I cannot express how sorry I am for the delay. Everything from Real Life to Mother Nature got in the way. Thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for help on this chapter, you are amazing!
Without further ado, the chapter!
Sherlock did not want to talk about it. Why could John not understand that?
There was a possible serial killer running about London that needed apprehending. He did not have the time or the desire to explain Wilhelm or the others. It would take too much time to explain; time that needed to be used investigating. He had always understood before. Why did he not understand now?
It was an argument that needn't happen, but an argument that inevitably happened. It started, it stopped, then repeat; ever since the cab ride from Lestrade's home. It continued on and off through the night and on their way to St. Bart's; Sherlock wanted to review and compare the autopsy reports.
Sherlock watched as John walked away mumbling something about needing air. As John's form disappeared Sherlock felt something turn inside. He hated that feeling and it had increased in frequency since his return to London, though its meaning he could not place and this made him even more uncomfortable. He thought back to the previous night that was wasted with arguing and could not help but wonder if Sergeant Donovan had been right and he had finally began to push John away from him. The very thought made Sherlock very uncomfortable.
They somehow found themselves squared off across the kitchen table. Sherlock stood, readying himself to take the rest of John's anger. John leaned on one of the kitchen chairs, mostly to give his hands something to do as to keep from hitting Sherlock; this time he would aim for the mouth.
"How did you even meet all these people?" John demanded. "And these people seem to very conveniently provide you with aid. Mycroft, I don't like but, I understand; but what could they do that he couldn't? Why couldn't you – "
He stopped and his breath hitched out of anger. His knuckled whiten as he gripped the back of the chair tighter. The unspoken question hung in the air.
Why couldn't you come to me for help?
"You were gone three years!" John began again, almost hissing the statement out.
"I acutely aware of the length of time." Sherlock snapped back defensively.
"Three damn years I thought you were dead." John pushed through determined to finish what he wanted to say before without Sherlock interrupting him. Anything that John might have held back was released with a vengeance. "Three years I grieved felt guilty over out last conversation. Thinking over and over everything, wondering what the Hell I could have done differently to stop you from jumping."
"I couldn't come back until it was finished." Sherlock repeated again for that argument. "I wanted to return as fast as possible."
"You keep saying that, but it doesn't mean anything!"
"It means it was too dangerous for me to return."
"For who? You?"
"For you, John!"
"I can take care of myself."
"The danger was too great for you." Sherlock stressed. "I couldn't risk you."
"Ever thought I was willing to risk it to help you?" John demanded angrily as he pushed the chair away. It clacked against the ground and the sound seemed to echo between the two men in their flat.
In all honesty, Sherlock had not. He just wanted to keep John safe. He wanted to keep them all safe. Surely John, of all people, who struggled and had killed to keep Sherlock safe could understand this. And yet, it nagged him that perhaps he had missed something vital. That perhaps there was something he could have done; something that ordinary people would know to do. It irked Sherlock as he tried to reason with John again.
"Moriarty had very devoted organization, willing to follow his orders even after his death." Sherlock explained with as much patience as he could muster at the moment; he stared at the fallen chair. "Any mention of me being in London, even a whisper would have meant you dead."
"Yet, somehow Mycroft knew more than me, and he betrayed you to Moriarty." John was unmoved by Sherlock's explanation. "You, as you ran about the world, seemed to have been able to spare a few moments to make some new friends. They seem to know you better than me, because obviously you don't trust me enough to tell me anything about them. You've been back a year Sherlock and not one single word."
With that said John stalked to his room for the night leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts. Sherlock picked up the chair and set it right before sitting in it.
He sat there the entirety of the night collecting his thoughts.
On the way to St. Bart's they had not spoken to each other. Once inside the mortuary there was a brief repetition of what was said the night before with a bit more bitterness in the voice but less yelling. After an hour of painful silence and unspoken accusations, John left. Fortunately Molly was not there to witness any of it.
Swallowing down the lump that had developed in his throat Sherlock returned to the files on the table. He did not realize that the exchanged was witnessed by Wilhelm.
The professor arrived just as the verbal blows began and he kept out of sight. He heard the frustration in both the men and he knew the source of the discontent between them. It was something that would soon need addressing.
He allowed a few moments to allow Sherlock to regain his composure after John, knowing that the consultant would not want him to catch him in such a vulnerable state, before entering the room.
-MHSHEH-
John was aggravated. No one could doubt that as he stormed through the hallways looking for a place to be alone and far from Sherlock.
John stepped into an unused break-room and closed the door behind him. There was a deep urge to hit something or someone; not wanting any more problems he tried to calm by taking deep breaths. He thought he was alone until he heard something small and light hit the floor.
There was a woman leaning over the side of her chair to pick up a pencil when John turned around. She had an open book in her lap in which she was sketching out random objects in the room. She was not what would be considered old, but she had passed gracefully from her youth without losing any of the youthful gleam in her eyes. Her dress was something that Mary would call chic and classy and her red hair, which was pinned up, was showing signs of white by her temple.
"You alright?" She asked when she sat up and caught sight of John's expression. She sounded American by sound of her accent.
"Yeah, fine." John mentally cursed; of all the random rooms in the hospital he picked the one that was already occupied. The fact that she was American did not help, he had quite his fill of Americans at this point in time.
"'Fine' as in actually 'fine' or 'fine' as in 'I'm really not, but I don't want to talk about it'." She asked erasing a mark on a half finished sketch of the seldom used electric kettle that sat on the counter. "Based on how fidgety you are right now, I'm gonna go with the second option."
Sighing in frustration, John faced the woman; he had to stop himself from snapping at her. "I don't want to be rude, but what it is to you?"
She shrugged, closing her notebook and sliding the pencil into the spirals. Leaning back into the chair, she smiled to John. "You look stressed and worried. Sometimes talking helps."
"We don't – "
"I know," She gave a small laugh, not in mocking but more in understanding. "We don't know each other. But talking of frivolous things can help distract us from whatever is worrying us and clear our heads so we can look at the worrisome thing with a tad bit more objective viewpoint. Besides, everybody needs someone to talk to."
"'Us'" John noticed the plural, and felt a smile tug at his lips.
She smiled. "I am a wife and a mother; worrying is part of the job description." She leaned back in her chair. She motioned to the chair next to her for him to sit down. "So, who stuck the burr under your saddle?"
"Come again?" It took a moment for John to register what she said.
"Who made you mad?" She rephrased her question realizing her use of a colloquialism, a small smile playing on her lips.
John looked between her and the chair. He half laughed as he sat down. "Best friend being an idiot."
"Yeah, that would stress anyone out. " She nodded. "They don't want us to worry so they keep us in the dark which only makes us worry even more because we know that there's something they're not telling us."
"That's actually . . . spot on." He was completely surprised and taken back by the accuracy of her statement.
She leaned against the arm of the chair towards him, looking as if she was telling him an important secret. "Let me give you a piece of advice from and old woman to a younger man."
"You're not that old." The statement jumped out of John's mouth before he realized it.
She laughed before John could utter an apology. "Old enough to have a grown child. But listen, as my dad told me, everyone, no matter what they got plastered on their wall, is a fool; the only time you're foolish is when you don't realize you're a fool."
The idea of calling Sherlock a fool did bring a smile to John's face. There was a vague approachability to her that garnered an easy trust, if only to have a simple easy chat with.
"I always thought that it was my dad's easy way of telling me that every human is fallible," The woman continued. "Not an excuse, of course, but a reason."
"What about you?" John asked to be polite. "What are trying you trying to distract yourself from?"
"The troubles of life in general." She sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. "Plus a vacation that didn't go as plan that has resulted in me waiting in a hospital waiting for my husband to finish speaking to the police. No, he wasn't arrested in case you were thinking about it."
"In a hospital?"
"That's what I said when we got here."
"I hope it's nothing too serious." It was a strange sense of ease of conversation with the woman. There was no pretense with her. Yet he could not help but worry for her and her husband, his instincts as a doctor shining through.
"It's a curve-ball life has thrown at me," She smiled at John. "I just have to step up to the bat and hit it out of the park."
John found himself talking with her for awhile and they talked about nothing just like she promised; he felt the anger in him dissipate with each moment. They never delve into any personal, as she promised they talked of frivolous things and it did get his mind off of Sherlock.
"It was like drinking spiked mud, had a real earthy taste to it." She suddenly pulled out her phone form her jacket pocket which was vibrating as she and John were laughing. "My other half is requested my presence."
She gathered her things, slipping her sketch book into her satchel before slinging it on her shoulder and draping her coat over her arm.
"Remember, nothin' dries as quick as a tear." She said over her shoulder as she reached the door.
"I think I know what you mean." He quickly stood as she turned the handle. "John."
She turned back to him with the door opened. She smiled and nodded. "Hello John, I'm Amelia."
"Thank you."
"Have a good one, John." Amelia gave a wave before closing the door behind her.
He sat back down thinking about his next move. He was not ready to face Sherlock just yet.
A thought occurred and he pulled out his mobile. It had been awhile since he had talked to a friend and he hoped that she was in the country.
-MHSHEH-
She felt grasps, tugs and pulls on her with rough surface of the ground below her as she was moved across it.
The mumbles of speech were hard for her ears to decipher, but the tone sounded angry and discontented.
Lifted, thrown to a chair and tied down; it was a pattern that she had grown familiar.
But the sharp precise pains creepy along her arms, followed by a dull stinging, were new.
A hand held her head forcefully still and the pain etched itself along the side of her face.
She was too tired to react; too tired to fight; too tired to care. Her vision blurred as tears formed against her will.
-MHSHEH-
"What do you mean you haven't told him?" Wilhelm demanded once Sherlock had finished speaking. He had listened to Sherlock explained that he had not told anything to John about Wilhelm and his illicit affairs with the others. With that secret still in tow it was causing a great strain on their friendship as witnessed by him. "You've been back for over a year."
"I've been waiting," Sherlock explained.
"For what?" Wilhelm asked. "This isn't like you." It was true, they both knew. Sherlock like to share what he knew the moment he thought of it. It was unlike him to hold something back.
"How is it not like me?" Sherlock bluffed, he always hated the way Wilhelm could read him so easily.
"You don't keep secrets from John." Wilhelm said exasperated as one would with a stubborn child. "The rest of us, yes; but never your friend."
"Is that part of your profile of me?" Sherlock laughed mirthlessly.
"Not mine, but Elle's." Wilhelm said quickly before the conversation could deteriorate any further. He did not need to see Sherlock's face to know it was covered in subtle signs of surprise. "When I first taught Elle, I let her pick own subjects for practice; she chose you and Mycroft. In the past year, she updated them."
His sister used him as practice for profiling; Sherlock was not sure why it surprised him so, but it did. He and Mycroft were still inclined to underestimate her, despite knowing her capabilities. Amelia made the annoying, but accurate, observation that Enola would still forever be their younger sister at fourteen years old who they saw as needing to be protected. It was difficult for the brothers to see the young woman she grown into, probably because they missed her growing up. Amelia's conclusions could be most irksome. "What were her conclusions?"
Wilhelm sighed. "You trust John Watson. When you discovered that fact about yourself you were frighten by it because trust entails a certain openness that you find appalling, or at least you did before you met him. You wanted to impress him and you worked hard to censor yourself in front of him for fear that you might scare him off. It now kills you to keep anything from him; including that little fact of a younger sister among other things. Was she wrong?"
After a moment of thought Sherlock wanted to ask what else his sister said about him, but decided to shake his head. He thought he would learn more that way.
"So hence my confusion on why you haven't told John anything about us; least of all that you've met us." Wilhelm leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. "What are you waiting for?"
"I promised." Sherlock explained slowly. There was only a twinge of regret that Wilhelm did not divulge more into the profile.
"I see," Things suddenly clicked for Wilhelm. "And?"
"I'm waiting." Again stated.
"For how long?"
"Awhile."
"That's a bit unusual."
"What's unusual?" John asked when he entered the room. Wilhelm and Sherlock turned to look at him. He was calmer than when he left but there were traces of anger still visible in his face.
"This whole affair." Wilhelm said spreading out his arms as if displaying something and wanted everyone to see. "Murders similar to my last FBI case just as I arrive in London, Sherlock being brought in as a consultant as well as me with none involved knowing our acquaintance with each other; it becomes curiouser and curiouser. One could say this is a case of coincidences."
"But is it coincidence? Are there not subtle forces at work of which we know little? " Sherlock objected. "Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre."
Wilhelm laughed shaking his head. Sherlock always enjoyed disagreeing with him. "True, that is something to consider, but coincidences are nothing more than spiritual puns. What do you think, Dr. Watson?"
"I hardly know." John confessed eying them both.
"Now there's a look of mistrust." Wilhelm causally remarked pointing to John. He stood and collected his jacket from the back of his chair. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go convince one of my colleagues to fill my spot on this lecture circuit. I'll see you both later." He flipped his hat back onto his head then tipped it in farewell to both men.
Wilhelm left and wondered where his wife had wondered off to.
John and Sherlock were left now together, both unsure what to say next.
"I'll be staying at Mary's tonight." John decided to say after a few false starts. "To clear my head if nothing else."
"If that's what you need." Sherlock did his best not to show how shaken he was by John's decision. He was very much afraid of losing John's friendship, but he could not break his promise.
John nodded. "Yeah, I think so." He wanted to push the thought that maybe, just maybe that there was so much distance had grown between them that it would never close again. But the feeling was too strong to be easily set aside.
-MHSHEH-
John now sat on a overstuffed couch that Mary had found at a bargain at her flat, resting his head back and staring at the ceiling just thinking over the recent events.
Mary completely understood John's reasons for needed to stay and she gladly welcomed him. She was only sorry that she got caught up in a last minute something or other at work and would not be home until late. John did not mind and it gave him time to think.
Ever since meeting the American woman John's thoughts found themselves dwelling on Ivy Meshle. Their first meeting was clearly imprinted on his mind, one could hardly forget getting coffee all over one's shirt. Even with that first impression, John found that Ivy was a very good listener, and in a time where everyone was telling what he should do, Ivy simply listen giving her thoughts only as needed or when he ran out of things to say. It was refreshing when everyone else had some sort of opinion on how he should live out his grief. He found out later that Ivy played a key role in getting evidence to the police to help prove the existence of Moriarty found by her employer.
John met her again after that, this time no coffee spills, and he profusely thanked for her aid in clearing Sherlock's name. She smiled and they chatted for a bit before she had to go off and do something for Ragostin.
"Could I email you?" John asked without thinking. He instantly regretted saying anything when Ivy turned back to face him. "Sorry, I -"
"No, it's alright." She quickly assured him. "It's just not a request I get often." Ivy reached for one of Ragostin's cards and wrote on the back. "I don't check it often, but I always respond."
Ivy gave the card to John; on the back was an email address. They parted on very good terms and she called back hoping that they would meet up again. John hoped for the same.
They did email back and forth. She wrote of her travels with Ragostin, but never of her work. He wrote of his dull affairs of day to day life, but never of Sherlock. It was nice to be able to talk about things without people telling him what he should or should not do.
Soon, they had unexpected run-ins that started with a smile and ended with coffee. Then it was texts letting John know she was in town and if he wanted to meet for coffee. He always said yes.
Ivy was not often in London, nor did she stay long when she was there. The mere fact that she took the time from her busy schedule to meet and chat with him meant a lot to John.
That visit was no different; Ivy was there, at the small, out of the way coffee shop with two cups sitting in front of her.
"Who is she?" Ivy asked with a smile as John sat down without the preamble of a greeting.
"What?" John was not quite sure what to do with that question. A sudden flash of memories of Sherlock noticing everything and anything in his head. It made his heart ache just a bit.
"You've meet someone." She clarified. "You're practically beaming and there's a slight spring in your step that I haven't seen before. So, who is she?"
"Mary." John smiled at the thought of her.
"When did you meet?" Ivy found John's smile contagious and could not help but smile herself.
John wasted no time recounting how he met Mary and Ivy eagerly listened to every detail of the story. Ivy asked about Mary's interests, hobbies and the like and John was happy to oblige. Time passed to quickly for them.
"Careful, Dr. Watson." Ivy finished the remnants of her second cup.
"Of what?" He still had a half a cup of his second and he swirled the contents around lazied.
"By how you talk of her and the way you smile, I half expect next time we meet for coffee wedding bells will not be far off for you." Ivy replaced her cup on the table and crossed her arms. "She sounds different from your other girlfriends."
"I don't know about marriage," John confessed. "But she makes me happy and I think I make her happy. What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Isn't there anyone in your life?" John asked leaning his crossed arms against the table.
"No."
"No?"
"No." Ivy repeated with a smile. "My occupation does not lead itself easily to relationships. Odd hours, constant travel – it would be to difficult for the other person to bear."
"You're really going to use that as an excuse?" John shook his head lightly not believing Ivy was actually hiding behind that.
"Since it's a viable one – yes." Ivy sighed. Her phone rang as if to prove her point; she even pointed as she looked at John. "See."
John laughed as Ivy read over the text. "It's still an excuse."
"Again, still viable." She pocketed her phone and looked up with a smile. "Dr. Ragostin needs me to check out a lead for him. It was so good to see you again John."
They stood and exchanged a friendly hug.
"Take care of yourself Ivy."
"To the best of my abilities."
John felt guilty in the fact that it had been just over a year since he last saw or talked with Ivy. He was swept away by fervor that surrounded Sherlock's return and the slew of cases with the consulting detective that followed. She had been a good and kind friend to him throughout the time the detective was away, always making time for him and checking in on him. Mary had wanted to meet her ever since John first mentioned her and John found that he wanted them to know each other.
He wondered how Ivy was faring and hoped that she would response soon to his text.
Let me know what you think; I do hope 'Compromise Factor' still has readers. Again, so sorry for the wait.
For those have asked, Enola will be appearing soon.
