Couch Potatoes
GEMMA MORIARTY:
He just kept talking. That awful doctor friend of Sherlock’s just wouldn’t shut up. Gemma pretended to be asleep as Sherlock moved away from her. She didn’t keep her squeeze and hold on him, just releasing her arms so he could stand up. If John was going to keep talking, she wanted to hear what the moron had to say. He may have been a soldier, as he always had to insist, and a doctor, but Gemma found him to be a complete idiot. John was useless, if only to shoot one of Moriarty’s employees on one occasion, preventing Sherlock from taking a non-poisonous pill, since the poison was in the water, not the pill.
“ Oh will you shut up you miserable little troll! “ Finally, she had enough. Her hand smacked the arm of the couch and she crawled up it in a disjointed fashion, almost as if she was some sort of fiend in a horror film. Her limbs twisted and turned as she pulled herself closer to the two of them, fixing her clothing once she found her way to a proper sit. At that point, she didn’t care whose friend John was. He was being unnecessarily rude.
“ We did something together that you only dream you could do. We used our advanced minds to solve a case. Nothing more, nothing less. “ Sherlock, she wished, should not be so ashamed he had been caught curled up with her. It was downright offensive. Moriarty completely understood that it was a brand new feeling, a brand new event in his life. But being ashamed of it? That was rude too. But John didn’t need to know any other details of the night and she wasn’t about to give them to him. So he was presented with nothing more, nothing less. If anything, she would protect Sherlock all the more now that they were officially a couple. Gemma had no problem letting her words fly like daggers.
Stockings were slipped back onto her bare legs and heels were slipped back onto her feet. As she pushed herself up from the couch, she went to Sherlock, standing behind him on tiptoe, peering over a shoulder. “ You better get used to my visage being around here. I’ll be around here much, much more often. “
A scoff in the doctor’s throat, his brows knitted in a blatantly incredulous expression, as if her words were a cruel joke. His gaze averted from the consulting criminal, turning onto his friend– the man he was trying to protect from the dangerous murderess peeking over his shoulder– with his lips pursed. “She can’t be serious–” An edge to his voice, sarcasm dripping off his words before he paused upon seeing the detective’s face– unwavering and resolute. “No, no, no. You’re not serious. Sherlock, you’re not bloody serious.” If repeating phrases could change reality, John Watson was committed, disbelief radiating off of his words as his intense stare bore into the sleuth. “You’re an idiot, a bloody idiot– she is dangerous, mate. A bloody murderer and you’re dating her? God, for a genius, you’re so stupid.”
There was a moment of silent tension, just a brief second in which the detective broke from his stationary stance, apparently having recollected himself. “John, please, should we discuss the number of failed relationships you’ve been in?” Words spoken concisely, sharp as a blade, cutting the silence with ease. A brow was arched up and a hand reached behind his back, lithe fingers catching those of the woman’s behind him, lacing together. “And don’t act like you’re not the one who loves danger.”
John encouraged him to find someone, told him that romantic entanglement would complete him, and made quite a scene when Irene Adler came along. But now The Woman was dead and he had found someone else, yet John couldn’t seem to break a smile for him. Gemma Moriarty was indeed a woman with perilous tendencies, no one– no matter how hard they tried– could deny such a thing, but he knew her and she had spilled out her heart to him the night before. All of that sentiment uttered, she exposed her weaknesses and became vulnerable. This was the woman who had come to his flat and relentlessly cared for him even when he protested. She was hardly a threat to him, would never hurt him lest she hurt herself because he was, in fact, her weakness.
A sigh escaped the doctor, leaping into the tense air of the flat. “It’s not the same, Sherlock. She kills people. I don’t date bloody murderers.” A breath was drawn in sharply, his blue gaze turned from the detective to the criminal in a mere second as if he were wary that she might lash out at any point. Given their history, he wouldn’t be surprised, but at that moment, he had a job. He had to save Sherlock Holmes. If only Sherlock could cooperate…
Sherlock was properly defending her like any man in a coupling would and for that she was damned proud of him. First she was ashamed as he seemed to want to hide her, but now she was as proud as a peahen, watching Sherlock show off his magnificent tail feathers. The more John talked, the more embarrassing he made the situation for himself and the more calculating the woman could become. Yes, of course she was going to rub it right into his so-called best friend’s face that the two of them were now an item. She tried to kill John Watson, and the only thing that was stopping her now was Sherlock Holmes. Sooner or later she had to come up with some ingenius idea on how to nip the thorn from the rose bush, but for now she could play along as the smited girlfriend.
“ He’s terribly mean. “ Gemma proclaimed as she laced her hands up around the taller detective’s shoulders. To be honest, she had not been creating mayhem that night. In fact she had genuinely been spending time with Sherlock. It was content, a happy time. She knew Sherlock wouldn’t always want to work on cases with her but for now this had settled just fine. Allowing her right hand to gently tangle in curls at the base of his neck, just to send that extra high of serotonin to his brain, finally.. she spoke again. Although this time, it was to John Watson.
“ I don’t murder people, John. I offer them a service. And don’t talk to me about murder. How many men did you kill when you were in the war? You brag about it so, so surely the number must be dozens and dozens. And you killed one of my own men. Tsk tsk tsk. “ She waved her finger at him, chastising him as if he had done something incredibly naughty. “ You love the high of murder and danger, Doctor Watson. Let’s not pretend here. More than likely, somewhere deep down, you’re probably attracted to me. What with the fact that I personify murder and all.”
