Not What It Seems
Written as a gift for Jessica's 20th birthday. I hope she enjoys it!
Now, personally, I am VERY pro-Sherlolly, but I had to make it work so Jessica could have Sherlock all to herself.
Dr. John Watson and his wife Mary stepped up to the front door of the Salmers house with their five-year-old daughter Emma as the sun began to set. John reached forward and rang the doorbell, having to wait only a few moments before the door opened for them.
"John!" exclaimed Dr. Molly Hooper-Salmers with a smile. "Mary, hi!" She stepped forward and gave John a hug.
"Hey, Molly," greeted John. "Sorry we're late."
"Nonsense," said Molly, giving Mary a peck on the cheek. "You're fine." She then eased back and bent down to their little girl's level. "And hello, Emma!"
"Hi, Aunt Molly!" cheered Emma, hurrying forward and wrapping her arms around Molly's legs.
Molly straightened up and wrapped an arm around Emma's shoulders as she looked back up at the Watsons. "Please, come on in."
John and Mary ushered their daughter further into the house, and Molly closed the door behind them.
"How's Nadia doing?" asked Mary.
"Ugh, teething," Molly answered, leading them towards the sitting room.
"Ooh, harsh," said Mary. "She finally sleeping through the night?"
"Finally," said Molly. "I thought she'd never get there."
The four of them reached the sitting room, finding the others already gathered there for the night. Molly's husband Daniel Salmers stood near the hallway to the kitchen, cradling their daughter Nadia as he fed her a bottle. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade stood near the fireplace, talking with John's old landlady Mrs. Hudson. The only person missing was…
"Sherlock couldn't make it?" muttered John with a resigned tone.
"No clue," shrugged Molly.
John glanced over at her, raising his brows.
"He declined," Molly told him. "Didn't tell me why."
John frowned over at Mary, who shook her head. "He's been doing that a lot lately."
A timer dinged in the kitchen, and Daniel began to turn in that direction.
Molly darted forward. "I've got it, honey." She then headed into the kitchen to take care of dinner.
John and Mary stepped over towards Daniel to chat with him before Molly announced that dinner was ready.
Thirty minutes later saw them in the middle of their meal. John was staring down at his plate, only half finished with his meal. He couldn't help thinking about his best friend and colleague Sherlock Holmes. For some reason, the consulting detective was sticking in his mind more than usual lately.
"Earth to John."
John shook himself and glanced up to see Greg staring at him. "Sorry, what?"
"Wow, you were really gone there," Greg muttered.
John shook his head, trying to give a smile. "I'm sorry. I just…" He glanced around at everyone as they glanced over at him, frowning in question. "Has anyone talked to Sherlock lately?"
"Not really," Greg shrugged. "Last time I called him for a case was three days ago."
"Exactly," said John, setting his fork down. "He's taking the bare minimum on cases—and finishing them as quick as he can, he's not talking to anyone—I can't remember the last time we had an actual conversation, and he's practically never in a foul mood."
"Yeah, now you mention it, whenever I call him in on cases, he's a complete professional," said Greg. "He comes in, takes a look at the scene, gives me his findings and then leaves. I honestly can't remember the last time he insulted Donovan."
"Now I think about it, he hasn't really been into Bart's for parts," Molly spoke up. "The only time I see him is so he can look at the murder victims."
"And he hasn't made quite as much ruckus as he usually does," Mrs. Hudson told them. "I find myself actually missing it sometimes."
"So, he's not experimenting, he's not obsessing with cases, he's not driving himself up the wall at Baker Street, he's not socializing with his friends…" John rattled off as he began to get a suspicion as to what was going on. He looked up at Greg. "Without those, what is the one thing that would hold Sherlock's attention to this degree?"
Greg sighed in anguish at he reached the conclusion as well.
"Why would he do that?" muttered Molly, frowning in bewilderment. "He promised he wouldn't touch the drugs again."
"What else could it be?" asked John.
Everyone sat in their seats, contemplating their next step in regards to their friend.
Sherlock Holmes trudged up the stairs towards his flat in 221 Baker Street, reaching out to open the door to the living room. When he did, he was greeted with the sight of what might have been the most depressing rave in history.
John solemnly glanced up from his spot in his chair in front of the fireplace. "Sherlock."
Sherlock's eyes glanced over everyone else in the room, (Molly seated contritely on the sofa with Mary and Mrs. Hudson—emotional support—and Greg stepping into the hallway behind Sherlock from the kitchen doorway—in case I decide to bolt), staring at them all with apathetic eyes.
Sherlock turned away from Greg. "About time." He stepped further into the room and took a seat in his armchair across from John.
John stared at him. "Sorry?"
"Took you all three months to work out that there was something different about me," Sherlock muttered, placing his hands on the chair's armrests and crossing his legs. He narrowed his eyes at John. "You're slipping."
John exchanged a frown with the women on the sofa as Greg stepped into the living room. "You don't seem very surprised…or annoyed."
Sherlock gave a shrug. "Because you're wrong."
"Wrong…" John asked for clarification.
"I'm not high," Sherlock told him.
"Yeah, now," said Greg.
John frowned over at Sherlock.
"Who knows what you've been up to lately," finished Greg.
John's eyes narrowed as he realized. "No, he's right."
Everyone looked over at him.
"He hasn't been doing drugs," John told them.
Sherlock gave a smirk. "Very good, John."
"He hasn't?" asked Greg, looking back at Sherlock. "Well, then, how do you explain his behavior?"
"Yes, John, how do you explain my behavior?" Sherlock chimed in, steepling his hands in front of his face and smiling at John with an expectant expression.
John stuttered for a moment when faced with having to deduce Sherlock Holmes. "W-w…He—I, um…"
"Shall I give you a hint?" said Sherlock.
John rolled his eyes. "Go on."
"Which of my behaviors shall we start with?" asked Sherlock.
"How about your lack of interest in cases?" asked Mary.
Sherlock pointed in her direction before dropping his hands. "Incorrect. I am just as interested as ever in my work."
"Then why haven't you been taking cases?" asked John.
"I have," said Sherlock.
"Not that I've seen," said John.
"I imagine you share the same sentiments about gravity," muttered Sherlock with an annoyed roll of his head. "Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it's not there."
"Then why are you hiding them?" asked Greg.
"I'm not hiding them," Sherlock said. "I just don't flaunt them."
"Alright, that brings up point number two," said John. "You're not really being yourself lately."
"In what way?" asked Sherlock.
"No sarcastic comments, no ranting about how everyone but you is an idiot—" began John.
"So, in order to assure people that I do not have a drug habit, I should be insulting them on a daily basis," speculated Sherlock.
"No, I—" began John, heaving out a frustrated sigh. "You love to put people in their place, especially Donovan."
"You usually can't get through a single crime scene without griping at her," said Greg. "I haven't heard you snap at anyone in a month. And that's saying something."
"I am simply trying to expedite my process," Sherlock told them. "Pointing out everything wrong with your ways of thinking is just too costly, time-wise. Next."
"Okay, what about your experiments?" asked Molly. "You haven't been by to pick up body parts in a long time. You had to have run out by now."
"I simply found other…experiments…to try out," Sherlock told them with a mischievous smirk.
"And no holes in the walls, so you're not going out of your mind with nothing to do around here," said John, glancing around at the flat. He frowned as he took another look at the place. "Hang on, is it…cleaner in here than usual?"
"Excellent eye, John," said Sherlock with a smile. "I moved all my case files and other such belongings to your old room."
John frowned. "Why? You've had six years to use that room as a storage closet. Why now?"
Sherlock glanced down at his watch. "I assure you I have a perfectly reasonable explanation." He lowered his arm to the armrest. "I hope you don't mind. I took the liberty of inviting someone to this little intervention."
"Invited someone?" asked John. "Who?"
A knock sounded at the door of the flat, and everyone glanced up—Greg turning round—at the young woman that stood there.
She appeared to be roughly five and a half feet tall with shoulder-length auburn hair that grew more vibrant the closer to her shoulders it got. The red hair blended wonderfully with her pale skin, skin almost as pale as Sherlock's. She wore a blue dress down to just above her knees, black stockings and black ankle-length boots. Over all of this was a black trench coat, the same length as Sherlock's Belstaff. What really stood out to them was the black crescent piercing in her nasal septum and a ring hoop in each nostril.
"Sherlock?" she asked, her accent very pronounced; British, yet not.
"Ah, Jessica, you're right on time," said Sherlock, standing and moving over towards her. He turned to the others as he wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Jessica Brenner. She's who you have to thank for my recent behavior."
"She is?" asked Mary.
"Wait a minute…" said John, staring at Sherlock's arm actually wrapped around another human being—a woman. "Are you two dating?"
"Hold on," laughed Greg, not really paying attention to how Sherlock was holding Jessica close as he turned towards John. "Dating? This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about."
"I am dating her," Sherlock answered.
"You're what?" asked Greg, turning back to Sherlock.
"Jessica and I have been dating for three months," Sherlock told them.
"You have?" asked John in shock.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out," said Sherlock with a smirk.
Mrs. Hudson frowned and finally broke into the conversation. "It's a ruse, right?"
Everyone looked over at her.
"I mean, for a case," said Mrs. Hudson. "You're going undercover."
Sherlock shook his head. "Mrs. Hudson, despite your exhaustive innuendos, I am not nor never have been gay."
"Although, there was that one time…" Jessica spoke up, giving Sherlock a sly smirk.
"Hush now!" Sherlock hissed at her, moving the arm around her up to cover her mouth.
Jessica laughed and pulled his hand down, leaning forward and giving him a peck on the cheek.
John's eyes were drawn towards the hem of Jessica's dress, where it had ridden slightly up her thigh as she reached up towards him. John's eyes widened slightly as he glimpsed a tattoo on her thigh.
Is that a wolf? John wondered.
Jessica chuckled and eased back down onto her feet, and John looked up at their faces.
"You know entirely too much about me, woman," Sherlock told her with a fond smile.
"Wait, what's that?" asked Molly, pointing at Jessica's hand that was currently residing on Sherlock's chest.
Everyone glanced down to see a diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.
Greg's eyes widened as he looked at Sherlock. "Did you…"
"I did," nodded Sherlock. "We're engaged."
"Wha—When did this happen?" asked John.
"Tonight at dinner," said Sherlock.
"You proposed to a woman you've been dating for three months?" asked John. "I'm getting a flashback to Janine here."
Sherlock sighed as he lowered his head. "I will only say this once, so pay attention." He raised his head, looking them all in the eye. "I am not undercover, I am not doing any favors for my brother, and I am certainly not using her." He paused for a moment. "I love her."
Everyone stared in shocked silence at the statement of love coming from the proclaimed sociopath.
"Three months…" gaped John.
Sherlock almost laughed at the look on his face. "I have known Jessica since my days at university. She was actually my first girlfriend…first and only. She went off to the University of Maryland to pursue a master's degree in criminology. Three months ago, she moved back to London."
"She's…been your girlfriend all this time?" asked John.
"I told you the night of our first case, John," said Sherlock. "I am not interested in dating…anyone else."
"This whole time?" said John in exasperation.
"Who do you think I'm texting all the time?" said Sherlock.
"And here I thought you used your phone for work," grumbled John.
"Sometimes," said Sherlock.
"So…you're from London?" Molly asked Jessica.
"Nonsense," said Sherlock. "Her accent is obviously Australian—very refined but still there. She was raised in Sydney and moved to London to begin her university career before relocating to America to finish her studies and then return to London on a permanent basis. Very fortunate for me." He smiled down at Jessica.
"So…you're getting married?" asked John slowly, still staring at the girl. "To her?"
Sherlock frowned at his tone. "Problem?"
"No, no!" said John quickly, gazing apologetically at Jessica. "No offense. It's just that…you're not really Sherlock's type."
"And what type is that, John?" asked Sherlock.
"Well, you're just so…" John struggled for the word.
"Posh?" suggested Mary.
John pointed at her. "Yeah, posh. That's the word."
"Posh?" scoffed Sherlock with a sneer.
"Yes, and you know you are," said John. "And she's…" He trailed off, not wanting to offend her. Or the consulting detective whose stare was rapidly turning into an indignant and angry glare. "Piercings and combat boots and a tattoo…It's just not what I expected you to be into."
Sherlock frowned as he glanced over at Jessica. "She doesn't conform to society's rules and isn't afraid to be herself. Why would that not be my type?"
"Besides, I'm not always like this," Jessica told them. "I mean, yes, the tattoo and piercings are real, but most of the time, I use gemstone studs and a piercing retainer. Sherlock said he wanted to make an impression."
John huffed out a chuckle. "Of course he did."
"So, this is the big secret?" asked Greg. "You've been keeping away from everyone and hurrying through your cases so you could spend more time with her?"
"Yes," said Sherlock. "And if you don't mind, we'd like to celebrate our engagement."
His arm moved down behind Jessica, and she let out a squeal before swatting him across the chest.
"Okay," said John quickly as he stood, not wanting to be any part of their "celebration." "Congratulations. Have fun."
"Yeah, congratulations, mate," said Greg, sliding past the newly minted fiancés and heading down the stairs.
John waited for Mary as she, Molly and Mrs. Hudson stood and began leaving the flat. The four of them began trudging down the stairs towards the ground floor.
"Oh, and John?"
John stopped at the bottom of the staircase and glanced up to see Sherlock leaning over the railing on the first floor.
"Your turn to write a best man speech," said Sherlock quickly before hurrying back towards his flat and slamming the door.
John stared up at where Sherlock had disappeared, frozen in shock and appreciation. It wasn't until the sound of excited giggling and multiple thuds against the flat's door met his ears that he went back to hurrying out of Baker Street.
I need to scrub my ears with bleach now.
Hope you liked it, Jessica! Happy late birthday!