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What had just happened?

Once second he was desperately trying to remember any information on his hard drive about astrophysics- damn that pointless field- and the next you were flawlessly gabbing with the target, keeping your cover from being blown wide open. There was a definite advantage to having you along. Though he’d already gathered that from the tennis case.

Stupid sweater vest had given him a rash.

Irritating.

Sherlock blinked, glancing over at John to find your brother was equally confused, if not more so.

Definitely more so.

“Don’t mind them. He’s a chemist. You know how they are- no consideration for the bigger picture... and my brother there is here for a theater lecture. Token creative type, you know,“ you offered the young scientist, giving a quick grin as you adjusted the thick framed glasses on your face.

Shame they were fake. You looked… presentable with glasses.

Very presentable.

Now that he thought about it the whole disguise suited you. Perhaps assuming you had no scientific interests was a mistake. You played the part naturally and your knowledge of astrophysics was a curious anomaly in your character. Something that even John didn’t know about.

Interesting.

Worth further investigation.

Bringing himself back to the present, he adjusted his periodic table shirt and gave a displeased huff at your statement, “I resent that.”

“You would,” you laughed, looking up at him with a glint of mystery in your eyes.

Damn that bloody glint.

Every time he thought he had you figured out that damn glint popped up again.

He couldn’t exactly complain. You were turning out to be even more useful than John and you some how always managed to be one step ahead of him when undercover. Not that he’d ever admit that.

Of course not.

Though making John a theater type… that was brilliant. He might have to give you credit for that.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

Either way it was hilarious.

“Would you mind giving us a tour? My research partner here is just dying to see your bees. Our uni refuses to let us bring them anywhere near anything,” you pleaded with a small smile and the girl returned it nodding, “How could I deny a fellow scientist? It’s a shame they won’t let you have your own.”

Good.

He needed to see those bees. Those glorious bees. Apis mellifera.

Lovely creatures.

“Isn’t it just,” he answered with a genuine frown. Your lie actually wasn’t too far from the truth. John had forbidden any attempts of cultivating a hive of his own in the flat when he'd discovered Sherlock's initial plan.

He had so many rules.

Cover organic matter in the microwave so it doesn’t splatter.

Don't show up on his dates.

No blood on the counter tops.

No heads in the fridge.

No shooting the wall.

No Cluedo.

Tedious.

Your unsuspecting scientist friend led on, each step bringing him closer to what he needed to know, and you glanced over at him. The smug smile on your lips made his heart skip a beat.

How odd.

He wasn’t at risk for heart disease or arrhythmia.

Something to look into later.