say that I might commit a murder, just because I'm a 'psychopath'? Because you don't understand why I'm not interested in things that normal men are? What am I to you?"

"You're...amazing."

He raises his eyebrows, asking in disbelief, "I am? You think I'm amazing? I thought you would also say that I'm a psychopath."

"Why do you think I stand with you this long, Sherlock? You're not a freak of nature. You're smart, witty, beautiful, creative, an expert at solving things, and an ultimate sass master."

I didn't realize that I'd said it, until he asks, "Um, if I may, did you just call me beautiful?"

I stutter, "No!? Pssh! Why would I say that!? You're not beautiful!?"

Sherlock laughs, saying, "Obviously, sarcasm is not helping you in any way. Denial is the clincher."

I feel like denying it a bit more, but I think he already figured me out.

"So basically, you fancy me. Well, now it all makes sense why you couldn't stay away. I'm sure people warned you about me, yet here you are, because you couldn't just ignore me...obviously."

"No. Not 'obviously'. You can't just expect everything or 'suspect' rather. You have to expect the unexpected."

He smiles, then says, "Oldest saying ever." He gets down out of the chair, and lays between me and the fireplace. After a while of listening to the crackling fire, and the noisy streets of London, he asks, "Are all women so...so...what word am I looking for?"

I ask, twirling one of his soft, black curls with my index finger, "Boy crazy?"

"No, no. I don't think that's it."

I say, still thinking, "Um...love struck? Emotional? ...Strange?"

He laughs, making me smile, then he says, "No my dear, you are strange."

"That's why we're perfect for each other."

"What did you say?"

I smirk, saying, "You know what I said, Sherlock." Then I add, mocking him kindly, "Obviously."

He smiles, and I lean down to kiss her forehead, but find that my lips travel to his instead. After about three seconds, I realized he was kissing back. My heart flies up to my throat when he wraps his arms around me, and pulls me onto him. Oh, I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Isn't this a little weird for Sherlock? How did he know? That's when I hear the noise on the street below.

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