Sherlock lay awake in his bed listening to the talking and whispering from above. He knew Christine was teasing the doctor. He found her both interesting and infuriating. She was a young pianist, but she had a comeback for almost everything he said; almost as annoying as John's blog. Eventually, everything quieted down upstairs. Sherlock's mind drifted to the smack she had given him earlier that day and placed a hand on the back of his head. She was brave, he'd give her that. Of course, she could probably take him on and hold her on if she wanted to. He wondered if Mycroft had seen her with them, but realized that he had to have. Always spying on him and getting into his business, Mycroft, the elder Holmes brother, knew virtually everything about his younger brother and John Watson. Sherlock didn't care for him or his ways of obtaining information much. He soon found that even briefly thinking about his brother made him feel ill. The detective shivered and went to sleep.
The next morning, Sherlock awoke to an empty flat and a note that read:
Sherlock,
We've gone out to get the shopping. I'll try to keep John from fighting with the machine.
-Christine
For some reason, Sherlock was slightly irritated with how familiar she was with his friend. He sat down in a huff and waited for them to return. A long while after he had picked up a book to keep himself entertained, Christine returned. Sherlock could tell that she was upset; that would have been obvious to anyone who caught sight of her.
"Where's John?"
"Who gives a damn where he is?"
"Let me guess, you found out that he's seeing someone else."
Christine nodded slowly, tears rolling down her cheeks. Sherlock stared at her, not caring if she thought he was being rude. He'd never watched anyone cry over John before and it disturbed him a bit; he wanted her to stop. He, for once, felt just a tiny bit sorry for her.
"Christine, all of the pieces were there. You only saw what you wanted to see." Sherlock pointed out, prepared to be told to piss off.
He heard her sigh and lie down on her stomach on the sofa.
"You're right, Sherlock…"
A smug grin crossed his face, "Of course I'm right."
"Why wouldn't he tell me?"
"Because he's an idiot. Practically everyone is."
"I'd agree with that right about now. What's it like, Sherlock?"
"Hmm?"
"What's it like to completely ignore your emotions?"
"Emotions get in the way. Ignoring them makes for clear judgment."
"You make an excellent point.
"Yes I do." he said, not looking up from his book.
Christine sat in silence with Sherlock for another half hour, watching him read, think, and analyze everything he saw. For some reason, she enjoyed watching him. By watching him so intensely she was able to see how tense the muscles in his neck were.
"Sherlock?"
"Hm."
"Aren't you just a bit uncomfortable?"
"Does that matter?"
"Well, it's just, I can see the muscles in your neck."
"And?"
"They're very tense. It's got to be uncomfortable."
"What can you do about it?"
Christine sat cross legged in her seat on the sofa, "Come sit on the floor in front of me. I'll show you."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her, skeptical as always.
"I'm not going to hurt you or try to jump you, I promise. Actually, I'd jump you if you asked, but you won't." she said, attempting to reassure him.
He sighed and relocated to the spot on the floor in front of her. At her touch he stiffened and his hold on the book tightened. He almost never allowed anyone (especially a woman) to touch him that way, but he had wanted to see what her solution to his problem would be. Sherlock felt her begin to gently massage his neck and shoulders. It was pleasant and a bit painful.
"You've got quite a knot, Sherlock."
He didn't reply; he'd known that. After a few minutes of being massaged and rubbed, Sherlock realized that he'd been on the same sentence since she'd started.
"How are you doing that?" he asked.
"Doing what?"
"Distracting me."
"Am I distracting you?"
"Obviously."
"Not so obvious to me, Sherlock."
"I haven't turned the page in ten minutes. Either you're distracting me or I've been side-tracked."
"Oh… Well, maybe you're distracted because you like what I'm doing."
"What?"
"Does it feel good to you?"
"Yes…" he said, almost struggling to admit that he enjoyed the massage.
"That's why you're distracted."
At that realization, Sherlock furrowed his brow and crossed his arms over his chest. Christine smiled; he was cute when he was pouting.
The detective allowed Christine to massage the rest of his back after his shoulders and neck felt better. For that though, she'd had to move. Now, she sat behind him on the floor, him sitting between her legs. Sherlock didn't seem to mind their position or the fact that she'd slipped her hands under his shirt. That is, he didn't mind until John walked in and spotted them.
"What the hell is going on?"
Sherlock attempted to get to his feet, but Christine pulled him back down before he could.
"You can get up when I finish, Sherlock." she said.
"No. I'm getting up now. We have company."
"Do we?" Christine asked, not paying attention to the third presence in the room.
"Yes. John's home."
Christine sighed and allowed Sherlock to get to his feet; she stood up slowly not long after he did.
"Christine explain this." John demanded irritably.
"Simple. You hurt me so I came back here. I watched Sherlock read for a while and I noticed that his muscles were tense. I gave him a massage, we discovered that I have the ability to be distracting, I continued afore mentioned massage, and then you got here."
"Where were your hands up his shirt?"
"Would you rather my hands be in his trousers?"
"No…"
"Then shut it."
Sherlock had perched himself in his chair with his book and was trying to ignore their bickering. His face had turned slightly pink when she'd mentioned having her hands in his trousers.
"I don't see who you're so upset, John." he said, finally deciding to speak up, "From what I understand you just told Christine you're with someone."
John was speechless; Sherlock had a point. Sherlock noticed the look on Christine's face and knew her intentions immediately. As she crossed the room to stand toe-to-toe with John, Sherlock followed her.
"Just in case the fist one didn't get it through your thick skull…"
She raised her hand to slap him and struck at him, but her hand never made contact. Sherlock had caught her hand just before she hit him.
"I don't think he needs another reminder that he's been a jerk."
Christine turned to look at Sherlock, looking into his eyes for the first time, really looking.
"S-Sherlock, you can let go of my wrist now." she whispered, "May I borrow your scarf?"
"Why?"
"It's chilly out and I'm going for a walk."
He handed her the scarf and watched her walk out the door. John sighed and shook his head.
"Thanks for that. When we ran into Anne at the shop and she found out she slapped me and left. Anne had a lot ob questions about that…"
Sherlock grinned and sat back down with his book.
Christine walked around the block a few times, thinking about everything that had happened that day. The thought of John was almost enough to make her cry; the scent of Sherlock on the scarf was almost enough to make her smile. She was conflicted.
I can't possibly have some sort of weird crush on both of them…can I? she thought. Christine knew that Sherlock was a brutally honest, high-functioning sociopath, but today he'd shown her that he had moments when he acted almost human. Eventually, she began to calm down and come to terms with how she felt. When she got back around to 221B Baker Street, she smiled and went back inside.
