Work Text:
The empty fireplace was not, in and of itself, mesmorizing. But combined with long fingers on violin strings and the sound of the traffic outside, it provided an excellent environment for Sherlocks self examination.
He plucked out some nameless, mindless notes on the neck of his violin, blinking ever so often at the soot blackened fireplace.
"Do you have a case?" Irene's asked, stepping softly from their bedroom and trailing her fingers from one of his shoulders to the other.
Sherlock shook himself from his thoughts and looked up with half a scowl already in place.
"No." he answered simply, his blue eyes catagorizing every aspect of her, despite knowing, with absolute certainity, her movements from the night before.
"You're staring at the grate as though you're looking at a client. A client who happens to be withholding something." she folded her legs gracefully under her in the arm chair opposite from him, her long fingers pushing along her scalp into her hair.
Her face was devoid of makeup, a look which Sherlock preferred, (though he was often loathed to admit it) and her hair down. At nearly 9 in the morning, this meant she had no meetings to speak of.
"So what has you sitting so prettily in your chair?" She leaned her head against the palm of her hand, her own green eyed look nearly as intense as his blue ones.
"Come now Woman. Think. It is the new sexy." he said in a low gravelly voice, watching from under his eye lids as she laughed and shook her head slightly.
"You're wondering why you married me." she challenged him, and, as he shot her a wordless glare, she grinned.
"It's a domestic partnership." he corrected, hand flicking his violin bow in punctuation.
"What ever you say dear." she continued to tease. She was inordinately pleased with herself at the small verbal victory and her smile was reflected in her entire face.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and twirled his violin between his fingers, very nearly violent in his movements.
"Are you going to tell me what's troubling you?" her smile faded around the edges and she leaned forward towards him.
Sherlock was out of his chair, setting the violin lovingly back in its case and clasping his hands behind his back as he stared out the window.
"I have been trying to understand why I want a child." he said quietly.
Irene's eyebrows shot up, her lips parted ever so slightly. It was as much surprise as she ever showed, and only in front, (or behind in this case) of Sherlock when she did.
The had only mentioned children once, when they had first decided to continue living together. At the time, it had been deemed unwise and rather fanciful, just as a formal marriage. Neither needed, nor wanted, a church wedding. And other than John, Mary and (possibly) Mycroft, who would have attended?
No. They were not the marrying type. And, Irene had thought, not the type to have children.
Sherlock turned, his jaw tight and his blue eyes were more troubled than Irene had seen them in a long time.
"You want a child." she was stalling for time, trying to think of a proper response and failing utterly. She thought she knew what Sherlock liked. Once again, he had surprised her.
"Yes. And it is utterly ridiculous! A child? What use do we have for a child?" he began to pace in front of the couch, shoulders hunched over and hands still clasped firmly behind his back. His fingers beat out a manic rhythm against his wrist, which, under normal circumstances, helped him think.
"One does not have 'use' for a child. It is simply done." Irene was beginning to regain her balance as she watched him walk the well worn carpet.
"But why? What is the drive to have one? Continuation of the species is the underlying drive for procreation, but..."
"You, my love, continually forget that, despite your best efforts, are human as well." Irene gave a little smile at his arrogance.
A frustrated sigh from Sherlock was the confirmation she needed to know that she had gotten it right.
"I am above such base instincts." he stated in a low voice. But it lacked the conviction Irene was so used to hearing. Apparently, this internal debate was giving him more pause than he was accustomed to.
Her silence seemed to shake something loose in him and he paused in his pacing to look at her.
"Do you want children?" there was no judgement in his voice, only a burning curiousity.
Irene pursed her lips and took a deep slow breath as she examined her own train of thought.
"It is a natural desire in most women..." she started, but Sherlock gave a surperior smirk.
"You are not 'most' women." he said, some pride creeping in his voice.
Irene shared his smile warmly and gave him a brief nod that he was correct in his statement.
"I do.." she chose her words carefully. "Not find myself adverse to the notion." she watched Sherlock cock his head to the side as he digested her words.
He straightened his shoulders and ruffled his hair almost violently, and Irene found herself sitting up and her legs unfolding.
She stood, nearly floating over the floor to him, pressing their bodies together and standing on tip toes to place a slow, lingering kiss on the edge of his mouth.
"Well, if you ever deduce the why of a child, I will gladly show you the how." Her lips curled in that wicked way that always made Sherlock devote all his attention to her.
Bending his considerable height down, he placed a hot, devouring kiss on her lips, noting how her small frame rose to meet his.
"Be careful what you wish for." he growled.