Chapter Two: No Peace for the Peacemakers
AN: Sorry this chapter took so long, but the plot bunnies are being very uncooperative. All but one of them abandoned me halfway through this chapter, jumping up and down excitedly with ideas for the next one. However, one kind little bunny stayed with me and guided me through, slowly and painfully. So finally, here is chapter two. I've also started planning a sequel to this fic, which will be titled Separation. When I say started, I mean almost finished writing. Don't blame me, blame the plot bunnies. It's all their fault. Chapter Three (which may end up being split in two the way it's going) should be up shortly. Much love, Rose.
Sherlock walked into his bedroom to find John, flopped down horizontally and staring intently at the ceiling.
"The colour is called Arctic White I believe."
Sherlock hoped that by injecting some humour into the conversation, he could break the tension that was etched on John's face. He would never admit it, but he absolutely hated it when John was upset. It made him feel uncomfortable because it highlighted just how useless Sherlock could really be. It reminded him that he still had flaws. It was a helplessness that he despised, yet he knew that there was no one to get around it. Sherlock just didn't know what to do when it came to John sometimes. For some reason, everything rational and logical that Sherlock knew about how to interact with people went out the window when it came to John. Sherlock knew how to manipulate people, he had been doing so since he was a young child but he found it so hard to do so with John. There was only one possible explanation, Sherlock concluded, that brought all of the data together. It was the emotional attachment Sherlock felt towards John that clouded his judgment. It all made sense, the data all fit, he thought.
"She saw it coming."
Non-sequitur. Brilliant, he was in one of his guilty moods again. John had been having these personal crisis moments at least once a day, every day for the past three days. Sherlock knew that the following conversation would be about John's breakup with Sarah. He didn't need to try very hard to deduce that. He wondered if he should feel guilty about being the cause of the split. He had never really liked the woman. It wasn't that she wasn't a nice person, he could see that she was pleasant enough, but he could never stop thinking about her as his competition. An enemy to be defeated, as though nameless and faceless.
"She said she had been expecting it."
Was John waiting for an answer? Sherlock surveyed his facial expression before deciding that he was simply venting. He was looking for an ear, someone to listen to him, Sherlock decided. It couldn't be that difficult could it? To listen, observe, and give advice, be impartial. After all, Sherlock was the world's only consulting detective. Advice and observation was how he had made his career. Just stand here and look patient, Sherlock told himself. Let John continue when he is ready.
"For a while by the sounds of it."
Sherlock bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from blurting out a list of all the reasons why Sarah would have been perfectly justified in making that assumption. He felt somewhat awkward, standing there. It made him feel tall and cumbersome, the way he had felt when he was a teenager. He needed to do something to make himself feel less, well, imposing. It was then that Sherlock found himself staring up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out over the edge of the bed.
"Sounds like she is taking it rather well."
Well done, Sherlock congratulated himself for managing to sound both inquisitive and inoffensive.
"Yeah, she has been really good about it. Still acts exactly the same about me at work as she did before it. Hasn't started dropping shifts on me, or trying to avoid me at work. We actually had a decent chat over a coffee on Monday."
Sherlock's hatred for the woman was no longer as intense, but he still felt put out that John had been having coffee with her. It wasn't fair to keep thinking of Sarah as the enemy, Sherlock knew that. But it was still so soon after the battle had been won that he couldn't help but continue to think of her as competition. As time passed he was certain that the feelings of bitterness, jealousy and rivalry would fade, but right now it still felt somewhat like a ceasefire.
"Did you? See, she isn't losing sleep over it John, so why are you?"
John's face contorted into a grimace and Sherlock feared he had said the wrong thing.
"I'm not losing sleep over the break up Sherlock. But I'm still not sure it's a good idea that we share a bedroom so soon. I don't think I'm ready to share a bed with another person. It disrupts my sleep pattern."
It could hardly be argued that it was for sleep reasons. Sherlock was well aware that John slept far more soundly when he was at home than if he were out at a crime scene or pursuing a case. Even if Sherlock were awake and pacing, or playing the violin, it was obvious that John had been at peace through out the night. Besides, Sherlock knew that John had never slept well with Sarah in the room, even though the two had never shared a bed. He also knew that it had nothing to do with the sofa, or the lilo. So really, why did John have to insist on making so much fuss about the prospect of sharing a bedroom permanently?
"John, I've seen you wake up refreshed every morning. You are getting a perfectly adequate amount of sleep."
Tell me the real reason, Sherlock pleaded with John in his head. If he knew, maybe there was something he could do to help.
"So I'm getting enough sleep. It still doesn't feel right."
That was sleep definitely ruled out, good. Now if only Sherlock could get him to open up. Ask an open ended question, don't make it too leading, he instructed himself.
"What is it that doesn't feel right?"
He watched carefully as John considered his answer, searching for any hints or clues that might appear on the man's face or in his movements.
"The timing. It's too soon. I feel..."
His voice trailed off, as though he was afraid to actually speak about his feelings. Did he think that Sherlock would not take him seriously, or that he would not understand? It was so hard to read those sorts of emotions. Best to let him speak when he is ready, Sherlock decided.
"I feel like it's disrespectful to Sarah. I mean, we've only just broken up and I'm already shacking up with someone else."
Sherlock sighed with relief. This was something he felt that he could fix, that he could talk John through.
"You were already shacking up with me, when Sarah came along, before things got serious."
John shot him a look that made Sherlock feel strangely like kissing him. Was it normal to want to kiss someone when they were angry with you, he wondered? Perhaps it was just that it was John, and Sherlock always felt like that around him.
"Sherlock, you know what I mean."
They were looking into each other's eyes now, an unspoken agreement to a staring contest. The tension was so thick that it could be cut with a knife, as the cliché goes, Sherlock thought. He couldn't take it anymore. There were too many things running through his mind, activities that he and John could be getting up to.
"I'm going to lock the door."
They were sitting in a tiny cafe in Kingsbury, that had four small tables and seemed to be run by a single staff member. It was almost literally a hole in the wall. John had ordered tea for two and some toasted ham and tomato sandwiches. It hadn't taken long for the tea to arrive.
"I had an old lady down the road from us tell me that she heard us a few nights ago."
It sounded like John had been wanting to talk about this all morning.
"From the sounds of it, people could hear us in Birmingham."
John began to cough as inhaled the tea he was about to drink. Honestly, when would that man learn that he just shouldn't try and consume anything during these sorts of conversations, Sherlock thought.
"Oh God. So everyone knows that we...you know."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. John was a doctor, someone who dealt with embarrassment every day, talked about sexual health regularly, and yet he was still so utterly coy about his own experiences.
"Had sex John? Twice? Yes. Even the married couple next door. They actually congratulated me when I went to the sandwich bar. Said it was about time we realised what a good thing we had."
John tried to talk but lapsed into a coughing fit as his lungs struggled to cope.
'You do realise that everyone had been assuming that we were having sex for weeks now. Even when you were with Sarah. The only difference now is that everyone has evidence. Audible proof as it happens."
John's eyes widened at the last remark.
"Audible proof? You don't mean that-"
He stopped as though unable to continue. The cup of tea lay forgotten on the table.
"You do know Daniel, from two doors down? He was calling his brother, who happens to know Lestrade. The brother wasn't home, so Daniel was about to leave a message when we became particularly loud. Apparently the recording consists of Daniel laughing hysterically with us faintly in the background. Lestrade sent me a text, requesting verification."
Sherlock actually thought John might explode he went such a deep shade of red.
"Verification? That it was us? What the bloody hell did you tell him?"
Sherlock could tell that this conversation was going in the wrong direction, but he knew John would not let up until he had an answer. There was no point lying either, because he could check with Lestrade himself.
"I haven't responded. I fear that my silence has been taken as being affirmation. However, it would be foolish to lie for there are so many witnesses."
John didn't respond, but began to stare earnestly at his teacup, as though if he channeled enough energy through his eyes, it might do something interesting. Sherlock could see his brain sorting through different thoughts and emotions. The concept that neighbours and colleagues had intimate knowledge of his private life wasn't sitting well with John, that was obvious. More subtle were John's concerns about how Sarah would react to the news, something that Sherlock frankly did not care about. Embarrassment, uncertainty, anxiety, fear, these were all emotions that Sherlock could read from John's facial expressions. Suddenly, Sherlock felt uncomfortable with reading so much about John with just visual cues. It wasn't sitting right today, he felt like he was prying. It was unfamiliar and Sherlock didn't like it. He tried to focus on something else, to take his mind off of John's mind. Sherlock found himself thinking the texts that he had received from Mycroft, focusing on the one about flowers. If he and John were going to go out for a dinner date, a proper date where it was just the two of them, was he expected to provide a gift? He had observed many couples exchange small trinkets or tokens of affection whilst out, it seemed to be the accepted thing to do.
"John, do you like flowers?"
The comment seemed to catch the doctor off guard. He seemed to be wary of some kind of intellectual trap, Sherlock could almost hear the mind working through what possible second meaning there could be. There was none, none that Sherlock had intended at least.
"Not really, no. I've never been properly diagnosed, but the symptoms tell me that I'm generally allergic."
Right, no flowers, that made things easier. Sherlock picked up the toasted sandwich in front of him and nibbled on it, even though he wasn't hungry. His thoughts were on the weekend, and his first proper date with John. What was truly surprising was that he was actually nervous. Sherlock was never nervous, even when face to face with some of the most dangerous people on the planet. But his mind was racing, thinking about what to wear, how to act, what to say. He hated to admit it, but Sherlock was completely enamored by John and he didn't really know how to cope with it.
