Sherlock paced around the room. He was feeling anxious. He's not accustomed to feeling anxious, which made him feel even more anxious. The fact that he didn't know why he felt anxious made it even worse. And his right hand wouldn't stop moving.
Focus, Sherlock. Focus on the area. Zoom in. Centralize. Think why. Where are you? You are in the reception building. What are you doing? You are waiting for John to come back from conversing with some early-arriving guests. Does that bother you? Yes. Why? I don't know. Why? I don't know. Why? I said I don't know. What is John doing? Conversing. With whom? Guests. What kind of guests? Guests who would arrive early. What kind of guests arrive early? Those with too much time on their hands. Are they threats? No. Why would you think they are threats? I don't. Yes you do, you thought up the question and answered it. They're threats because they could steal more time with John that he could be spending elsewhere. Elsewhere? Yes. What is elsewhere? With Mary or other guests. He can't see Mary until the wedding, so that rules out Mary. Less than one hundred people saw the invitation list; no one else will be coming this early. Who else is here that he could spend time with?
Me.
Does knowing this feel the same as the anxiety you are feeling?
Yes.
So we can only assume that…?
I am anxious because John is not here.
And?
And I want him to be.
Sherlock sighed.
How do I fix it.
How do normal people help themselves feel less anxious?
Physical activity.
You can't, you're in a tuxedo and the wedding is in an hour and a half.
I could remove the tuxedo and shower after.
Not enough time. John would have come back by then. Unnecessary.
Tea.
Tea doesn't work that way with you.
Talking.
Talking would work. Who would you talk with?
Someone I trust.
Who do you trust?
John.
Incorrect choice for this occasion.
Molly.
Will she listen?
Yes.
Talk to Molly.
Sherlock picked up his phone and searched through his contact list. He tapped Molly's name and typed up a text message. He still preferred to text.
I need you again.
Reception building.
Room 201.
- SH
He pressed send. Exactly seventeen seconds later, he received a reply.
Be right there.
Sherlock continued to pace around the room. He calculated the amount of time that it would take her to arrive at the door to the room. Fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds. John would surely be speaking with the early guests for that amount of time or longer. They obviously have nothing to do to entertain themselves, so they'll keep him there as long as they can.
He decided to escape into his mind palace for the time being. He went through the wedding plans.
There was a knock on his door. Three minutes early. She must have rushed. Or she was already on her way. No, too unlikely. She had rushed.
He opened the door to Molly, who stepped right in.
"Are you alright, Sherlock? I got your text, and I was worried."
"I'm anxious." He began pacing the room again, shaking out his right hand.
"Anxious?" Molly asked skeptically.
"Yes, yes, anxious. I dislike it. Make it stop."
"Oh, um, okay." Molly set her bag down on the bed.
"Why are you feeling anxious?"
Sherlock groaned angrily. "I just had this conversation."
"Not with me, you didn't. Now tell me why."
Sherlock paused. "John."
"What about John?"
"He's not here."
"He's just downstairs talking to some guests. I saw him on my way in."
"No, he's not here. With me."
Molly made a small "o" with her mouth.
"And I want him to be."
'Greg told me about this. Maybe…' Molly thought.
"Sherlock, I want to tell you a story."
"How will that help?"
"Just sit down." She demanded. "My mother would tell me stories when I was feeling upset-"
"I never said I was feeling upset." He defended.
"Sherlock." Molly gave him a pointed look.
He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"My mother would tell me stories when I was upset, and they always made me feel better. I could see myself in the characters."
"Hmmm."
"Alright." Molly took a deep breath. "Once, there was an otter. He was a very clever otter, always knowing where to get food, and he always knew when it was going to rain. He loved to go on adventures, but not many of the other animals were keen to go along with him because he was so mean, and he had very few friends. He was very independent, and he was afraid to love. He didn't understand what it was or why animals felt it. So he stayed away from other animals, fearing that he might catch the 'love bug.' One day, while he was on one of his adventures, he met a hedgehog."
"Impossible. Otters and hedgehogs live in separate areas. There's no logical way that-"
"Suspension of disbelief, Sherlock. Let me speak."
"Sorry." He mumbled.
"One day, while he was on one of his adventures, he met a hedgehog. The hedgehog had just finished a long journey in the desert, and he was looking for a place to stay the night. The hedgehog looked so sad and tired, so the otter said 'You can stay with me.' The hedgehog was so grateful, that he made the otter a nice big dinner of berries and clams that night." Sherlock opened his mouth to correct her, but she shushed him.
"The next day, the otter wanted to go out on another adventure. He asked the hedgehog if he wanted to come along, not expecting him to agree, but he did! They had great fun on the adventure, and they soon became good friends. The hedgehog loved the otter with all of his heart, and he was so happy that they were friends." Molly's tone turned sad. "But one day, the otter left. He didn't tell the hedgehog that he was leaving, or that he would be back. The hedgehog was very sad. He thought about finding a new place to live because the home that he and the otter shared reminded him too much of the otter."
"I don't see how this is supposed to help."
"I'm getting there, Sherlock. Be patient."
Sherlock huffed.
"Soon, the hedgehog met a ferret. She was a very pretty ferret, and she was smart and funny. She made him feel better after the otter left. A year later, though, the otter came back. He was very happy to see the hedgehog, but the hedgehog was angry. He didn't understand why the otter had left him. He thought the otter had died."
"But soon, the hedgehog and the otter went on another adventure, and the hedgehog realized why he had loved the otter, and why he still did, even after such a long time. The otter had realized while he was away, that he loved the hedgehog, too. That scared him. He didn't want to love. He didn't know what love was. But he couldn't stop, even when the hedgehog told the otter that he was going to marry the ferret. That made the otter very sad. Surely he would lose his best friend, wouldn't he?"
"But he didn't. The otter told the hedgehog how he felt, and the hedgehog was very happy. The otter married the hedgehog that day, and they lived happily ever after, going on adventure after adventure. The end."
Sherlock was silent.
"What about the ferret?"
"She was sad, but she had known that the hedgehog and the otter loved each other. She didn't want to get in the way of them. It was the right thing to do."
Sherlock thought for a moment. "Why would the hedgehog marry the ferret if he loved the otter?" Sherlock asked quietly.
"Because the hedgehog didn't know how the otter felt."
"Oh."
"Do you see what I'm trying to say, Sherlock?"
Sherlock was silent again, looking out onto space. Molly stood from her seat on the opposite side of the bed and sat next to Sherlock. She turned to him and wrapped her hand around his.
"It's okay to love, Sherlock." She told him quietly.
"The otter should have sent the hedgehog a message. To let him know he was alive. Just one word, Sherlock… That's all he would have needed. One word, to let the hedgehog know he was alive…" Sherlock told himself quietly.
He understood.
"Better?"
"Yes." He took a deep breath. "Thank you, Molly."
She smiled. "You're welcome, Sherlock." She told him sincerely. The two sat there for a few more minutes. "I've got to get back now, Sherlock. I still have to get ready. Will you be okay here?"
"Yes, I'll be fine."
Molly gave Sherlock's hand one last squeeze, then grabbed her bag and departed.
"Oh, hello, John." Sherlock heard her say just outside the door.
"Hello, Molly. What are you doing here?"
"Oh, Sherlock needed me for something. I was just on my way out."
"Right, okay. Good seeing you, then. See you soon."
"Bye."
Sherlock listened to John's approaching footsteps and the opening of the door to the room.
"Hey, Sherlock. Sorry I took as long as I did. The Hendersons wouldn't shut up."
Sherlock stood and faced John. "No worries, John. The important thing is that you're here now." Sherlock told him, putting on a mask of happiness and contentedness.
John looked at Sherlock. "Right." He paused. "Right, then. I'm just gonna put on my tuxedo. Be back in a jiff."
Sherlock paced the room again while he waited, his right hand tapping against his leg.
"Sherlock, could you help me out with my boutonnière?" John asked as he walked out of the dressing room and over to Sherlock.
"Certainly." Sherlock took a few steps forward and closed the gap between them, taking the boutonnière from John's hands.
"So what did you need with Molly?" John asked.
Sherlock worked on putting the flower on John's suit. "I needed her help with an issue I was having."
"Issue? Couldn't have talked to me about it?"
"You wouldn't have… You weren't the correct person for the job."
"Gee, thanks."
Sherlock ignored him.
"Having a little trouble there, Sherlock?" John asked.
Sherlock's hands were trembling, and he couldn't fasten the boutonnière onto John's suit.
"Yes, just-" He blocked everything out, focusing on fastening it. He didn't want to stab John by accident. He didn't want to hurt John. Not again. "There." He tapped the boutonnière twice. "Done."
"Alright, yeah. Thanks, Sherlock."
Sherlock gave him a quick smile, which turned into a frown as John turned away to look in the full-length mirror.
"John."
"Yeah?"
"John, I have something to tell you."
"What is it?"
"I'm the otter. You're the hedgehog."
John looked at him like he had just grown another head. "Yeah, mate, you're gonna have to clue me in here. I'm not following."
"John, I'm in-"
John's phone buzzed.
"Oh, hang on." John looked at his phone. "Sorry, gotta take this. Hold that thought."
"No, John – This is of importance–"
John answered his phone and walked out of the room. "Hello? Oh, hello, Alexandra. No, no. It's fine."
Sherlock stood there, blinking, until John came back in.
"I said hold that thought, not hold your exact position for three minutes." John laughed.
"Two minutes and forty-seven seconds, actually."
"You counted, then?"
"What else was I supposed to do?"
"I dunno, read something?"
"There's nothing here to read."
John rolled his eyes. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"
'Say it before you run out of time. Say it before it's too late. Say what you're feeling. Waiting is a mistake. Maybe you can have a happy ending, like in Molly's story.'
"John, I-"
There was a knock at the door. "Mr. Watson? We need you for a moment." Came the voice of one of the reception workers.
Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut tight and sighed. John stepped away and opened the door.
"Yes?"
"I'm so sorry to bother you, sir. But we have a question about the ice."
"The ice? What about the ice?"
"Do you want it in halves, cubes, or crushed?"
"Oh, um. I don't know, cubes, I guess?"
"Alright. Thank you, sir." The young man bowed slightly and turned on his heel.
John returned to Sherlock. "Sorry about that. Again. They needed to know about ice, of all things. Now. Third time's the charm, right?" John smiled up at him. "What did you want to tell me?"
"Just…" Sherlock paused. "Good luck. I'm… Happy for you."
Damn.
John smiled. "Thanks, Sherlock. That means a lot to me. Really, thank you." He said sincerely, not knowing that Sherlock was breaking inside.
Sherlock smiled down at him. "You're welcome, John."
John took a deep, nervous breath.
"Well, how do I look?" he asked, looking in the full-length mirror again, brushing some imaginary lint from his jacket.
Sherlock suddenly realized that there was a lump in his throat. So he just smiled at John, and John smiled back.
Because that's what best friends do.
A/N: Reviews are always appreciated.
