“Sure. You can be irritating when you decide to spout off about how much smarter you are than everyone else.” She leaned back, propping her bad leg up on the coffee table in front of her, wincing as she did. Her knee was stiff, and it ached. And if she didn’t move it every now and then, it got worse.
She also knew she was doing a shit job of matching the period language, but she had no idea how to just…fake that. So she didn’t even bother trying. “But you stilltryto be a part of society, even if you roll your eyes at us all the time.”
Sherlock—Virtue—whatever—didn’t seem to be bothered by her anachronistic speech patterns. Probably to keep the illusion going, she figured. “How so?”
“You associate with others. Moriarty doesn’t. You have…well, me.” She smiled at him. “Your trusty Dr. Watson. Your friend and sidekick. Who does Moriarty have that he could call a friend? Anyone?”
Sherlock’s shoulders slumped slightly. “He is entirely alone.”
“That makes all the difference, I think.” Sidney was really starting to rethink the opium. Seriously, how did people put up with chronic pain? Thissucked.“You haven’t gone cold and dead inside. Well. Notentirely,anyway.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Sherlock scoffed. “This conversation was not meant to turn into an excoriation of my own personal character, you realize.”
“Too bad. You walked into it.” She leaned her head back against the patterned wallpaper. The room smelled comfortably of smoke and incense. “Would it kill you to get into a romantic relationship with someone?”
“It might. More likely, it would end up withthempaying that price.” Sherlock winced, standing from the sofa to walk across the room. “Do you think Moriarty would not use such a thing as leverageagainst me, given the opportunity? Or any of the criminals in the city he commands?”
Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “You’re not James Bond.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” Right. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re aprivatedetective.You’re not a spy or in the secret service. Your life is only as dangerous as you’re choosing to make it. Your life has room for a little romance in it. You’re simply choosing not to let it happen.”
“It is…difficult for me to express in words how unappealing the idea of a romantic entanglement with anyone is to me.” Sherlock’s expression was comical. Like he’d stepped in dog shit and she’d just told him to eat it.
Fair. Fine. Whatever. She was asking him to act out of character, she supposed. “Suit yourself. My point being is that you at least allow yourselfsomecompany in your life. He doesn’t. Either because he can’t or he chooses not to.”
The conversation lulled for a moment as Sherlock went back to a stack of papers on a desk in the other room, sorting through them as if hoping to see another detail he might have missed the first time. But something told Sidney that they were waiting for Moriarty—and Sasha—to make the first move on this one.
This was just aget to know youmoment between Sidney and Sherlock. A setting of the chessboard. “Do you ever get lonely, Sherlock?”
“No.”
“Do you believe in the existence of love?”
That had him looking up from his papers. That had him furrowing his brow in deep thought, as if he’d never actuallycontemplatedthe question before. His eyes darted back and forth, reading and searching for something in front of him that wasn’t there.
After a long pause, he let out a quiethuh.“The existence of it? Perhaps.” That seemed to both amuse, fascinate, and worry him all at the same time. “I suppose I never paid much attention to it, as it was always the domain of others. I have no interest in such frivolities.”
“Too pedestrian for you. I get it. It’s just what usnormiesdo.” Shesnickered. “We’re too stupid to understand it’s a waste of time or isn’t real.”
“I am not insinuating that I believe that such things are due to a lack of intelligence or—” Sherlock paused. If he registered her odd speech, he ignored it like it hadn’t happened. “I suppose yes, that is what I’m insinuating, but that isn’t what Imean.”He shook his head. “I am simply saying it is a philosophical topic I have not given much weight to, as I have never had it come to the forebear. Most of the time it is brought up in the context of my avoidance of it, not its existence in a Platonic sense.”
“I was just—” Cringing, she broke off as pain lanced up her leg. Shifting, she turned to put her bad leg up on the sofa with a whine. “Thisfucking blows!”
“John, shall I send for—” Sherlock already had thatnagging wifetone in his voice that told Sidney that she was going to lose the conversation.
“Fine, fine. Yes. Send for Mrs. Hudson. But—not a lot. I’d rather not lose my mind tonight if I can help it.” Though, the concept of getting trashed on opium in Victorian England did sound kind of hysterical.
With Sherlock.
“Although…” She smirked.
“No, no. I dislike it when you getthatlook on your face.” Sherlock shook his head. “You will take the opium and you will stay right where you are. There shall beno gallivanting.Do you hear me?”
“You’re no fun.” She paused. “Not even a little gallivanting?”
“So I’ve been repeatedly told.” Sherlock folded his arms across his chest. “Absolutely. No. Gallivanting.”
