Tea
A/N: Just a little ramble that went through my head one morning while making tea. I started wondering what Sherlock would do if he came back to the flat before John did, after his return from the fall.
Do not own. Not my property. It all belongs to vastly more powerful people than me, such as the BBC and ACD. If I did own I'd be shopping for a dress to wear to the Emmys. Oh and jewelry, lots of expensive jewelry.
He fills the kettle with fresh water and moves to place it on the element.
As the molecules in the water are heated, they transfer energy from one to another. Convection causes the heated water to rise and in turn allows the cooler water, which is denser, to fall. The cooler water then comes in contact with the bottom of the kettle. The element and the kettle and the water give off electro magnetic radiation as their electric charges vibrate. Eventually all of the water is heated to the boiling point. The energy from the heat starts to excite the hydrogen bond, the energy that holds the molecules together in a liquid state. Boiling commences. The boiling temperature of water is 100 Celsius, 212 Fahrenheit or 373.15 Kelvin. Because a great deal of energy is spent in overcoming these bonds the boiling takes place at exactly the rate of the energy entering the water. The molecules that split off from the liquid water dissolve in the atmosphere as steam. The steam takes up more space than the water. Once boiling is rapid enough and the pressure builds and the steam moves faster, the pressurized steam escapes through the hole in the spout of the kettle. If the hole is small in diameter it will cause a whistling sound.
He moves the kettle off of the element and pours the water over the tea bag he has placed in a mug.
Boiling water is poured over the cured leaves of the Camellia sinenis plant. The addition of boiling water causes the leaves to release the biomolecule tannin. If the water is too cool, no tannin will be released, resulting in an incomplete flavor.
The mug is his mug. John's. One of five souvenirs left from his time in the army.
His mug. His gun. His shoulder wound. His tremor. And his limp. Did the limp and tremor return? Those are souvenirs I hope remained lost.
The mug has the insignia of the Royal Army Medical Corps.
It depicts the Rod of Asclepius and the motto 'In Arduis Fidelis', 'Faithful in Adversity'.
Does that even begin to describe John? Certainly he has always been faithful, from the moment my ridiculously dramatic brother first kidnapped him until the last I saw of him. He refused to believe I was a fake the entire time I was gone. He had even posted on his blog that I was his best friend and he would always believe in me. Will he still remain faithful? Will he forgive me? Will we be friends?
And adversity. We have had more than our share.
He glances at the tea in the mug as it begins to deepen in colour.
The preferred time for the average person to steep tea is 2 to 3 minutes. I, however, am not average and prefer my tea to be of a more substantial flavor and strength.
He steeps his tea for 4 minutes.
He removes the tea bag after the tea has steeped.
He opens the fridge and is pleased to see there is milk. There have been countless times over the length of his absence where he has had to make do with having just tea, clear, no sugar. Or times when he drank tea that would have been better labelled swill.
Milk and sugar are an appreciated luxury.
He adds milk to the tea.
The milk, because of added proteins and fat, is denser than the water. It sinks and blooms, spreading out like an unfolding flower. I have a memory of having tea with my Grandfather and being fascinated by the shapes the milk created in the tea. Most people prefer to add milk to the cup first and then add the tea. I prefer to add milk after because that's the way my Grandfather took his tea and possibly because of the childhood memory it invokes. Sentiment. Hmmmm.
He adds two heaping spoons of sugar.
The molecular formula for sugar is C12H22O11.
As he stirs the liquid, the spoon makes a pleasant sound against the edge of the mug. A sound that signals home, safety and John.
He crosses into the living room and contemplates his chair. His chair is in the same location and has not been touched since he left.
Although the material of the chair is clean and free of dust, any imprints from my previous use have faded. There are no new impressions on the material. Therefore no one has sat in this chair. Amendment no one has been allowed to sit in this chair. Interesting.
He sits in the chair, a chair that has not held him for 395 days 14 hours and 22 minutes. He rests the mug on the arm of the chair and allows the liquid to cool. He closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of the flat.
I missed this.
He opens his eyes and lifts the mug to his mouth and takes the first sip. The liquid, warm, fragrant, flavourful enters his mouth and he swallows, feeling the warmth trail down his esophagus.
He knows it doesn't really warm his heart, but it does.
The first, best cup in many days, days of being on the run, of tracking down criminals.
Tracking monsters that would have destroyed those he cared for.
No time to stay for long in one place, no place to call home or refuge, because that place already existed.
Was already real and waiting.
But would be incomplete without one further addition.
He closes his eye once again. The smell and taste of the tea brings up images that had not, could not be deleted.
Times of sitting with a friend.
He is half way through the mug of tea when he hears the door open downstairs. He hears a warm and gentle, but oh so tired voice call out.
"I'm home Mrs. Hudson." He hears the murmur of a reply, but not clearly enough to distinguish the words.
He has probably picked up shopping for Mrs. Hudson.
He hears the weary tread on the stairs, in the sound, evidence that the limp has once more reappeared.
The door to the flat opens, a bag of groceries crashes to the floor, an apple escapes from the confines of the bag and rolls away, unheeded. The voice, he'd been eager to hear for well over a year, gasps.
"Sherlock?!"
He stands quickly to greet his friend.
In his haste, his elbow knocks the cup off of the arm of the chair, and it upends, the remains of the liquid soak into the carpet, to be largely ignored for the time being.
A/N: At least 9 cups of tea were drunk during the creation of this story.
I send this story out to my daughter who knows and understands infinitely more of the universe than I ever will and my son who is a far better writer.
I take responsibility for any mistakes I have made with the sciency (it's a word!) bits. I simplified the process of boiling water more for my understanding –Sherlock would understand it much better than I.