The Baker's Detective

| The Palace and the Apology |

Sherlock is still in his chair, thinking. His eyes are closed; this a particularly difficult problem to solve. He's going to need reinforcements.

Unfortunately, Mycroft comes to mind first. He paces the room slowly in front of Sherlock, a smug look on his face. "Well, brother mine..." he stops "... did you ever think this day would come?"

"I don't know if it has yet," Sherlock replies.

"Then why are you asking me?"

"Because you're the one who told what love was."

"A dangerous disadvantage."

Sherlock sighs. This is dangerous — for the both of them. He wants her to go away so she doesn't get hurt but then he doesn't want her to go away at all because he would hardly be able to bear it. What was life like before Lily?

"Didn't you hate her when she first came here?" Mycroft asks.

"I didn't hate her, no. I was... irritated. But that was before I met her."

"Of all the people to fall in love with, Sherlock," Mycroft says. "I always expected you would; you were never strong enough to resist sentiment. But at the very least I expected it to be someone more..." He struggles for the word — or Sherlock does.

"Like us?" he finally asks, brow raising.

Mycroft nods. "Yes, I suppose."

"But I don't need someone like me."

He shrugs. "Perhaps you don't. Perhaps you do need her. In a way, this could be an advantage."

"How so?"

"If she helps you survive — thrive, even. If anyone can get you through a social interaction, it's her, isn't it? You never listened to John."

"He didn't bribe me with baked goods."

"What is it the goldfish say? 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach?' I never thought that was true."

"Perhaps the sweet tooth you so often succumb to is genetic."

Mycroft shakes his head. "That would've been an excellent jab at me if I were real."

"I'll call you later and tell you about it."

"Oh, please do." He sighs, walks towards the door. "It sounds to me, Sherlock, like you've made up your mind about love. I don't think I taught you well enough." He leaves, and Sherlock is alone again.

He's more... open to the idea of love, sure. But what does it feel like? And is that what he feels for Lily?

Irene Adler walks in the door, wearing his coat. She stands in front of him. "Hello, Sherlock. Why am I here, exactly?"

"I'm thinking through something," he says. She looks just the same as she did when she was really here — of course she does. People rarely change within his mind palace.

"I know," she replies. "I just wanted to ask. That's something I would do, isn't it?"

Sherlock sighs. It is. It was. "I was attracted to you." It's not a question; he knows that much.

Her brow raises. "Were you?"

He frowns. "I assumed so. I thought about you rather often. But you were in love."

"Was I?"

He rolls his eyes. "You're not being helpful."

"So sorry, Sherlock." She sits down on the arm of his chair. He shifts away. "Are you experiencing the signs?"