Yeah. So. Spoilers for hilarity.
I missed this little bit of subtext the first time. But now that I've got it, I'm not letting it go.
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock. If I did, there would be lots of love for Sherly. He needs it.
Everything was blurred. Swirling in and out of focus. I can't focus. Simply no focus to be had, if it ever existed. I feel looser than I have in ages. Since I had my last dose of cocaine years ago. And here I am with John, making a fool of myself and not caring. Who needs to care?
"Do 'people' like me?" I ask my next question with a flourish. Gently, so I don't spill my drink. Can't spill that, that's too good. Really good, actually. Decidedly not beer. Oops.
"No they don't. You tend to rub 'em up the wrong way."
I'd rub you up the right way, John.
Where did that come from? I've lost control of my subconscious. That's never good. Only a matter of time until it makes itself known aloud. Very dramatically and without a filter.
"Okay." I fall back before leaning forward with a thought. "Am I the current King of England?"
John laughs. Squeals, really. Adorable. What? No. I am right about this. I will win. Have to show off for John.
"You know we don't have a king?"
"Don't we?"
"No."
Must have deleted it. Come to think of it, the last monarch I could remember was King... something. Sometime in the 1700s. Why did I even know that much? Should tuck it away. Far away. Delete it even. When would I ever need to know anything about British monarchs?
"Your go." I gesture lazily, falling back on my chair. Ah. Chair is nice. Ah. Alcohol is better.
John gets out of his chair and crouches before me. I like that. He's looking at me very closely. What's he doing? Trying to catch a glimpse of the card's reflection in my glass? My eyes? He's sliding closer. There's... He's touching my knee. Touch him back. No, his hand is gone. He shrugs loosely. "I don't mind."
He doesn't mind touching me. Touch him more.
"Am I a woman?" he asks. I snort and giggle. John's a woman. "What?"
"Yes," I answer quickly, with a smile. John as a woman. He'd be Joan. Joan Watson. I try to pull myself up and closer, still giggling.
"Am I pretty?"
I stop. Yes. You're very pretty, John.
"This." He points to his card. He felt the need to... what's the word? Explain. Something like that. Why did he have to make sure I knew he wasn't talking about himself? John. So very pretty. Stay mine, John. Damn subconscious. Can't let it out. Think logically.
"Uh. Beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models."
You're gorgeous.
"Yeah, but am I a pretty lady?" John pushes. Oh God, yes. You're a pretty man. He bites his lip. Not helping my brain try to think. Where's my mind when I need it? Thinking about kissing John senseless and taking him on the floor.
Lie. Quickly. What's a lie?
"I don't know who you are. I don't know who you're supposed to be." Because I know John. John is good. Pretty. He's brave. Smells nice. He's cleverer than I am lots of the time. Probably tastes fantastic. Electric. Like licking a battery.
"You picked the name!" He's clever. So clever. Lie...
"I picked it at random from the papers." When was Madonna last in the papers? Why do I know who Madonna is? Like a Virgin... No. No. Stop thinking of John.
"You're not really gettin' the hang of this game, are you Sherlock?" John falls backwards. He looks so comfy. He'd make a nice pillow. Not that kind of comfy.
"So I am human..." People... "Not as tall as people think I am." Short people... "I'm—I'm niceish. Clever." Sounds like John. John is real nice. So clever. "Important to some people." Like John is to me. "But I tend to rubemupthawrungway." Slurring... I giggle. John giggles. It's nice, talking about rubbing up people like John. John's nice and short and clever and want him to rub me up...
"Got it!" I smile. "I'm you, am I?"
Knock knock. "Yoohoo!"
What? My subconscious knocks now? Maybe I shouldn't drink any more.
"Client!" It's not my subconscious, it's Mrs. Hudson! She's... interrupting my John time. With this lady. This lady who showed up out of nowhere and is trying to steal my John away from me when all I want to do is give him my heart.
"Hullo."
"Hullo," I mimic. Smile. Must fake a smile for John.
"Come on." John wants her in here. He's letting her take him away from me. He doesn't realize what he's doing to me.
"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?" she asks meekly. Really! She comes here and she doesn't even know who I am! I know who I am!
John's finger comes very close to my face. To my forehead.
Ah.
Apparently I don't know who I am as well as John knows who I am. That thought makes me smiley and tingly. Though it might just be that my BAC is through the roof and I have to urinate.
But neither of those things explain why my heart aches so much every time I look at John.