No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Dinner?

The door to 221b opened with a slight creak as Celestia pushed gently in on it's solid wood surface. She peeked her head in, having heard voices inside before realizing that Sherlock was simply on the phone. She relaxed, thankful for the absence of any unwanted visitors, and set her coat on the rack before plopping down on the couch in front of the detective. He was so thoroughly engrossed in an mild argument that he didn't appear to register her arrival. Only when the conversation had been completed and Sherlock's phone had been tossed onto the cushion next to her did he acknowledge her presence, and only then with a quick raise of the eyebrows.

"So what was that all about then?" She asked, leaning in intently.

"John wants us to meet them so he can introduce you to Mary," he replied with a grumble.

"And that's a problem because.....?"

Celestia questioned, perplexed at his reluctance.

"He wants us to go to a restaurant," Sherlock explained in an exasperated whine, very much resembling a four year old with his slouched shoulders and scowl.

Celestia stood up with a chuckle. She put her hand on his shoulder and assumed a demeanor that obviously mimicked Mycroft. "The genius who could handle murders and psychopaths and bombs is afraid of a little social interaction? I suppose only the select few have been given the brains and charm I have been gifted with. You, brother mine, are simply not one of the elect-" Celestia slipped out of character, unable to sustain the imitation without laughing.

"Oh my... We could be breaking into the British government with an impression like that," Sherlock mused. "But I swear if you start acting like that you'll be out before you can ask for cake!"

Celestia took hold of his arm and pulled him toward the door, ignoring his threat. "Shall we be off?" she demanded, her hands held on her hips.
"You aren't going to take no as an answer are you?"

"Nope," she countered with a brilliant smile, reaching for the door knob.

"Shouldn't you do something with you hair first?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to her haphazard mess of auburn locks. She rolled her eyes and shoved him as she ran into the bathroom. A moment later she emerged, her hair free of tangles and looking as though she had spent hours arranging it.

"Let's go." She yanked the door open, wrapping her scarf tightly around her neck awkwardly with one hand. After she had fastened it, she leaned forward, grabbed Sherlock's wrist, and pulled him through the doorway before he could object.

On the taxi ride to the restaurant, Sherlock observed Celestia in his peripheral vision. Her slim frame seemed slightly slimmer and her cheek bones were a bit more protruded. She had been wearing more makeup lately, mostly under her eyes to cover up the dark crescents of sleep deprivation. He noticed that her habit of messing with her scarred neck had refused to be kicked and caused her to wear a scarf almost everyday. Sherlock noticed that she disliked it when even he saw the marks. A stray glance or a misplaced stare would send her pulling her hair down frantically to block the look. He knew she had nightmares; any normal person would. Sherlock worried; deep, deep, deep, down in his minuscule center of emotions there was a tiny particle of concern. If she left, he'd be alone again... but she had stuck with him, through thick and thin so far.

He doubted he would forget the sound of Celeste screaming his name as the shot was fired earlier that day. When the culprit had been found and the mystery had been so temptingly close to an end, she had screamed for him. She hadn't cared if Clara was still alive or if she was in danger, it was his safety that came to mind, his well being, his life. Sherlock knew that feeling, he had felt it when he had pulled John out of that fire. The feeling of desperation, sheer terror and adrenaline pumping through you with the intensity of a drum beating in your chest. Yes, Sherlock knew the feeling, but he never dreamed anyone would actually care if he died. He was just a show off, a freak, an idiot, a no one.

"Sherlock?"

A soft voice brought him back to reality and before the detective knew it, he was being wheeled into the exact restaurant that John had suggested and sat down at a table beside Celeste, facing the two Watsons.

"Hello, hello!" the cheery voice of a blond woman welcomed them.

"Sherlock, always a pleasure," she said, to which he nodded curtly. "And you must be Celestia," she continued with a smile. "I'm Mary if you didn't already know. John's filled me in; I hope you don't mind." Concern crossed her eyes as she reached out and put her palm over the young woman's hands.

"Oh no, not at all." Celeste smiled at the couple reassuringly. "If John can trust you so can I!" she said with a laugh.

"Now look at you, you can't be more than what, 21?" Mary guessed, pulling her hand away.

John chuckled them rolled his eyes. "Guess again, darling," he dared, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

A waiter came by and passed around drinks as Mary thought a moment. "19?" she guessed again.

"28," Sherlock interjected, a bit tired of inaccurate assumptions.

"Oh! Oh, my." A look came over Mary's eyes and she took a sip of her water, looking up at Sherlock knowingly. She took her time, then set the glass down and asked innocently. "So are you two....?" she trailed off, a smirk playing on her lips as she watched Sherlock's face take on expression after expression.

"No," Celeste stated with a sense of finality. "Sorry, Sherlock." She smiled apologetically. "She's only messing with you."

"Well..."

"Mary," John warned.

"What? Height and age differences are fine, and if anyone can stay on that man's good side after all she's been through I'd say they have a pretty good chance. Why? Are you jealous?" Her eyes simply sparkled with delight as Sherlock's cheeks flushed and John pursed his lips and closed his eyes in an attempt to stay calm.

Only Celestia remained untouched by Mary's joking. "Wow, you must be handy to have around. Anyone who can do that," she jerked her thumb in Sherlock's direction, "to Sherlock has talent indeed."

The surely disastrous conversation that was to follow was cut off by a waiter who took their orders and ran off into the kitchen.

"How did you know where to come?" Sherlock inquired, looking around at the Italian style decor that went along with the restaurant's menu.

"Your phone," Celestia replied with a smug smile.

"My phone! You don't even know the password!" he exclaimed, catching the attention of John and Mary. She tapped her temple twice. "Photographic memory, Holmes. If I've seen it once I've seen it a thousand times."

"Are you sure you aren't together? Because I swear you could be an old married couple," Mary noted, obviously amused.

"No!"