Twenty Five • Distractions

                                    

                                          
"Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it."
                          
-Lou Holtz, 1937-
                          
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"You know," said John. "I'll literally be back in the afternoon."
                          
Mrs Hudson laughed, dabbing her eyes with a scrunched up tissue. She flung her arms around his neck. "I suppose it'll be alright."
                          
"I've been trying to tell you that for days!" he exclaimed with a laugh. He waved at Ophelia, the glisten of the silver steel band on his ring finger shining in the light. 
                          
She waved back with a big smile. "Good luck!"
                          
He smiled and left the flat.
                          
Mrs Hudson let out a deep sigh, a hand over her chest. "Oh, it feels wrong already."
                          
Ophelia laughed softly, resting a hand on her shoulder as they climbed up the stairs. "If it helps Mrs Hudson, my furniture is moving in today too."
                          
"Oh I know, isn't it great? So much is changing." her smile faltered. "I'll make some tea," She walked into the kitchen and began to put the kettle on boil. Ophelia decided her profound landlady could do with the distraction. She was right - it was almost like your child leaving the nest.
                          
She walked into the living room with a frown. "What are you doing?"
                          
Sherlock was on his heels as he sped around the room, pushing over stacks of papers and looking under them, opening drawers and closing them; only to open it again a few moments later. He stopped in front of her. The hair on his head had graciously fallen into his face, thick curls bouncing up and down with the movement of his face. "I need a lighter," his voice was deep and serious.
                          
"A lighter?"
                          
"Yes, those little clicky things that give fire, I need it," he said abrasively.
                          
She narrowed her eyes. "What for?"
                          
He clicked his fingers towards Mrs Hudson and then the fireplace. "Start the fire." 
                          
"But it isn't even night yet!" The landlady exclaimed.
                          
"Wait," Ophelia held out a hand, stopping him from going closer to Mrs H. "Sherlock, what do you need the lighter for?"
                          
He didn't answer. She looked at him in the eyes and her brows fell when she realised what was going on. "No, no! You've been doing so well! If this is because you don't have a case, because we've spoken about that..."
                          
"No! It isn't for that." he glanced at John's empty armchair and then back at her. "I have been doing well, so.. I should be rewarded.. For it."
                          
She blinked and tilted her head. "I'm not sure that's how it works.."
                          
"Ophelia."
                          
They seemed to have another one of their silent and dwelling conversations, which consisted of narrowed eyes and glares. It was only broken off, their gazes torn away until Mrs Hudson came and placed a tray of tea and foods on the small coffee table.
                          
Ophelia pressed her lips together and reached into her pocket, pulling out a lighter and reluctantly handing it to him. "You are provocatively persuasive, do you know that?" she sighed in defeat.
                          
Sherlock took it with a small smile. "In which way?" he asked as he turned around, walking to the desk and pulling out a packet of cigarettes.
                          
"Both."