Dinner for the Undead
Notes: The idea of this came from frayedshoelace in a post-Reichenbach discussion and I took it as therapy. Was supposed to be more crack, but…few things are really that crack right now.
Summary: Sherlock and Irene get together in the land of the not-so-dead-when-it-comes-down-to-it.
I’m not dead.
Let’s have dinner.
SH
-x-
“I knew you’d come around,” Irene said as Sherlock approached the table booked in his name, or the name provided to him. It didn’t suit him, at least not if you asked her. If you asked him, the name she had picked for herself didn’t suit her either, but none of them were asked.
“As you pointed out, even I’ve got to eat.” Sherlock said and sat down at the table with one of his acted smiles. She knew it wasn’t real and he knew she knew that. “Tedious, this afterlife.”
“Yes, appalling, isn’t it?” She agreed and smiled amused, “Much more fun now when you’ve joined me though.”
“Is there a secret handshake you’re going to teach me?” he wondered with a snort.
“No, but we have membership cards. Laminated and everything.”
“Cute.”
“Don’t pout just because I finally got you to have dinner with me,” Irene smirked and opened the menu, “And there are more things to eat in this ‘tedious afterlife’ than a boar.”
Sherlock tilted his head and smirked as well before picking up his own menu, glad to see that there was no boar to be found anywhere near the menu.
“Should I be offended that you needed to throw yourself off a building before accepting the invitation?” She wondered and Sherlock met her eyes for a moment before turning back to his menu.
“Molly Hooper sends her best,” he said instead of answering her question.
“Isn’t she sweet,” there was something tender yet condescending in Irene’s voice and Sherlock’s mouth twisted into a frown, “I think I’ll have the lamb.”
“No starter?” Sherlock removed the frown, looking up at her again, “Business’s slow when you can’t advertise?”
“Word-of-mouth is always the best advertisement in my business anyway,” Irene made a small gesture with her hands as if stating the obvious, “Can’t imagine yours is going all that well, either?”
“I’ll just have the duck, then,” Sherlock didn’t even find the need to snort or to give her anything more snarky than that.
“Wine at least?”
“Sure.”
“Champagne, even?”
“To lamb?”
“It’s not the strangest thing ever heard of.”
“Fine,” Sherlock closed his menu and reached out to take hers as well to give to the approaching waiter. For a short moment - intentional of her, unintentional of him - their fingers and eyes met before he turned to the young man in the black tie and ordered for the both of them. Irene seemed very pleased with this and Sherlock, Sherlock didn’t care.
“Oh, no ring in the glass?” Irene teased him as soon as they both had a glass of champagne and the rest of the bottle was in an ice bucket next to the table.
“Me and my work haven’t divorced just yet,” Sherlock said, looking down the glass, watching the bubbles.
“I’m not a monogamist; you, me, your job…. We can have a good life.” She smirked and he rolled his eyes, “A toast?”
Sherlock nodded his agreement and Irene raised her glass.
“To us.”
Sherlock shook his head and raised his glass as well, “To John.”
Her smirk became a smile and she nodded.
“To John.”
-x-
What's dinner without dessert?
Dessert for the Undead
Summary: Sherlock and Irene get together in the land of the not-so-dead-when-it-comes-down-to-it.
I’m not dead.
Let’s have dinner.
SH
-x-
“I knew you’d come around,” Irene said as Sherlock approached the table booked in his name, or the name provided to him. It didn’t suit him, at least not if you asked her. If you asked him, the name she had picked for herself didn’t suit her either, but none of them were asked.
“As you pointed out, even I’ve got to eat.” Sherlock said and sat down at the table with one of his acted smiles. She knew it wasn’t real and he knew she knew that. “Tedious, this afterlife.”
“Yes, appalling, isn’t it?” She agreed and smiled amused, “Much more fun now when you’ve joined me though.”
“Is there a secret handshake you’re going to teach me?” he wondered with a snort.
“No, but we have membership cards. Laminated and everything.”
“Cute.”
“Don’t pout just because I finally got you to have dinner with me,” Irene smirked and opened the menu, “And there are more things to eat in this ‘tedious afterlife’ than a boar.”
Sherlock tilted his head and smirked as well before picking up his own menu, glad to see that there was no boar to be found anywhere near the menu.
“Should I be offended that you needed to throw yourself off a building before accepting the invitation?” She wondered and Sherlock met her eyes for a moment before turning back to his menu.
“Molly Hooper sends her best,” he said instead of answering her question.
“Isn’t she sweet,” there was something tender yet condescending in Irene’s voice and Sherlock’s mouth twisted into a frown, “I think I’ll have the lamb.”
“No starter?” Sherlock removed the frown, looking up at her again, “Business’s slow when you can’t advertise?”
“Word-of-mouth is always the best advertisement in my business anyway,” Irene made a small gesture with her hands as if stating the obvious, “Can’t imagine yours is going all that well, either?”
“I’ll just have the duck, then,” Sherlock didn’t even find the need to snort or to give her anything more snarky than that.
“Wine at least?”
“Sure.”
“Champagne, even?”
“To lamb?”
“It’s not the strangest thing ever heard of.”
“Fine,” Sherlock closed his menu and reached out to take hers as well to give to the approaching waiter. For a short moment - intentional of her, unintentional of him - their fingers and eyes met before he turned to the young man in the black tie and ordered for the both of them. Irene seemed very pleased with this and Sherlock, Sherlock didn’t care.
“Oh, no ring in the glass?” Irene teased him as soon as they both had a glass of champagne and the rest of the bottle was in an ice bucket next to the table.
“Me and my work haven’t divorced just yet,” Sherlock said, looking down the glass, watching the bubbles.
“I’m not a monogamist; you, me, your job…. We can have a good life.” She smirked and he rolled his eyes, “A toast?”
Sherlock nodded his agreement and Irene raised her glass.
“To us.”
Sherlock shook his head and raised his glass as well, “To John.”
Her smirk became a smile and she nodded.
“To John.”
-x-
What's dinner without dessert?
Dessert for the Undead