#sherlock data

Geordi helps me with the particulars.

We make sure to meet up covertly while Data is on duty at Ops and come up with our plan. “Data’s going to be coming down to Engineering to help with the coil realignment at 1300 hours,” Geordi tells me. “I’ll ask him then.” The Chief Engineer chuckles mischievously and rubs his hands together. “Oh, I can’t wait to see how he reacts.”

After his shifts for the day are over, Data comes to find me. “Darling, I know tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of our romantic couplehood. Do you still wish to keep our engagement tomorrow evening?”

“Of course,” I say, draping my arms casually around his neck.

He looks almost sheepish. “This afternoon, Geordi inquired as to whether I would join him tomorrow at the holodeck after we get off our morning shifts. I informed him that it was my anniversary with you tomorrow, but that I would inquire with you whether you would mind if I spent a few hours earlier in the day in his company rather than yours.”

I pat the front of his chest fondly. “Of course it’s all right, Data. You don’t have to spend every spare moment with me, and I know you and Geordi haven’t been able to arrange one of your excursions in a while. You go and have fun with Geordi and I’ll see you later.”

The next afternoon, I get into costume and wait for Geordi’s signal. It comes in the form of a chirp from Geordi’s spare combadge that he slipped me yesterday during our planning session. “OK,” Geordi’s voice comes over the combadge, “Data and I are heading up to Holodeck Two in just a minute. Give us ten minutes and we’ll be in position.”

“Acknowledged,” I respond with an audible grin in my voice.

Ten minutes later, I’m standing in front of the door to Holodeck Two. I tap the control panel and the computer’s voice informs me, “Commander Data Sherlock program in progress.” Adjusting my skirts, I tap the command button to open the door and step into the holodeck.

I’m on a cobblestone street, looking up at a two-story townhouse. The sounds of wagon wheels and horse hooves on the cobblestone and voices of passerby’s fill my ears, and there’s a smell of smoke. I walked up to the door, glancing at the black letters set in the alcove above the entrance: 221B.

Inside, I make my way up a narrow winding set of wooden stairs until I come to the top landing. In front of me is a plain wooden door. I smooth out my skirt and pat my elaborate updo to make sure it’s still in place, then take a breath and knock on the door.

Inside, I hear a familiar voice theatrically declare. “Watson! We seem to have a visitor at our door. Be a good fellow and see who it is, will you?”

I hear Geordi’s voice respond with something I cannot hear and then Data is speaking again. “Ah very well, I shall answer it myself.”

The next moment, the door is opening and I am face-to-face with the legendary Sherlock Holmes.

He freezes momentarily when he sees me, his golden eyes flickering up and down my entire figure, taking me in. I can see his systems working in the expression behind his eyes, attempting to integrate my unexpected presence into his program. But he quickly recovers and adjusts, his Sherlock persona falling impeccably back into place. He holds out his hand. “Madam, I do not believe we are formerly acquainted. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing and for what purpose?”

I take his hand. “Mr. Holmes. Irene Adler.”

His eyes sparkle in recognition of the name. Of course, he knows it; he has every single one of Arthur Conan Doyle’s mysteries saved in his memory cells. His lips twitch into a small smile. He lifts my hand and places a delicate, gentlemanly kiss to the back of it. “Madam Adler, please come in. If I am correct, I believe you are coming from the theatre district with the news of a dastardly deed committed against the Duke of Norfolk. I wish to hear all about it!”

The next few hours pass by in a blur of excitement as the three of us are led on a romp around Victorian London, searching for the brigand responsible for the theft of a priceless family heirloom. Mysteries aren’t my forte, but getting to see Data in his detective element is exquisite. There’s a gleam to his eyes, a vigor to his movements and voice, that I know aren’t just part of his Sherlock persona. He’s indulged me in several of my hyperfixations over the last year, and I’m delighted to finally be sharing in one of his with him.

We arrive back at 221B Baker Street as the holodeck sun is setting. Data takes off his signature grey cap and cloak and hangs them both on a wooden hanger in the corner of the room. There’s something slow to his movements, as if he’s reluctant to bring the adventure to an end.

Apparently, Geordi can sense it too. “Well, that’s another mystery solved, Holmes old boy,” he says cheerfully, clapping Data on the shoulder. He fakes a yawn. “I think I’m ready to turn in for the night. How about you?”

Data’s eyes are fixed on me and he makes no move. “I will join you presently, Watson,” he murmurs, but his voice is more Data than Holmes.

I see Geordi’s eyebrows rise knowingly over the top of his VISOR before my gaze strays back to Data. I hear the Chief Engineer’s command of “Arch!” followed by the whoosh of the mechanical doors opening and closing, and then it’s just the two of us.

Data takes my hand. “Madam Adler, you have proven yourself as a woman of both inestimable wit and cunning. I would mislike to find myself in the role of your adversary, but conversely am fain to consider you a partner in matters of the wit and mind.”

I can’t help but notice how handsome he is in his Victorian suit and bowtie. I run my free hand up into his hair, leaning in close to him so that my lips are almost at his cheek. “And what of something more, my dear Holmes?”

His hand slips down the bodice of my outfit to rest against the small of my back. “An intriguing idea.” His voice is half Holmes, half Data.

I push him until the backs of his legs hit his armchair by the fire, encouraging him to sit. He does, and I promptly drape myself over his lap, one arm around his neck, fingers playing in his hair. “An intriguing idea indeed,” I reply softly and lean forward, my lips pressing against his cheek, then his jaw, then his lips. He wraps both arms around my waist and kisses me back.

One make-out session later, Data lifts his head away from me, his eyes serious. “You do know,” he says, “in the original works of Arthur Conan Doyle, Irene Adler was not in fact a love interest for Sherlock Holmes. His admiration for her was purely platonic. It was later derivative works that portrayed her as a romantic affiliate of Holmes’s.”

I trace a finger down his jawline. “Is that so?”

He nods. “It is.” His eyes stray down slightly to where the top few buttons of my blouse have come undone, and he tilts his head, as if considering undoing some more of them. “I am, however, willing to overlook the canonical inaccuracy in favor of a more pleasurable evening.”

He follows this statement with a series of amorous kisses down my throat and between the undone buttons. I bury my fingers in his hair, pressing him closer to me, and close my eyes, smiling. “I’m glad to hear that.”

As his hands begin to rove deliciously against my body once again, I whisper into his hair. “Happy anniversary, Data.”

Summary:  Five moments in which Data experiences emotion and becomes just a little bit more human. A "if Data hadn't gotten the emotion chip" AU.

Part 1: Humor

Part 3: Pride

Part 4: Offense

Part 5: Saudade

Also posted on AO3 and FFN

Five Moments of Feeling Part 2: Contentment

The second moment was on Holodeck 2.

The Sherlock Holmes program was running.

Geordi had finally found the perfect balance for the program, providing a satisfying original challenge for Data's intellect while simultaneously not posing any threat of more holodeck simulations becoming sentient. They had solved the mystery, involving a mysterious baronness and a missing ruby which had led them on a rewarding romp through the simulated streets of London, and now had returned to Baker Street for the moment. There was still time (58 minutes, 12 seconds, according to Data) until they needed to be at Engineering for their shift, so Geordi had settled in at his desk and typewriter to do his duty as Watson and record the day's adventures.

Data leaned back comfortably in his chair, Sherlock hat disgarded, his lit pipe between his teeth, eyes closed to near slits as he tapped the fingers of his left hand softly against the arm of the chair. Geordi glanced over at his friend and grinned to himself. Data was as close to basking in his victory as an android possibly could be, though Geordi knew that if he said anything, he'd be met with Data's usual denial of any such human sentiment. The click of the typewriter keys mingled with the smell of tobacco for a soft, relaxing atmosphere, and Geordi thought he might end up falling asleep if he didn't keep his wits about himself.

"Geordi?"

Data's soft, pensive voice pulled Geordi out of his reverie. He raised an eyebrow. It was unlike Data to break character in the middle of a program.

"Yeah, Data?"

The android held his pipe, his elbow propped on the chair arm, head tilted slightly as he gazed up at the mantle. His lips were pursed in that tiny frown that meant he was thinking intently or carefully examining his inner systems. "Geordi," he repeated slowly, "what does it feel like to be…content?"

Such an inquiry from Data was hardly strange, but there was something in the tone of his voice that caught Geordi's particular attention. It was the same soft, childlike wonder that Geordi had observed in Data any number of times when the android was faced with something new and fascinating. There were no odd readings from Data, just the usual pale electric glow that always surrounded his inorganic friend. Nonetheless, Geordi dropped his hands from the typewriter and turned fully to face him.

"Well, uh." Geordi paused, collecting his thoughts as he tried to work out an answer that Data would understand. "I guess when I'm feeling content, I feel like everything's…right, like everything's the way it's supposed to be, everything's in place and I'm where I'm meant to be. I feel completely comfortable, but like on the inside too. I feel like I could continue doing what I'm doing forever and never get tired of it. Usually, I have this, well, warm sort of feeling in my chest, warm, soft, I dunno. Does that help?"

Data gave a decisive nod, still staring at the mantle. His teeth clicked against the pipe as he popped it back in his mouth and gave it a large puff that sent a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke swirling up around his head. He leaned back comfortably in the arm chair and removed the pipe. "Yes," he said, nodding once again. "Yes, that is it. Geordi, I am content."

Geordi raised his eyebrows, not quite sure what to think. "Are you sure, Data?"