He always knew love was a weakness, he just didn't think it would be his.
Imogen Hargreaves is a former detective that finds herself walking right back into the life she'd left behind. Not only does drama ensue but she manages to catch the eye of t...
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"Jamie, put that chair down right now!" I shout across the classroom, "Right, that's detention with Mr Archer." I call over to him, dropping the pile of coursework I'll have to mark later on and storming across the room. The short, stocky, ginger boy goes wide eyed as I yank the chair out of his grasp.
The classroom is suddenly silent as the kids wait for me to blow my lid.
But luckily I'm saved by the bell.
"You'll get your work back on Monday and I want the corrections back the following week." I tell the students while they gather their things and flock from the room. If it wasn't a Friday then I might have pulled the 'I dismiss you' card, but that isn't the case and I want to leave as much as them.
My bed is calling me.
And...so is John apparently. I look down at the buzzing phone on my desk and sigh, knowing that he isn't just calling to check in on things. I miss the call as I go to answer it but don't even have to call back because a text soon comes through: Come to Baker Street. Urgent. SH.
Conclusion? Sherlock's phone is a little out of reach. Lazy sod.
-----
We never did get that drink
I roll my eyes at the message and don't even bother reply before it's dropped back into my pocket. The man had messaged me a few times asking to go out, I entertained it to begin with because he's handsome but something about him is just...off. Richard Brook.
We first crossed paths when he came to the school in search for me, having a few questions about the case with Kromer. I shut down the idea of an interview and he respected it, apologising for any upset he had caused. In my hurry to get back to class I said yes to exchanging numbers and maybe meeting up for a drink one day.
At first it had been okay, the flirty banter, the jovial messages but then I got a feeling I can't explain. I could only begin to describe it as when you dread getting a plane - everyone knows what they tell you to do if that happens. Steer clear. As well as feeling on edge I also began to feel something for Sherlock. It wouldn't be right to entertain another man while another was occupying your mind.
Mrs Hudson lets me in once I arrive and I frown at the apprehension on her face. She looks between me and the stairs before letting me know the boys are waiting for me. I'm a little on edge as I head up, wondering what that look could have been about but powering on regardless.
It doesn't take long for me to see what it had been about.
"You're joking." I gape instantly, eyes locked on the woman occupying Sherlock's chair. The woman. Irene sits there large as life with damp hair hanging around her shoulders and an all too familiar navy robe wrapped around her.
She was meant to be dead and then she wasn't. Now why is she here? The phone?
John looks as though he doesn't know where to put his face while his friend looks at me with a gulp. A bit of warning would have been nice. "Is it possible you've gotten sexier, Miss Hargreaves?" Irene flirts, eyes raking my form up and down.
