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The bathwater sloshed around in the tub and Sherlock extended his long limbs as far as the porcelain would allow. Admittedly, that was not very far at all, as another set of rather long limbs stretched out across from him. He would have to make do with his knees sticking out of the water.
Irene sat opposite him in the tub, leaning back against the far edge, lazily twirling the tips of her fingers through the water. Sherlock’s legs encased hers, and they touched underwater, except where his knees stuck out. His feet were planted on the bottom of the tub and his toes tucked in around her sides. Irene’s feet were similarly situated, except they tickled the backs of Sherlock’s thighs.
He could tell by the brush of her toe nails on the back of his leg that she hadn’t had a pedicure in a week, and the slightly chipped polish on her fingernails suggested she neglected her manicure as well. The black patch of hair between her legs (not easily discernable through the somewhat soapy water, but still there) suggested a similar neglect of grooming. However, her legs were completely smooth and hairless. The scratch marks on her inner thighs were, however, more telling than all the rest.
“Sherlock, one would think you’re actually interested in what’s between my legs, with all the attention you’re paying it,” Irene said teasingly. She spread her thighs as far as the tub would allow and slid slightly toward him. “Don’t tell me my womanly wiles have ensnared you, too? I hate to break it to you, but you’re not exactly my type.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Sherlock retorted, though he knew the woman was far from stupid. “I was merely observing the fact that you’ve taken no customers in the past week, which was obvious by your level of personal grooming, or lack thereof. And you must have had lots of fun with Kate, judging by the state of your thighs.”
Sherlock had gotten much better at finding other’s tells when they were naked. Nudity presented almost no problem to him now, unlike his first encounter with the woman he was sharing a tub with. Sometimes he isn’t sure why he encountered that problem in the first place; it certainly wasn’t attraction. Perhaps it was just the shock. Whatever it was, Sherlock vowed to himself never to be shocked into silence again.
Irene laughed. “Yes, you’re quite right, of course. Anyway, Kate never really did prefer me to be completely groomed…says it reminds her of a twelve-year-old.”
Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the information. He wasn’t particularly interested in that sort of information. In fact, he wasn’t interested at all.
Irene slid her legs up, pushed up with her hands on the edges of the tub, and spun around so her back was to Sherlock. “Wash my hair, love?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. Sherlock nodded his assent and squeezed some shampoo into his hands, then began working it into her scalp.
She sighed under the pressure of his fingers. After Sherlock was done lathering her up, she ducked her head down and began to rinse the suds out of her hair. Sherlock slid his hand down the smooth skin of her back, splaying his fingers out, cataloguing every pore and freckle.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. “Sherlock, are you decent?” came John’s muffled voice. “I need the first aid kit.”
“Just a minute,” said Sherlock. He gingerly removed himself from the tub, and wrapped a towel around his waist. A quick look behind him showed Irene still washing her hair. She winked at him, ducked down in the water, and made no move to get out.
“All right, you can come in now,” said Sherlock. John opened the door and spared hardly a glance for Sherlock as he bent down and rifled through the cabinet for the first aid kit. It was as he straightened up that he stopped in his tracks, once he noticed the other occupant of the bathroom.
“Hello, Doctor,” Irene said from the tub. John blinked, four times in rapid succession (which Sherlock had noticed he tended to do when he was shocked), and then took in Sherlock’s state of undress and dripping wet hair.
“I’m not even going to ask,” John said, backing out of the bathroom with a hand over his eyes. “Just remember the name Hamish!” he shouted once he was down the hall.
“Good God, not that there will be any chance of that,” Irene said.
“Rightly so,” said Sherlock. He tipped his head out the bathroom door and stared thoughtfully down the hallway in the direction of John’s bedroom. Maybe next time he could share a bath with John, and see what information he could glean from his flatmate’s body as well.