221B

Chapter 6 - A Scandal in Belgravia

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock has taken off his coat and we both sit on the couch. He looks around the elegant sitting room.

“Really, Sherlock? A vicar?” I say quietly. “You couldn’t have just been some normal, pathetic bloke who was attacked in the light of day?”

“It adds to the amusement.”

“Amusement?” I repeat. “What amusement?”

“Did you not hear the woman on the other end trying to hold back a laugh?”

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Evidently.” He hesitates. “I want you to know that that punch still hurts a bit.”

“Isn’t that good, then? For the amusement?”

He glares at me, and I smile a little. “Sorry.”

He smirks. “It’s fine. Adds to the charade, I suppose.”

“Let me see.” I say, turning to him a little more. He turns towards me a little and I gently place my fingertips near the cut. He winces a little, and I look him in the eye. “Lucky you didn't get a black eye.” I examine the cut a little more and take my hand away. “It’s fine. You might have a bit of a bruise for a while.”

“No kidding.” He says. “Let me see your hand.”

“Why?”

“The one you punched me with. Let me see it.”

“Sherlock, it’s fine.”

He takes my right hand and examines it. “Barely bruised.” He mutters. “Didn’t reel back in pain after contact. No sign of pain of any kind.”

“And?” I say. He looks up at me.

“And what?”

“And is that supposed to mean something.”

“You’ve punched before. Many times, apparently.”

“Or maybe it was just a lucky shot.”

“Or maybe, because you’ve punched before, possibly numerous times, it doesn’t hurt you anymore.”

“Or maybe it was a lucky shot.”

We hear footsteps approaching, and Sherlock sits up a little and once again holds the handkerchief to his cheek.

“Hello.” I hear Irene say. “Sorry to hear that you’ve been hurt. I don’t think Kate caught your name.”

Sherlock glances at me.

“Not this Kate!” I whisper.

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock says. “I’m…” He trails off when we both see Irene, who walks into eyesight and stops in the doorway. Other than wearing a pair of heels, she’s stark naked. Sherlock’s jaw drops a little.

“Oh, it’s always hard to remember an alias when you’ve had a fight, isn’t it?” Irene asks, walking into the room. She stands directly in front of him, straddling his legs and half-kneeling on the couch. Uncomfortable, I look down at my hands, which are folded in my lap. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see her reach forward and pull the white dog collar from his shirt collar. “There now-we’re both defrocked.” She smiles down at him. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh good God.” I mutter as quietly as possible, and scoot away a little.

“Miss Adler, I presume.” Sherlock says in his normal voice.

“Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?” She asks, looking down at his face. She narrows her eyes and lifts the white plastic to her mouth to bite down on it. Sherlock stares up at her with a slightly confused look on his face. At that moment, John walks in carrying a bowl of water and a napkin made of fabric, his eyes are lowered to the bowl to keep from spilling its contents.