Who Are You?
By Navigatio
Summary: The case was only a three. Sherlock should never have taken it. But he didn't know. How could he have known that it would end up hitting so close to home? Ingredients: stubborn John, a heaping helping of bittersweet bromance, a dash of Sherlock/Molly, and a pinch of John/Mary, definitely shaken not stirred. Slow build, so stick with me here, people.
Ch 3: No, I am not going to Abersoch!
John was puttering about in the kitchen, considering what to have for an early lunch before work, when Sherlock swept in, coat on and buttoned, tying his scarf around his neck. Why he needed that bloody scarf John had no idea. It was springtime; half the sun-starved Londoners were already in shorts. More skin was showing on the streets these days than in the lads' mags.
"Sherlock, it's nearly 22 degrees. Why do you need a coat and scarf?"
Sherlock held out John's favorite jacket. "Then you won't need this hideous thing, will you?"
John opened the fridge for the fifth time, hoping this time it would hold something, anything, besides bread and a lump of moldy cheddar. "Why would I need my coat? I'm not going anywhere just yet."
"Yes, you're going to Abersoch with me. We leave in ten minutes."
"What?" John pulled his head out of the fridge and stared at Sherlock incredulously. "No, I'm not. I never said I was going to Abersoch. You never even asked me to go!"
Sherlock frowned. "Yes, I did. Yesterday evening."
"Yesterday evening I was out with Mary."
"You were?"
"Yes. I left at six and didn't come home until nearly midnight."
Sherlock held out the coat again. "No matter. You're here now, so away we go."
John pulled the jacket out of Sherlock's hand and set it down on the back of the chair. "Yes, I'm here now, but I'm leaving for work in an hour, so I couldn't possibly go with you to Abersoch!"
"Call and cancel. It's just locum work."
John pressed his lips together in exasperation. Some things never changed. When Sherlock had come back from the dead, he had been different in a lot of ways; some welcome, some not. But this expecting John to drop everything and follow him to the ends of the Earth, that had not changed, and John was getting quite fed up with it. "I cannot 'call and cancel!' This is my job. I need my job."
Oh, God, not the look, that stubborn childish LOOK on Sherlock's face. He had about had it with the look. "Stop doing that, Sherlock."
"Stop doing what?"
"Pouting! Just stop it! Why do you want to go to Abersoch anyway? It's the arse end of nowhere this time of year."
"Abersoch is a popular tourist destination, with beautiful beaches and internationally recognized sailing waters."
"You sound like you're quoting from a tourist brochure."
"I am-well, from their website, that is."
"In the summer it's a popular tourist destination. In springtime it's a soggy, foggy mess. The weather's much nicer 'round here just now."
"It is where the central event in this case took place."
"Oh, your missing child case? Didn't you say that happened almost forty years ago? It's not like the kid is going to be standing on the beach waiting for you to come scoop him up. He wouldn't even be a kid anymore, if he is actually still alive, which I sincerely doubt."
Sherlock gave a long-suffering sigh. "Of course I don't expect to find him standing on the beach! Police records at the time were written out long-hand or typed, no computers. So the only copies of the incident report are to be found in the local police station."
"After forty years and no leads? How do you even know those records still exist?" John resigned himself to eating a cheese sandwich and started pulling the ingredients out of the fridge. No tomato even. At least there was butter, because he had bought some the other day at the shops.
John became aware that Sherlock had moved between him and the table, trying to keep his attention. "It's an open case, as the boy's body was never found. They keep the records indefinitely. Yard policy."
John skirted Sherlock and laid the components of the sandwich out on the table. "Have you actually spoken with the desk sergeant at the station in Abersoch?" They had no clean plates, of course, so John started assembling his sandwich on a napkin.
"No, they didn't respond to my email." That pout was back.
John scrounged in the drawer for a clean knife to spread the butter. "So you're just going to show up there? It's unlikely they'll have the file handy after forty years. Why don't you call ahead and let them know you're coming?"
Sherlock made a face. "I don't like talking on the phone."
"Oh, come now. It's not such an ordeal to make a phone call. You can manage. It'll save you hours of waiting once you get there." Giving up on finding a clean knife, John picked up a used one off the counter, sniffed it, and wiped it on the teatowel. Good enough.
"Why don't you call them? And then come with me?" Sherlock was again standing between him and the table. John gestured with the knife to get him to move out of the way, but Sherlock stood his ground, apparently oblivious.
"Why do you want me to come with you? I know you can look at the file by yourself. I won't notice anything you won't. You don't need me."
John studied his face for a moment. Sherlock didn't answer in words, but his face said it all. For all the man claimed to have no emotions, his face was quite expressive. "You don't want to be alone," John said with a tone of certainty. "Why not?"
Sherlock's eyes slid away. His lips were pressed together tightly and his brows were lowered. John knew that look. It was Sherlock being uncomfortable, Sherlock not wanting to admit that sentiment might be influencing his decisions, that he wanted something he knew to be illogical or unreasonable.
"Sherlock," John said carefully, "it's ok to admit you're lonely and want me around. I'll—I'll do my best to be there for you."
"John. . ."
"Yes, yes, I know. You don't need friends. Whatever." John sat down with a sigh and started eating his sandwich. It tasted like cardboard, but he didn't know if that was down to his feelings at the moment, or the fact that the sandwich was made with Tesco's cheap brown bread.
"I don't need friends, John."
"See, there you go."
"No, let me finish. I don't need friends because I've got you."
John grinned. "Yes, you do. And Lestrade. And Mrs Hudson. And Molly. Remember?"
"Yes, I remember. But they're not you."
"No, they're not. Look, I'll call the station in Abersoch and let them know you're coming, all right? But I really must go to work."
"What about tomorrow? Could you go with me then?"
"Sorry, tomorrow Mary and I have a lunch date."
"That could be canceled, right?"
"No."
Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Fine, then. I'll go alone." And he flounced out of the room.
John rolled his eyes as he stuffed the last bite of sandwich into his mouth. He had better get a move on if he was going to make that phone call before he had to leave for work.
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