Chapter 1- The Gift
I rapped my fingers on the arm of my grey leather chair as quickly as I could make the ligaments flex, but the usual speed at which my thoughts flowed had become something like honey in winter and I found it nothing short of appalling. Typically so much data, so many connections, so little time, and so little patience with the small minds I constantly found myself surrounded by. I was normally perpetually caught in a purgatory of mediocrity, but such has been my lot in life for as long as I can remember and trust me- my memory for such things really is quite good.
"Sherlock?" Came that familiar voice. I begrudgingly slammed the door shut to my mind palace and focused on the man opposite me in what he often called "the real world" as though it really were a superior place to reside. He looked intent as he sat forward, an expectant look on his face. Of course I hadn't been paying attention, not fully anyway, but I could reasonably guess his conundrum likely had something to do with getting milk or any number of trivial things that seemed to consume his time. "Yes." I responded with as much certainty as I could muster. No matter what it was, an affirmative answer had an 82% chance of being received positively even if it was technically incorrect, so unless he'd just asked me if his trousers made his bum look big I figured I couldn't go wrong.
"Really?" He asked somewhat surprised. I sat quietly contemplating if he had indeed inquired about his trousers, but as was typical of him he kindly filled in the gaps for me. Unfortunately, silence seemed to be something of an anathema to him and for a lot of people as well. Why others felt the need to fill the air with nonsensical inane yammering was beyond my comprehension. "You're really going to Lestrade's birthday dinner? I mean, I'm sure he'd be pleased to have you there," he stammered trying to hide the fact he clearly felt the opposite, "It's just not normally like you to…"
"Be social?" I asked in an annoyed tone. Of course he was right and while Lestrade had his uses, this felt like yet another campaign of 'let's drag Sherlock into polite society kicking and screaming' which I abhorred. I was all too aware that I didn't exactly excel at the games of others and while I didn't care to learn, people seemed to thoroughly enjoy watching me painfully endure the spectacle as though it were a sport unto itself. I couldn't make John more rational and he couldn't make me any more social which left me wondering exactly what the point of it all was. Getting together with others and getting drunk to celebrate the fact you were one year closer to your eventual death seemed morbid to me- unless there were some sort of probability lottery involved in which bets could be made on the manner and timing of demise based on factors such as diet, gender, family history…
"Sherlock?" He called again.
"What now?" I snapped. "I thought we'd established the fact we were addressing one another. You needn't call my name each time you'd like to speak." It may have been a bit harsh but it only seemed obvious to me. The warning glare that emanated from his eyes was enough to let me know I was dangerously close to a row and I sighed in frustration. I didn't mean to take out my irritability on him even if he often made it all too easy. "Forgive me." I said quietly. He seemed to like those apology things and they appeared to work most of the time, yet I had to be careful not to overuse them least they lose potency.
If he was cross with me, he was able to let it go quickly and for that I was grateful. "Are you feeling alright?" He asked with such great worry in his voice that it perplexed me. "You haven't quite been yourself for the past few days."
"How so?" I asked disinterested. I knew very well what he was playing at, but I've found it sometimes better to allow him to feel useful in the ways he knew how. Occasionally I was pleasantly surprised at how perceptive he could be when he put his mind to it.
He hung his head momentarily as though he were asking himself if I had set some sort of trap for him, but he forged ahead bravely. "Well, you've been sleeping a lot for one, not eating, moving much more slowly than usual. You hardly even drink the tea Ms. Hudson makes you in the morning."
"Is that where it comes from?" I asked as I pondered it. For me it was like Schrodinger's cat- the tea was always just somehow around in the atmosphere but never really came into existence until I observed it in the morning. And at some point during the day I would look to the same spot and it was gone even though I hadn't had a drop. She had stated so many, many times before she was not my housekeeper, so I naturally found it confusing she nonetheless took it upon herself to rearrange my things without permission and make tea. I gave a casual shrug and mumbled, "I just haven't been in the mood."
"And what mood are you in, then?" He prodded in his doctor's 'I'm technically asking but I already know' tone. "Aside from the usual insufferable arse that is."
It was true that John was more or less my doctor since I didn't trust anyone else for anything short of an emergency that I couldn't manage, but that's what he was for- aside from general assistance such as booking air tickets, stopping by for milk, and generally all other aspects of dealing with people that I didn't need or want to directly engage in. He really was more valuable to me than maybe even he could have guessed, but there were times such as this he tended to take his job a little too seriously. "I'm fine, thank you." I deferred in the most polite tone I could manage. "Aren't you always reminding me I need to rest more? What was it you called it…? Ah, yes. Relaxation. Well, there's nothing closer to it than pretending to be dead whilst lying in bed."
I felt the tension in my muscles increase as my discomfort with the conversation grew. I couldn't comprehend this sentiment thing he seemed to prize and just be so damned good at. Suddenly I found myself wanting for a newspaper to hide behind, but my supposed not-housekeeper had tossed it out at some point during the day so I did the next best thing: I leapt up from my chair as swiftly as my body would allow and deftly swung around to pick up my violin. "I need a case. I'm bored!" I grumbled as I played a lively tune to mirror my inner dissatisfaction, trying to swallow the rising tide of bile that scratched at the back of my throat.
His eyes were firm yet still inviting. "You're deflecting." He calmly challenged.
I was a bit surprised and agitated he didn't fall for it. "What?" I asked in horror. There were times when he really was too keen for his own good. It was just a pity he couldn't seem to pull that trick out his hat when it would be more useful other than in annoying me.
"Deflecting." He said again, this time slower and with a little more certainty. "You do this when you feel threatened or scared. You try to change the subject, but I'm on to you and it won't work this time. Now as your doctor, Sherlock, I need to know if you aren't well." He persisted.
"As I stated, I'm perfectly fine." I quickly assured him even if it wasn't quite the truth. It wasn't that I didn't feel even the tiniest pang of regret in lying to him, I was more afraid of what would ensue if I was honest. What John didn't know was his latest attempt at romance had already gone sour, but neither she nor I had informed him yet and despite all the obvious signs, he was oblivious as always.
For the better part of their time together she had been seeing another man and I suspected it based on the slight whiffs of cologne that John did not wear on her clothes or the way she would smile at him, yet very subtlety move away when he reached for her hand or stood close to her. Still, I kept my misgivings to myself until I had further proof which I obtained by following her. In retrospect of modern attitudes and laws it might have been considered something more like stalking, but I generally have no use for such contrivances and it didn't take long to discover the truth. The trouble was, she was suspicious of me as well and was waiting for me with her preferred beaux and 10 of his friends, all of whom appeared to be enlisted in the Royal Navy if their uniforms were to be believed- which I didn't. It was a harrowing few minutes of lightning fast thinking and execution of plans, but I was eventually able to escape though not entirely unharmed.
Thankfully, they left no obvious marks on my face or else the game would have been complicated by my having to slink into the morgue at St. Bart's late as it was and somehow convince Molly Hooper to make up my face with her cosmetics under the guise of some experiment. God knows what she may have thought of it, although she likely would have pressed on anyway if only because she fancied me for some bewildering reason and it would have afforded her the opportunity to get up close to me. I wasn't sure that was something I was willing to encourage even if it meant pulling one over on John. Like Lestrade, Molly had her uses and overall her services were more valuable to me than his so I wanted to preserve a certain work/life balance as I've heard is healthy to do. Not dipping the pen in the company ink and all that.
Somehow I managed to get myself home, although walking up the steps was a challenge as the whole structure of the house seemed to spin and I had to navigate this in the dark whilst avoiding all the steps that creaked so as not to awaken John. The last thing I wanted was for him to come and flick the lights on which would no doubt feel like hot daggers to my eyes, demanding to know where I'd been like my mother reprimanding me for being out too late drinking. I collapsed in my bed, face down in the cool sheets and promptly lost consciousness. I didn't have the strength or will to even undress myself beforehand- all I wanted was relief from the splitting headache and overwhelming nausea I felt that were no doubt the result of nearly being brained with a pipe to the back of the head. I only briefly lost consciousness during the attack, but decided to remain on the ground as though I were dead after waking as I calculated this was my best chance of not meeting Molly in the morgue under much more dire circumstances.
I knew it was only a matter of time before John grew suspicious, but it was exceedingly hard to resist the overwhelming urge to sleep as the scrambled neurons in my brain drained all available energy and struggled to repair themselves, but it was harder still to vomit quietly without arousing suspicion. I managed to avoid this by turning on the tap and the exhaust fan in the bathroom. If he wondered why I hadn't eaten or even taken tea it was because I simply found the very idea of ingesting anything revolting. It was also much easier to make less noise retching when it was non-productive. I didn't need him to tell me I was concussed- this didn't fall into the dire emergency category which required his intervention and so I kept the unfortunate event to myself but it didn't mean I could simply laze around all day. I had work to do.
I made brief appearances so he wouldn't think me dead or worse yet, drugged, although I'm sure I appeared that way to him pale and stumbling around as I was. Even though the screen of his laptop seemed uncharacteristically blurry, I made quick work of it and searched Scotland Yard's most wanted list. Not at all surprisingly, I found six of the ten men who had attacked me the night before and set to work activating my vast network of unfortunates who see all but are unseen themselves to track the men down. Each were given instructions to contact Lestrade's office at a specific time to tip him off to the wanted man's whereabouts. It was an easy enough thing to nick John's phone and get his phony lover's number to send a message of my own: each of her companions were going to be arrested in sequence on the hour and unless she too wanted to join them as a conspirator to my attempted murder, she will do right by John by ending things with him by 5:00pm. In truth, were I feeling entirely at myself I would have taken the extra step to find out who she really was or why she made habit of keeping company with men of questionable occupation, but I didn't have it in me to care that much. All I wanted was for her to pick another target- some other unfortunate soul who may have deserved it or at the very least, didn't have a flatmate as astute as I.
In the end I did achieve my goal and the look on his face was heartbreaking when he received the text I knew would come at exactly the time I had dictated. I allowed him a moment to compose himself before casually asking, "Your sister fall off the wagon?" Of course I knew, but I had to be obtuse in a predicable way so as not to make him suspicious.
"I…" he swallowed, again looking at his phone as though he were hoping he'd misread the message, "Tina's done with me. Says she's moving on." His voice waivered just enough to betray the brave face he was putting on. "I don't understand…" and it was clear he didn't.
I put down my violin as the room again started to swirl a bit. "Well then, seems your plus one for tonight is available." I murmured, trying my best to walk toward my bedroom in a casual pace without seeming too eager or falling down. I hoped he took my sudden change in demeanor as tacit acknowledgement of his misfortune rather than the near calamity I was trying so desperately to stave off.
He looked up at me astonished and asked, "Aren't you going then?"
"No," I called over my shoulder, so close to the privacy of my bedroom and sweet relief, "I can't be seen as your date and Lestrade's probably been getting gifts for the occasion all day. Send him my best will you?" If he had anything more to say I didn't hear it as my aching body sank deep into the soft embrace of my bed and the darkness of dreamless sleep pulled me under for yet another rendezvous.
