Chapter 3
A/N- Here´s the third chapter yeiii. Thanks to all the teachers that had to cancel their classes this week I wrote this in one sitting. Hope you like it. Please leave a review!
Sherlock was sitting in his chair wearing his pajamas and robe. If we were being honest saying that Sherlock was sitting was a really polite way to put it, he had been sitting, yes, but that was a couple of hours ago, now he was just in a really weird position. He was half sat, half laid across the chair, legs balancing over the side, head falling back over the other side, in an odd position that made his neck muscles contract. Despite the unnatural position he still had his hands together and under his chin like he always had when he was thinking.
He felt odd. His mind was running a million miles per hour but, at the same time, it was not moving at all; he had his mind full of thoughts but also empty, blank like it had never been before. His mind felt like a black hole sucking in everything at its passage. The consulting detective often eliminated thoughts and information that was not important in order to make room for what was, actually, relevant. His mind was a hard drive and he was not going to fill it with random knowledge and non-relevant facts. But this thoughts…this particular thought he had about John since that morning was like a virus that wiped all the important files of the hard drive, making it block and useless. These thoughts were turning into a malfunctioning being, it was turning him into everything he despised the most: Someone that let, unconsciously, a feeling take over his life, someone who actually had feelings, a daydreaming puppet with a huge grin on his face every time he thought about a certain doctor.
"Ughhhh…"
There it was. In a matter of zero point one milliseconds his mind transformed, from a black hole, to a super-fast search engine showing all the results for the "John Watson" search.
John Hamish Watson. How could one even describe John? The word "perfect" crossed Sherlock´s mind. This whole thing was getting out of hand. He couldn´t even…
"Sherlock."
The detective was so distracted in his, slightly under attack, mind palace he didn´t even noticed When John came in which resulted in his response being an unhuman sound while he sat straight at the speed of light.
"What´s wrong, Sherlock? You have not been well. You look distracted, distant…It has been four days since we started this case and you have not solved it yet, you don´t even talk about it…you barely talk at all to be honest. The case doesn´t even seem difficult, you said so yourself."
"Did the police solve it?"
His voice sounded like a groan.
"What?!"
"I said: Did the police solve it?!"
"Of course not…"
"And they are the ones who are supposed to solve it. It´s their job."
"First of all, that doesn´t even sound like you… Second of all, they are a bit useless, like you said."
"And, correct me if I´m wrong, you called me rude when I said that."
"Well, you were a bit rude but that does not mean that what you were saying was a lie."
Sherlock limited his answer to another, slightly more human, groan while he went back to his weird position across the chair, his body a bit more twisted than before.
John sighted with resignation.
"Sherlock?"
"Uhmm?"
"You know…you can tell me anyth…"
John was interrupted by the sound on an opening door. Mrs. Hudson, of course.
"Good morning, boys. How are you? Sherlock, you look so distant…is everything ok?"
Mrs. Hudson asked the question more to John than to Sherlock already knowing she wasn´t getting any answer from him.
"It´s useless, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock seems to be too deep inside his mind palace to formulate a coherent sentence."
"Oh…I see. Do you want a tea and some biscuits, boys?"
"No, thank you. Don´t worry, Mrs. Hudson. I´m actually going out to the supermarket now."
John got up walking with Mrs. Hudson to the door, he turned around to glance at Sherlock, his weird position and his distant stare into nothing.
"See you later, Sherlock."
Sherlock didn´t even move nor did he say anything.
His mind continued racing nonstop, jumping from John to the case he couldn´t solve because of the said doctor. What was happening between him and John? Nothing, though he wished something was really going on. Did he? What did he felt exactly? Couldn´t it be just platonic? No, definitely not. He had gone through this before. He was in love with John. That was it. The murder seemed easy. Drowning, homicidal drowning. No wife, no girlfriend. Family, friends? Premeditated? Definitely. Pool, bath tub, sink? By the water found in the lungs: Pool. It was a lot of water and it contained chlorine in quantities often found in pool water. Motive? Not sure. John? John? What?! John?! Wasn´t he thinking about the case, a murder, a minute ago?
Sherlock could not think straight, his thoughts were overwhelming him. His head felt like it was going to burst, his brain making pressure on his skull. He could not focus in anything, it was impossible; his thoughts were all mixed up. He felt sick, his stomach was turning. He felt like a rabbit that was in the middle of a road and that had just realized that the lights in front of him, pointing at him, blinding him belonged to a huge lorry that was about to hit him, froze in shock. The detective was afraid, afraid of his own (not wanted) feelings.
If he kept feeling like this getting to a conclusion and solving the case would be really difficult, if not impossible.
In the middle of the spiral of mixed thoughts that was going on in his head, making everything confused and blurry there was only one conclusion he could get to.
He had to tell John.
