Failing Upward

Chapter 7 (part 2): The Universe is a Computer

For the first time since coming to 221B, I got up and ready the next morning before Sherlock. I made the coffee and fed Toby, scratching him behind his ears, then took him outside to do his morning doggy duty.

We came back from our brisk walk, and I drank my coffee. Toby licked my hand, and I licked my lips, thinking that I probably won't be needing chapstick anymore since I regenerated faster than a flatworm. I smiled remembering how my mom used to harp on me about licking them all the time and wished she could say that to me again. Or that I could call Dad and hear him insult me. Or yell at Harry for using all the hot water. At least now I was just wishing and not pretending.

Sherlock slept on the sofa bed, and my heart turned into one giant knot as his eyes fluttered. We really needed to clean out that extra room so he could have his room back. What was I doing? Moving in? I know that's what Sherlock wanted. Most likely into his room. Maybe Mary's right about me. Sherlock should expect more than what I had been giving. Not that I ever promised him anything but wasn't my staying here a promise? I couldn't deny the depth of my feelings for him.

Turning the change of address card over in my hand, I rummaged through the desk for a pen. Either a weak or smart decision, not sure which. But I couldn't leave. Those kisses last night changed me. The card filled out, I sat it on the counter for Sherlock to see.

"Good morning." Sherlock rolled around facing me. Yeah, he knew. "Ready for work? What time is it?"

"About quarter to seven. I couldn't sleep."

My brain buzzed after he kissed me horny last night. A rumpled and sleepy Sherlock was a hot Sherlock. Jump on the couch. Jump on him. Jump.

Hesitation. Must go to work.

My life needed normalcy--self-healing freak-shows need nine to five for order.

"You can use my laptop to read the news." I could take a hint. "Or steal Mrs. Hudson's paper off the steps. That's what I usually do."

Not wanting to swipe her paper, the laptop became my choice, and he had all major and local papers bookmarked. I scanned the headlines and weather. Today was going to be hot. That meant staying on the front room floor at work where it was air conditioned. News? Oh, yeah, someone tried to kill me yesterday, but that didn't make the news. Nothing current with Sherlock's by-line. Opinion? Letters to the editor, nothing interesting. Then a click over to the feature section to see a unwanted, familiar face.

I ran to the bathroom and pounded on the door, shouting, "Sherlock! Sherlock!"

"Hold on a minute. I'll be right out!" He opened the door drying off. That wasn't distracting at all. I pointed to his laptop screen. He pushed the laptop back, getting it wet.

It took me a moment to spit it out. Standing there naked, he was killing me. "Mr. Lestrade is a quantum physicist?" I choked out at last.

"No, it's Dr. Lestrade. He's a prof at Cambridge. And," he said, tapping his damp finger on the screen, "he's speaking tonight at seven. Here, at Calvin Auditorium."

He knew all this already. The fucker. I hate it when he keeps shit from me.

"Yes. And the topic, which by the way I read a few years back in The Smithsonian, is 'The Universe is a Computer.'"

He leaned against the counter, towel dipping lower and lower off his waist, hip and round rear end half exposed. "Caffeine?" he asked hopefully with a smirk. The bastard loved both watching me ogle him and treating me like I was his fucking maid. As long as I could gaze at his wet curls, long and lean body, I didn't give a toss. I poured him a cup.