"That's it! I'm stuck here for the night until this bloody storm passes." John said, as he paced Sherlock's flat. The weather has taken it's toll over the city, no cabs to be spotted, no people outside, just darkness and huge drops of rain. John sighed.
Sherlock remained silent, sitting on his chair with his hands together over at his lips, thinking.
The case they have been working on is about a young widow (she was only 38), found dead inside her flat. Cause of death: strangulation. The odd thing about this case is that the woman was tucked in her bed, not in the natural sleeping position, but as if she was put there, with a tray of food on her lap and some flowers on her bedside table.
"There's a bloody storm outside, I can't go back to my wife and I'm stuck here with Sherlock Think-A-Lot Holmes. This is going to be a quiet night." John muttered. He was used to this, course. Sherlock zoning out whenever he's thinking. But unlike before, John can't step out of the flat and find other things to do with this raging weather.
"It was her therapist." Sherlock said.
Good, he's done, John thought. "The therapist?"
"Yes. Whenever a killer has affection for the person they want to murder, the most "pure" and "merciful" way they can think of is strangulation. They think it's beautiful that they have control over the life of their victim as they sentence them to death, making our suspect someone who empathises with people a lot, having a high regard for fear and pain. Also within the borderline of psychopathy. This person is obsessed with the victim, someone she knew for quite some time, judging by the flowers on the bedside table." explained the detective.
"The flowers?" John asked.
"It's so obvious! Seriously, John you should learn to observe! As we entered her flat, a photo of her with her husband was displayed on the walls. She was carrying a bouquet of peonies. Same goes for multiple photos in the fireplace, near the telly… Anniversary photos, Christmas photos, there are peonies present in them, indicating that it was her favourite. The killer could've chosen any random flower, but he chose peonies. Coincidence? No such thing."
"But what would explain the food?"
"After he killed her, he thinks he owned her. He wanted to be romantic. As I mentioned, he was obsessed with her. When we talked to her therapist, his eyes were all over the place, showing anxiety, his eyes darting over the room multiple times, the look and sound of affection over his face and tone is evident, the slight change is his posture when the sessions were brought up, considering that the victim goes to him to talk about her late husband… Simple. Now, phone Lestrade and tell him it's the therapist."
John did what he was asked of and turned back to Sherlock as he finished. The detective was preparing tea for both of them.
"Aren't you going to leave yet, John? Mary's going to worry." Sherlock mused.
"I'd like to, but there's no cab. Mary said I should stay here until the storm subsides." John replied.
"Storm? What storm?" Sherlock asked, carrying the tea to the table between their chairs.
"It's pouring outside! Complete with lightning and all! The brilliant Sherlock Holmes doesn't even notice the weather… Great!" John impatiently screeched.
"Who cares about the weather?" Sherlock said non-chalantly.
John shook his head and just sat across his friend, helping himself to a cup of tea. He looked at Sherlock, studying the detective. How could he talk about love and obsession so objectively? John finds it amusing and yet, sad.
"Sherlock?" he called.
"Yes?"
"Do you see me with Mary? How happy we both are?" John asked.
"Why, yes John. I don't see why…" Sherlock replied, but was cut off by John.
"I want to see you happy. You know, happy with someone." It's true. John has spent conversations with Mary about setting Sherlock up with someone. He was delighted (confused but delighted) when he thought his friend was genuinely dating Janine. He wanted Sherlock to feel the same domestic happiness he now has. He wanted to give his best man speech at his friend's wedding.
Sherlock stared at him with puzzled blue eyes. "I am married to my work, John. I said it before…"
"Oh you bloody git! Don't you want to feel what it's like to have someone… You know… Care for you and love you and…" John recited impatiently. Sherlock just stared at him with question.
"You, Mary and Mrs. Hudson give me that. Why should I want anything else?"
"What are you so afraid of, Sherlock?" John asked, exasperated.
"I don't like getting attached, John. Not after Redbeard." Sherlock confessed.
Who the hell is Redbeard? An ex-boyfriend? This is a surprise, John thought.
"Well, whatever it is that happened between you and Redbeard…" John started.
"What? No. No! Redbeard's my dog, John!" Sherlock shouted with full defiance.
"Oh." John replied. And Sherlock told him about Redbeard (A/N: if you wanna read about my Redbeard fic to compliment this story, click here).
When the detective finished, John nodded, realising that he might be seeing his friend for the first time.
"But then there's Molly… You see how she looks at you." John offered, still not giving up on convincing his friend to date someone.
"Molly. I… I can't. I've hurt her so many times, John. Molly Hooper is dear to me, yes, but not in a romantic way. I'll just hurt her again and again and I don't want to lose someone as important as her. And I don't think I can be a perfect companion for her." Sherlock said thoughtfully.
"But Molly knows all of that. That girl is madly in love with you, Sherlock! You've seen her ex-fiancée… I bet you can deduce so much in that!" John bellowed. He was surprised with himself and his friend. Sherlock is actually opening up. John pressed his luck further.
"Yes. It was quite obvious."
"Did you get jealous?" John asked.
"Jealous? No… No, not jealous. Just… Why are even talking about this?" Sherlock fumed.
"Well, I can't go home and the there's nothing left to do so might as well do something productive."
"This is productive?"
"To me, yes." John replied, no humor involved.
"I was scared, John. Scared than that time in Baskerville. Scared that that fiancee will snatch Molly away." the detective breathed, almost to himself.
"You are jealous." John said, as-a-matter-of-factly.
"No! You don't understand! Jealously is mundane. This is fear of… losing someone. This is why I love Mary, John. She accepted me into both your lives. I can't expect that of Molly's fiancee. It's like trying to get along with Donovan!" Sherlock admitted.
"Okay… I get it. How about Irene then?" John asked, a smile on his lips. Since Sherlock opened up about Molly, might as well use the same card to discuss Irene Adler.
"What about her?" Sherlock asked, a twinge of sincere curiosity in his tone.
"Did you love her? Loving her still?" John asked, excitement evident in his voice.
"Love. How pathetic." Sherlock muttered.
"You didn't answer the question." John said, a silly grin on his face. Sherlock frowned.
"With The Woman, love is not something I can apply." the detective put simply.
"She cared for you, that's for sure. 'Sherlocked' is what she called it." John teased.
"Yes."
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Did you love her or not?"
Sherlock considered the question for a moment, his blue eyes staring past John.
"It wasn't love… It was an understanding. We play with our minds, not hearts. It was a completely different phenomenon that I cannot explain myself. She will always be a puzzle to me." The detective replied.
"The Woman."
Sherlock nodded.
"But you were deeply affected when you thought she was dead. Admit it." John pushed.
"She was… Different. The Woman. The thought of her loss made me feel… Something quite inexplicable." Sherlock replied.
And so the questions went on and on. John pressed on Sherlock the entire night about questions that he was itching to ask him since the day they met. He shared stories about himself as well, of the life before 221B, before the mystery and mayhem of their friendship. When the morning came, both men know that their bond had grown stronger than before, enough to calm the raging storm.