Important note for possible readers: italic means personal thoughts of main characters.
Watson knocked on the door in the darkened street and looked up to the windows to reassure that there is a light inside of the house.
She shivered with cold even in her warm coat, and her tiny fingers in gloves shook the snowflakes off of her shoulders.
She waited but nobody answered, so she patiently knocked on a solid wooden door again.
Nothing.
Watson sighed, pulled her scarf closer to the neck and pressed the doorbell. She immediately heard a familiar sound coming from inside of the house.
But it didn't force anybody to open.
Where the hell is he?
She rang the bell again and rubbed her frozen hands.
Okay, next time I'll take better gloves.
Watson looked up at the dark sky where the snowflakes are falling from.
Damn it.
She took off her gloves, pulled out the cell phone from her pocket and dialed his number.
Sherlock answered on the second ring.
"I know you're there, let me in or I'll freeze to death here," she said with icy voice.
"Watson, I haven't got time. If you really want to get in, I'm sure you can do it without my help."
Does he laugh… ?!
"Otherwise, all my teaching of yours was useless."
He hung up before she could answer.
Watson gasped with rage and pulled out of her bag a set of picks. Her frozen hands didn't work the way she wanted, but she managed to overcome the lock at the third attempt. She opened the door and a whiff of heat from the fireplace and the smell of freshly ground coffee welcomed her.
Watson went inside but he wasn't in the foyer.
She took off her coat and scarf and hung them on the hanger. She entered the main room, where she noticed Sherlock's presence finally.
He leaned against the doorframe and watched her with amusement.
"Three minutes and 50 seconds. Not so good, Watson." He was disheveled and barefoot. He was wearing a worn narrow trousers and a light sweater which matched to his eyes with dark circles. He was holding a coffee mug with a rosing steam.
"Pardon?" she asked.
Sherlock nodded towards the door.
"Three minutes and 50 seconds before you get inside," he explained.
She grinned.
„You said you don't have time to open the door, but you have enough of it to measure this?" she asked irritably.
Sherlock shook his head at her nescience of his actions and sighed.
"That was all for my fun when I was listening to your miserable fighting with the shoddy lock," he laughed fleetingly but his face got more serious immediately after that exceptional and…
gorgeous
smile.
„But I more desperately want to xclude next suspect in this goddamn case." He moved away from the door and offered her with the theatrical hand gesture a view into another room where was what occupied his mind. And the only one sight was quite enough for her to understand how dangerous mood devoured her former partner.
All the ground was littered with papers, photos, press cuttings, sketches, scripts and books. Chairs and table and library were covered with yellow papers with handwritten notes. It would be impossible to move in that room without stepping on some of the stuff and evidence related to the case.
Without realizing it, she took a few steps towards him and the room screaming with his obsession. And while her eyes searched for all that things strewn as far as she could see, Sherlock has been watching her. Watson's black hair were covered with sparkling drops of melting snowflakes, her eyes flitting around the room and her petite figure was wrapped in long opened cardigan, short dress with a red flowers, gray leggings and ankle boots with high heels.
She's beautiful as always.
He took quickly a sip from his mug to scare off unwelcome thoughts.
Then he frowned with an unspoken words.
Finally, she looked at him.
"Coffee?" he asked innocently.
Watson shook her head and shivered with cold.
"Where's Kitty?" she asked and walked over to the couch and lifted the blanket. She wrapped herself into it the way a child was wrapping in a baby duvet, and sat down.
„Kitty needed a little rest so she went ... you know, out with some friends. I let her."
Watson nodded her understanding at his allusion to their recent discussion about giving more personal time and space to his new protégé. He silently put his mug on the nearest table and stared at her. Hands spontaneously ran down along the side and his fingers started to dance nervously. He began rock on the balls unconsciously.
"Watson, I don't want to be rude but I don' have time to speak to you right now..."
"Kitty sent me a message," she interrupted him.
"She was worried about you, due to the... case," She gestured to the next room.
"She asked me to come and check."
Sherlock's reaction was a loud disgusted sigh.
Then, he jabbed his eyes into hers.
"Why the hell can't you two let me be?" he asked irritably.
"She said you haven't sleep for three days," Watson continued in a soft voice. Instead of responding, he has started pacing the room quickly. She saw frustration and exhaustion in each of his moves but she knew he didn't want to get defeated with that.
"Watson, I don't want to say something I might regret later."
Suddenly, he stopped and looked at her.
What do you mean...?
"I mean," he said and circumscribed some circles with his hands in front of him.
"I mean I should offend you and I really don't want it, due to our recent ... cooperation. But I'm seriously not in the mood for discuss about my feelings or for any other distraction from the case. Just ... just go home. I'm fine. "
Watson stared at him.
He sighed again.
"Please, go," Sherlock repeated his request vigorously and turned from her as a sign that their conversation was over for him.
Watson hesitated for a while but then she listened to her instinct. She put down a blanket she was wrapped in before, stood up and slowly walked over to him and stopped so near she could reach him with her hand. Hesitantly, she picked it up.
Don't do it, he told her in his thoughts.
Sherlock sensed what she wanted to do and the idea of physical contact with her upset him. He knew that if she touched him, it put him out of the case much more than her brief visit which can do it by itself.
But Watson couldn't hear his thoughts, and he suddenly felt a warmth coming from her hand hovering a few inches above his left shoulder.
He closed his eyes.
"Watson, please don't ..." Before he could finish his sentence, Watson lowered her palm against the thin fabric of his sweater and sent an electrical discharge in his entire body. He winced and it frightened her.
He turned back to her rapidly and look at her face from very near distance.
Watson's dark eyes stared at him softly.
"I just wanted ... You should get some sleep. I'm asking fot nothing more," she whispered.
Sherlock didn't answer and searched her face in silence.
She became nervous with him standing so close and violating her personal space with such an intensity.
She looked away.
"I wonder," he whispered, still watching her, "what did your boyfriend say when you left him in the middle of the date and went to visit me immediately after Kitty - forgive her that indiscretion - sent you that message."
Once absorbed his words, Watson blinked rapidly.
"How do you know that Andrew and I had ..."
"Your hair," he said. She raised her hand and touched it unconsciously.
"What's with it?"
"It's combed a different way. More carefully. And your clothes. You wore this dress only once, long ago, when you went on a date with some man. Besides, you smell a little with food. With that specialty you like in the restaurant on the corner near your apartment. I also feel the perfume you wear only when you go out with a man. And finally ..."
He paused. Watson looked up and her sight was almost apologetic. He gave a look at her lips and her heart almost stopped at the moment. She felt a blood puring in her cheeks.
"Ignoring the fact that you're blushing now - which itself means that I'm right - you used a lipstick. I mean... this seductive shade specifically," He waved a hand to her face lightly.
Then there was a silence.
They looked at each other.
And something in that moment was so intimate. How he knew her and watched her and examined her. It hit Watson more than all the confidentiality which she shares with Andrew.
"Okay, you're right," she said resignedly.
"Finally," Sherlock responded sharply and stepped away from her. Suddenly, she felt a relief that he left her personal space and missed his close proximity at the same time. Watson was confused with that feelings.
Don't think about it.
Not now.
Hardly, she managed to find the words.
"We were at dinner with Andrew, but he understands what you and I have together and he doesn't matter ..."
Sherlock's patience had started to occur at a dangerous speed.
He silenced her with an angry sight.
"Matters or not, you should be with him. Or ... Or I don't know, study one of those books that I gave to you. Learn to be helpfull in my next case, if I needed to. Or try to conquer locks because you apperently stagnate, if not getting worse in it. "
He shot that words in her face without thinking how it hurts.
Watson stared at him speechless for a while and then her eyebrows drew together.
All her sympathy and desire to be near him vanished as quickly as she has felt it for the briefest moment.
"You're so ... so ..." Watson gasped and threw up her hands.
"I warned you," he said plainly.
"I'm in no mood to debate about my sleeping or not sleeping and I don't want you to dictate me. Neither you nor Kitty. Until I find out who committed the… the crime, I will not sleep. I can't. And now, if you let me, I want to work. "
At these words, Sherlock went into the hall and picked her coat from the hanger insolently. He set it with his hands for her.
Watson looked at him and her eyes began to burn with tears.
I am ... acerbic.
I can be cruel.
It's who I am.
The memory of his words struck her as if she'd been slapped.
She didn't want him to see her tears so she quickly walked over to him and grabbed her coat from his hand. She reached for a scarf so he had to swerve or she could poke him.
"You're not a gentleman, but an idiot," Watson said and ran out of the house with the clothes in her hands. The door shut behind her sharply.
Sherlock stared at the door and even if he didn't want it, his mind repeated their discussion. His fingers stopped dancing by his hips and calmed. He moved and walked back into the room and stared into the other to all the mess on the ground. Unwittingly, he picked up a cup of coffee from the table, slowly getting cold, and drew it to his lips with the intent to drink. Then he looked at it as if he saw it for the first time. He sighed and laid it back.
With an exhaustion, Sherlock went to the couch and sat down.
At the same time his nose was hit by her scent.
Watson's scent.
His hand reached instinctively for the blanket Watson was wrapped in moments before, and pulled it closer to his body.
He stared on the fading fire.
Her scent intensified a little.
It hovered around him.
It hugged him.
Permeated him.
He took the blanket, as it would be the most fragile thing he had ever held, and pulled it over his shoulders.
He closed his eyes.
Maybe ... maybe I was too harsh.
He took a deep breath of the scent.
Maybe ... I can have a little sleep after all...