A Commingling of Genes

She brought it up once. The possibility of their genes intermixing. He shouldn't have been that surprised (she was, after all, a woman in her early to mid-thirties). Most women, no matter if they are full-time secretaries or part-time dominatrixes, feel at least an instinctual urge to procreate. Even if they don't like children, the thought usually crosses their mind at least once–if only to be quickly pushed to a far corner to never be contemplated again. He doesn't respond when she mentions it (an offhanded affair, as if she were discussing the weather or something equally inane). She continues, not that she would stop if he told her to. In fact, she would probably be even more egged on if he told her to cease. But, she does continue. She brings up good points: that their spawn would be vastly intellectual, have one of the most enlightening upbringings (whether it be witnessing crimes being solved daily, watching Mummy take down another opponent, or a combination of the two) which would ultimately prepare it for a filling career, and, of course, that any future procreation of theirs would undoubtedly be incredibly attractive.

She goes into further depth of each point, as if trying to sell the idea to Sherlock (although they both know this pointless talk is just meant to fill the silence). She starts off with the apparent intellectual capacity of said future-child. Not only would the child have a high IQ because of its parents' individual high IQ's (she had hers tested and Sherlock's parents insisted he be tested), but it would be surrounded with things that would undoubtedly expand its intelligence. It could perform experiments with Sherlock's various chemistry sets (Sherlock interjected to say that would never happen. Irene shot him down with a glare that clearly said it would happen if future-child wanted it to happen). It could learn all sorts of trickery from her (what she calls, Life Skills which consist of basics such as how to pick a lock to advanced arts such as carrying out plans to get what you want). It would obviously inherit its parents' deductive abilities. Sherlock adds that he began to show signs of his skill at a young age, therefore, the child would probably mature into its abilities quickly.

Through growing up around a dominatrix/criminal and a consulting detective/sociopath, the child would have a most enlightening childhood. She insists that the child would have to spend at least a bit of time with him (Sherlock seems annoyed at the thought of having to babysit in this scenario), if not to spend time with its father than certainly to observe his deductive skills in action. Of course, she insists that the child would be brought to the crime scenes as early as humanly possible (she can't have a child with any sort of aversion to blood and violence). He says this is highly unlikely because of the various problems it would cause him: where to put the child when he gets a lead, how to properly abandon the child when he was being chased by a madman, etc. Irene scoffs. Apparently, said-child will already be trained in self-defense and will only help to expedite his search for a criminal. This time, Sherlock scoffs. Nobody expedites his searches. Everyone sets him back. Unless they matched his mental acuity and thought pattern exactly (highly unlikely considering the child would be half hers genetically), the child would certainly slow him down. As well as put itself in danger.

She moves on to the third and final point. She reasons that whether the child be male or female, it would be attractive. She looks into the mirror atop the hotel's dresser and studies each of their features. For a girl, unsurprisingly, she would want it to resemble herself more. Although she would want the child to have a combination of their noses, cheekbones (not quite the height or protrusion of his), jaw-lines (more hers than his, though), she would want it to retain her feminine lips and small and fitting chin while aiming for an aristocratic face like his and seemingly ever-changing eye color. For a boy, she would want an almost mini-Sherlock. Although she would prefer him to have her strong jaw line, she would want the boy to inherit his father's high cheekbones, elongated face, alienlike yet entrancing eyes.

She's circling him now, a lustful predator stalking her seemingly indifferent prey. He's sitting on a wooden chair in some one-star hotel in Karachi. She's behind him and she leans down to bring her face to his level. His gaze remains straight ahead, ignoring (or at least trying to ignore) the fact that her hot breath on the back of his neck is causing goosebumps to travel up his forearms. She smirks and he resolves that he will not pay attention to the fact her lips are inching dangerously close to him, that she's running her hands down his torso, that she smells like cigarettes and wine. She brings her lips to his neck and steals a quick kiss reminiscent, yet somehow infinitely more seductive, of the one she planted on his cheek those many months ago. She lingers, letting her nails dig into his shirt as she brings them back up and steals another kiss. She leaves that night, placing a neatly written and folded note on the bedside table. Thank you for indulging in my fantasy, Mr. Holmes.

Sherlock knew that Irene Adler would make a horrible mother. A flighty, demanding, cruel mother.

/

But Eileen Baker could be a good mother.

A perfectly lovely mother, indeed

Author's Note: I really hoped you all liked it! I've been trying to pump out some sort of Irene/Sherlock story for awhile and I finally felt like I got something at least remotely acceptable with this story (although I kind of hate the way I had to space it out. All these weird line-breaks and attempts at creating distance between the text. Sorry about that!) Anyways, I really hope you liked it, please leave a review telling me your thoughts, and I hope to read some of your thoughts! Cheers!