Dessert for the Undead
Notes: Still just grave silliness to deal with post-fall-feelings. Follows Dinner for the Undead. Much love to the wonderful boy who said my German holds the same quality as Google translate’s French (good thing he’s better than both me and Google translate).
Summary: Sherlock gets his Undeads' Club membership card.
-x-
“What is that?” Sherlock looked with great suspicion at the card Irene was giving him between the lit candles on the table.
“I told you, we have membership cards,” she said with a flirtatious smile. It was the second time they met after Sherlock had entered limbo, as Irene liked to refer to it. Sherlock didn’t refer to it at all. At least not out loud.
“How morbid.” Sherlock took the card and examined it. It was cheap, made on a hotel lobby computer - or something equal high-tech - and laminated in a vain attempt to hide the fact that it was printed on office paper and cut into an appropriate size.
“That’s half the point,” she said beckoning the waiter over to get more wine.
“I’ll remember that,” he placed the card in his wallet, making sure the picture of John was hidden from her. He knew she knew it was there, he just didn’t want her to see it. Just like he knew she carried around a picture of her father - the only man, he imagined, she had really cared about - even though he had never seen it.
“You’ll have to return it when you resurrect.”
“Did you hand in yours when you came back from the dead the first time?” There was something bitter, yet mocking in his voice.
“Of course,” she sounded dead serious, “The rules of the Undeads' Club are very strict.”
“You know you make us sound like zombies, don’t you?”
“I thought I’d told you, brainy is the new sexy.”
“I can vaguely recall something like that,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Doesn’t mean I fancy eating them.”
“Me neither, I prefer chocolate.”
“Let’s have dessert today, then,” Sherlock smiled and called on the same waiter that had served them more wine.
“You tease,” Irene smirked, “Big brother has upped your allowance?”
Sherlock gave her a glare before turning to the waiter, ordering two molten chocolate cakes and judging by her soft nod, she approved of the order.
“I think…Dresden, for the next time,” Irene picked up her calendar - cellulose based, inconvenient but harder to trace - and flipped through the pages.
“Warum?”
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
“Ein bisschen.” Sherlock shrugged and looked suspiciously at the dessert that was placed in front of him.
“Ein Mann voller Überraschungen,” she hummed, effusively ignoring his eye-rolling.
“My French is better,” he admitted, “Peut-être, à Lyon?”
“Je préfère Grenoble.”
“Pourquoi?”
She just batted her eyelashes at him and he sighed at the insinuation.
“So Perugia it is?” Irene smiled and wrote it down three weeks from today.
“I can’t that Friday,” Sherlock said, reaching over the table to flip through the pages - it didn’t surprise him at all that she let him - stopping two weeks ahead, “How about this Thursday?”
“Tremendously busy that week, I’m afraid,” she shook her head, “but if we take it in Pleven I think I can squeeze it in that Wednesday.”
“Bulgaria?”
“Yes.”
Sherlock looked like he was thinking it over as he took a bite of his cake. They both knew that planning in advance wasn’t a part of their life anymore but playing with the idea was soothing. Perhaps a bit intriguing.
“I think I can stop by,” he finally said and she closed her calendar with a smile.
“It’s a date.”
“I thought it was a secret meeting for the Undead’s Club.” Sherlock smirked.
“One doesn’t exclude the other,” Irene said with a shrug, “How’s your Bulgarian?”
“Terrible,” Sherlock admitted, “But I have time to learn.”
“Not much to do in your afterlife?”
“If I’d known death would be this boring….” Sherlock shook his head, leaving the rest of the sentence up to her to interpret in whatever way she liked.
“Good thing you have me,” Irene said finishing her dessert, leaving the silver fork in her mouth a little longer than necessary.
“On a leash?”
“If you’d like.”
“Would be a bit inconvenient, wouldn’t it?”
“Undoubtedly,” she smiled and leaned back in the chair, signalling that she was done and just waited for him to finish as well. He put down his fork, pulling slightly on his shirtsleeves - more out of habit than out of need - as a signal of the same thing. He didn’t feel like finishing the cake.
“There really should be a handshake,” he said, seeming out of the blue, “Or at least a password.”
She laughed and it was just as good as for her to laugh as it was for him to hear it.
“How about ‘Hamish´?” she suggested.
“That’ll do fine,” Sherlock smiled as he beckoned the waiter over to ask for the check. He had a ticket at the Finlandia Hall to listen to Linda Brava and didn’t want to be late.
-x-
Drinks for the Undead
Summary: Sherlock gets his Undeads' Club membership card.
-x-
“What is that?” Sherlock looked with great suspicion at the card Irene was giving him between the lit candles on the table.
“I told you, we have membership cards,” she said with a flirtatious smile. It was the second time they met after Sherlock had entered limbo, as Irene liked to refer to it. Sherlock didn’t refer to it at all. At least not out loud.
“How morbid.” Sherlock took the card and examined it. It was cheap, made on a hotel lobby computer - or something equal high-tech - and laminated in a vain attempt to hide the fact that it was printed on office paper and cut into an appropriate size.
“That’s half the point,” she said beckoning the waiter over to get more wine.
“I’ll remember that,” he placed the card in his wallet, making sure the picture of John was hidden from her. He knew she knew it was there, he just didn’t want her to see it. Just like he knew she carried around a picture of her father - the only man, he imagined, she had really cared about - even though he had never seen it.
“You’ll have to return it when you resurrect.”
“Did you hand in yours when you came back from the dead the first time?” There was something bitter, yet mocking in his voice.
“Of course,” she sounded dead serious, “The rules of the Undeads' Club are very strict.”
“You know you make us sound like zombies, don’t you?”
“I thought I’d told you, brainy is the new sexy.”
“I can vaguely recall something like that,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Doesn’t mean I fancy eating them.”
“Me neither, I prefer chocolate.”
“Let’s have dessert today, then,” Sherlock smiled and called on the same waiter that had served them more wine.
“You tease,” Irene smirked, “Big brother has upped your allowance?”
Sherlock gave her a glare before turning to the waiter, ordering two molten chocolate cakes and judging by her soft nod, she approved of the order.
“I think…Dresden, for the next time,” Irene picked up her calendar - cellulose based, inconvenient but harder to trace - and flipped through the pages.
“Warum?”
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
“Ein bisschen.” Sherlock shrugged and looked suspiciously at the dessert that was placed in front of him.
“Ein Mann voller Überraschungen,” she hummed, effusively ignoring his eye-rolling.
“My French is better,” he admitted, “Peut-être, à Lyon?”
“Je préfère Grenoble.”
“Pourquoi?”
She just batted her eyelashes at him and he sighed at the insinuation.
“So Perugia it is?” Irene smiled and wrote it down three weeks from today.
“I can’t that Friday,” Sherlock said, reaching over the table to flip through the pages - it didn’t surprise him at all that she let him - stopping two weeks ahead, “How about this Thursday?”
“Tremendously busy that week, I’m afraid,” she shook her head, “but if we take it in Pleven I think I can squeeze it in that Wednesday.”
“Bulgaria?”
“Yes.”
Sherlock looked like he was thinking it over as he took a bite of his cake. They both knew that planning in advance wasn’t a part of their life anymore but playing with the idea was soothing. Perhaps a bit intriguing.
“I think I can stop by,” he finally said and she closed her calendar with a smile.
“It’s a date.”
“I thought it was a secret meeting for the Undead’s Club.” Sherlock smirked.
“One doesn’t exclude the other,” Irene said with a shrug, “How’s your Bulgarian?”
“Terrible,” Sherlock admitted, “But I have time to learn.”
“Not much to do in your afterlife?”
“If I’d known death would be this boring….” Sherlock shook his head, leaving the rest of the sentence up to her to interpret in whatever way she liked.
“Good thing you have me,” Irene said finishing her dessert, leaving the silver fork in her mouth a little longer than necessary.
“On a leash?”
“If you’d like.”
“Would be a bit inconvenient, wouldn’t it?”
“Undoubtedly,” she smiled and leaned back in the chair, signalling that she was done and just waited for him to finish as well. He put down his fork, pulling slightly on his shirtsleeves - more out of habit than out of need - as a signal of the same thing. He didn’t feel like finishing the cake.
“There really should be a handshake,” he said, seeming out of the blue, “Or at least a password.”
She laughed and it was just as good as for her to laugh as it was for him to hear it.
“How about ‘Hamish´?” she suggested.
“That’ll do fine,” Sherlock smiled as he beckoned the waiter over to ask for the check. He had a ticket at the Finlandia Hall to listen to Linda Brava and didn’t want to be late.
-x-
Drinks for the Undead