Disclaimer: I do not own SH22. If I did... It would be better!!!!! lol, jk.

A/N: Weird fluffy stuff, the likes of which I have never written.

Blue Eyes of a God

Fire caught her attention first, as it did to many others, but the fire in the hearth at 221b seemed to catch it faster and hold it more desperately than the long-since-past flame that led her to the upstairs flat.

The hearth: Beth's diversion from the Victorian aesthetic; from a time that had long since past and in both her heart and mind could be likened to a fake comfort.

How did it change?

“Hot Cocoa, Lestrade?” A proffered mug and a question lingering in the air became a stagnant hollow sound which forced her eyes to change their place and land upon a man. He allowed one shapely brow to swing itself onto a higher perch.

“Thanks.” Her lips numbly articulated. Her hands slipped about the mug and allowed the hot prickles of sensation to flow through her glove and into her palm, but it wasn't like the fire.

“You seem to be rather quite this evening.” Holmes ventured. He took the seat opposite of her and lifted his tea to sip at it's brim; the beverage still too hot to drink.

“I've been thinking.” She couldn't recall too many clear thoughts, but the ones that had been creating such maddening circles in her mind were easily identified: they left the largest trenches in their wakes. The question was simple and her bluntness never faltered. But, falter it did and another long silence passed before the two.

“Is there any way that I could be of assistance? Perhaps if you gave the details of the case in question, I could be of more assistance.”

Her eyes locked with his for a second before breaking. Would he believe her if she gave her only clues as to the disappearance of a flame from the blue eyes of a god? Was it worth saying? The facts were thus: He didn't need her, He wouldn't want her, and that god now punished her with his ignorance.

“Who said it was a case?” She lifted her mug now and allowed the bitter, yet sweet liquid run down her throat, warming her insides in light of another absent fire.

“Ahhh, quite right. It was not mentioned; however, I know you to be working on the “Corrupt Compudroid” case and, judging from the state of your uniform and the dark mud upon your shoes, I would say that you were searching Regents Park.”

“Really.” sarcasm was second nature to her sharp tongue.

“Evidently you found some evidence which you believe to be of importance to your case. I believe that you have not informed me as you would like to unravel this mystery on your own?”

And those blue eyes had lost the flame again. Mentally she corrected herself, the fire never disappeared, it transmuted. Those eyes that were fire turned to water. She could feel the sizzle as the smoldering remains were doused once more.

“No.”

Was he coughing on his tea?

“No?” He queried, thinking perhaps she was pulling his leg.

“For once, Holmes, no.”

Clinking of china was normally a pleasant noise, but the clinking echoed the silence once more and Holmes placed his tea cup upon one of the side tables.

“May I ask what is preoccupying you then?”

Thank you for the cold. How could it change? Because after three months of not working together he had never sent a letter, left a recording, tried to call: Didn't care.

The only fire he let burn was the one standing in the hearth..

She was angered by the ignorance, by the agitation of his question and by the placidity of the room.

“After three months, Holmes,” A regret in the form of a phrase began to tumble off her lips, “I don't think you may.”

When had the cocoa gone cold? When had she?

He was enough aware of what she meant to grow scarlet in the face. That slender brow descended into a tight constraint. His glare was evident.

“Is that really all, Lestrade?! I simply do not communicate with you for a period of time and you react in such a way?” Those expressive hands were like whips to his statements. Adding the sharp points his mouth couldn't conjure.

“My reaction has nothing to do with it!” She haughtily stood up whilst slamming her mug upon the table.

“Oh, I see, then, pray, tell! What does it have to do with?!” He responded throwing himself up and out of his chair.

Breaths: sharp and suffering in an attempt to regain an appropriate volume. Instead of the booming voice she used before Beth let her voice slide into a whisper. A hiss.

“Your priorities.”

“And why should my priorities matter to you?”

The words stung her ears and the lack of anything she hoped to find was overwhelming. Her strides closed the distance between them and she aimed her pointing finger up at him in warning.

“They just do, Holmes.”

“And that's not an explanation, Lestrade.”

“Well, deal with it, Holmes, cause it's the best your going to get!”

Spinning to run and then being spun back is an unpleasant sensation. His fingers held solidly onto her arm as she attempted to pull away.

“I don't think so Lestrade! I want an answer and I want it no-”

Her lips were pressed against his to stop the yelling. Soft and smooth flesh that Holmes had never dared to explore dangerously pressed against his mouth and begged for an answer. Slowly his mouth too began to maneuver about her face allowing timid kisses to press against her jawline.

Unconsciously he drew her closer.

Unconsciously she let him.

Her hands found a place upon his shoulders and his slipped down to rest upon her hips.

It was obvious that Holmes was unaccustomed to the contact; his chaste kisses hesitant and his hands slowly running behind her to play with her spine. He allowed his fingers to brush against it ever so gently and was rewarded with a small gasp in his ear.

“Holmes?” She knew what she had to do.

“Yes, Lestrade.” He whispered shakily into her ear.

“We can't do this right now.”

He reluctantly pulled away from her and chose to look upon her hands, which had slid down onto his chest.

“Your, quite right Lestrade, we haven't discussed this an-”

for a second time he was cut off, but this time it was from her laughter.

“And, you haven't bought me dinner.”

Suddenly the fire was back in those depths she had thought would be her watery tomb. And now, fire caught her attention first, as it did to many others, but the fire wasn't from the 221b hearth, it was from the man who resided on the second-story flat where her heart had always led her.