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Catch the Wind

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It doesn’t come as a surprise that he has no idea where to begin. Attic theory, ridiculous as it is, has prevented him from delving into cultural exploits beyond whatever he needed for his cases. His reverence for Masterpieces aside, one would think that a man capable of learning dozens of languages would spend more time on applying his mind to actually exploring the cultures to go with them.

They end up in the Chamber of Horrors because it’s conveniently close. It’s fuller than she’d expected on a sunny day and she steers him away from exhibit after exhibit, making room for the visitors who follow closely behind. That’s till they get to the shadow and he turns to smile at her.

“Have you considered giving White Chapel a try?”

Would be good to know if he remembers that he has told her about solving those.

“Next you’ll suggest we find out what really happened to the Princes of the Tower.”

“Who?”

“I get why you wouldn’t bother with Much ado about Nothing, but you haven’t even read Richard the Third?”

He stares at her blankly and she has no idea if he’s pulling her leg or if he has avoided Shakespeare beyond Hamlet and MacBeth.

“The bard? Dad’s put his complete works on my reading list when I was twelve.”

“You had a reading list?”

“Literature you’re supposed to be familiar with? Do you really think I only ever read Frost? Dad trained me to become a writer.” She walks away, losing her interest in the exhibits, but he follows, of course. It seems to surprise him that she hasn’t always planned to be a doctor.

“What changed your mind?”

“Mom suggested that medicine might be a more fitting career. And you can stop analyzing me, I agreed because I wanted to help people, not because I’m trying to live up to her expectations.”

“Your book was not without merits, even if...”

“I’m a detective, Sherlock. Not a writer.” He doesn’t seem to get that reference either.

“You don’t have to settle for just one career.”

“Wait till you want me to go through evidence or search a crime scene while I’m trying to finish a chapter.” The simple part should be good enough, but she can’t avoid adding the bitter one. “And after dad claimed my life for his books. I don’t..”

“He didn’t.” Sherlock says. “It was loosely inspired by us. Quite unlike your own case study I might add. But you wouldn’t have to publish your work... if you plan on using real names I really wouldn’t want...”

She checks her phone. “I think that concludes today’s session of talking about my private life. Have you located a meeting to attend yet?”

“So you get to decide what you share and when?”

“Do you really think you know more about therapy than I do?”

He remains silent while they leave behind Madame Tussaud’s, except to indicate that he’d like to go to a nearby Selfridges next so they can do their shopping. She walks beside him, silently, feeling unreasonably angry that she’s got no idea what he’s thinking about. Inside the shop he goes to locate his eggs and milk while she dedicates her own search to the available fruit and vegetables. When they reunite at the checkout he’s picked up tea, too. Figures that he’d try to use tea as an example for English culture again.

They take the Underground back to Bakerstreet which is ridiculous for a single stop, but decidedly faster. A few kids in their uniforms are discussing which animal they’d like to be most. She tries not to question why they aren’t actually at school. Easy enough to judge parents and their ability to make their children attend classes if you don’t actually have kids of your own. And it’s for the best, not having any. Particularly not when they haven’t even figured out the first thing about what their relationship might turn into. Just that look in Moriaty’s eyes when she heard Kayden’s voice... the joy in Kitty’s face when she introduced Archie... it’s a relief when they get off the Underground and the voices subside. Their line of work’s too dangerous to raise kids. Not that it helps if you’re an accountant and your child’s made it past the early years...

“..., okay? Watson?”

“Huh?”

“Scrambled eggs for lunch?”

“Sure.”

“Would you have noticed if I’d suggested fried maggots?”

She really can’t be bothered with another stupid discussion like that. “I think I’ll give Mom a call. Check if she’s doing okay.”

“It’s half six. In the morning.”

She checks her phone, pulls up New York time and glares at him. He’s right of course and Mom wouldn’t appreciate being woken that early. But it’s still annoying, living with your personal world time clock. And while it was an adequate excuse to walk away, talking to Mom would be welcome just now. Just hear her voice. Even another call with her refusing to speak a single word of English would do. She doesn’t bother thinking up another excuse, just sets down her shopping bag in the kitchen and walks away to her room.

It’s simply ridiculous to be bothered by the thought of not having kids now when listing pros and cons has always ended up convincing her that it would be infeasible. But nobody’s ever discussed the decision so openly. She’s had clearer talks with Sherlock on the matter before they considered dating than she’s had with any of her ex-boyfriends. But to be fair, she did know Sherlock’s opinion then, too.

When she returns to the living room she can hear Sherlock using a whisk. Scrambled eggs are something he actively enjoys making.

“Don’t you think that’s a little early?”

“There’s a meeting that’ll start in a couple of hours. I’d like to get there early to see if it’s the right crowd.”

“Ah.”

“Would you like to come?”

“No?”

“Could update your phone’s map for London if you’d like to go for a jog.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It was just a suggestion.”

“No, I really hadn’t thought to use my phone, thanks.”

He smiles and she relaxes. Refills the water filter he’s known to buy yesterday and watches as he pours the eggs into the pan. Soy sauce would go nicely. She sorts away their shopping and the final remains of yesterday’s, but he hasn’t thought to buy any either. Not that that comes as a surprise. She rarely joins him when he overindulges in a single food. Especially eggs. But she’s not in the mood to pick something and he’d worry if she didn’t eat.