Chapter 7
The photo booth was confusing to work out (though Sherlock wouldn't admit that out loud). He didn't know when it would take a picture, and the first two flashes had hurt his eyes. But by the time the fourth had come, Sherlock kept his face still and let a little smile lift his lips at the corners. He had flattened his hair and had aimed his face so the colour of his irises would not be that noticeable, in the hopes that he could live in London without being noticed.
When he walked out, his scarf firmly in place, he waited for the photos to print, which took longer than he originally thought it would. When he had them in his hands, he smiled slightly at the last, and almost burst out laughing at the others. The first out of four pictures was where he had tried to get out of his scarf but couldn't and his eyes were wide like a deer stuck in the headlights. The second he was looking down wondering when the next would happen and he seemed very lost. Next was one where he looked disappointed and depressed, it was quite a sad sight to behold. But the fourth didn't look half bad.
To Sherlock, it looked better if you moved your thumb over the snout. In fact, when he did moved his thumb down slowly and more of his face was uncovered, Sherlock didn't mind looking at it. Although his snout was present, he saw other aspects of his appearance to be proud of. For a second Sherlock smiled under his scarf.
...A job to do...No emotions...
He shook himself out of reverie and walked to the hotel with the photos in his hand; ready for tonight.
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"Please, I'll do anything." John said as his boss walked in front of him with her back towards him with John trying to keep up with her. Many people and patients were staring as John and Sarah were walking down the corridor. "Locum work, cleaning up, anything. Please, Sarah, I really need this."
Sarah stopped suddenly and turned around and looked straight into his eyes, "Have you stopped gambling?"
It didn't take John long to answer. "Yes, I have."
Sarah gave him a 'really' look.
"I'm trying but I know I'll succeed. All I need is a chance, please, Sarah, I am begging you!"
Sarah looked at him with pity, which John was trying to ignore, but he could see how he looked. A man so desperate he'd do whatever job they had if any one asked him. He needed the money for rent, Harry was bringing most of it now she had a job, but it just wasn't enough.
"Will you be here every time we need you? You won't run out on us to go gambling all night?"
"I promise you. I know what is important now. I will do everything and anything you ask."
Sarah nodded, "Cubicle 9 needs cleaning, the patient in cubicle 2 needs to be dressed in robes and you need to follow Lilly around to get your bearings back." She pointed over to a nurse who was talking to a patient at the time. "Get dressed and help her with whatever she needs."
"Thank you Sarah, thank you so much."
John marched over to the supplies cupboard, got changed quickly and did as he was ordered. He then went to follow Lilly, who was a new nurse and was inexperienced, but enjoyed the work nonetheless. Lilly was tolerant and kind to all the patients and never raised her voice. John was impressed with her attitude, considering how she was a new nurse.
He was called over a lot to do things that he had actually missed doing. He never saved their lives but he didn't expect to. He filled out the paperwork, got thrown up on and didn't sit down all day.
He missed this!
As he was getting changed back into normal clothes, Sarah knocked on the door. He pulled his top over his head and bid her inside.
"Good day?"
John smiled at her. "Yes, I forgot how fun this is. I have missed the urgency of this place."
Sarah beamed back, "In the near future, if I can trust you, you may be able to take your old job back."
"I'm grateful as it is but that would mean the world to me." John was looking forward just for tomorrow but the idea of coming back to work as a full time doctor just made his stomach clench with happiness.
Sarah walked out with a nod, and John went to the flat with a little smile on his face.
When he walked through the doors of his flat, Harry was sitting on the couch reading a magazine. John hangs his coat up and smiled at her as he took a seat next to her.
"You got a job then"
John looked at her and nodded his head. "Yep, just locum work and cleaning up some 'spillages,' but at least I have a job!" He sat down heavily beside her on the sofa, and reached for the remote.
His smile dropped. "Harry, I need to ask a favour of you."
Suddenly the tension in the room was brimming and the air around them was thick. Harry turned so her whole body was facing her brother. "What do you need?"
"I need you to stop me."
Harry's face just went blank; she knew exactly what he was talking about, "Why?"
"Because... I can't trust myself to not go, and I need someone there to stop me ever going to that hell hole."
Harry got up and walked toward the kitchen. John heard the kettle click to life and the cupboards and cutlery draw open swiftly and shut with a bang.
"You want me to do the same thing you did for me?"
The answer was simple and truthful because if it wasn't he'd never be able to make an ally of his sister, and that was something he desperately needed right now. "Yes I do."
The only sound left was that of the kettle, even when it had finished the sound of the spoon clinking against the mug was all the rung out on the apartment.
"Tell me the real reason..." John sighed. His sister knew him better than anyone. Getting off the sofa he walked to the kitchen archway and talked straight to Harry, no interruptions or distractions.
"Fine, you want to hear me say it – I'm scared. I'm so scared that I will turn into something I don't want to be, and I've come close to that, and to admit that makes me so bloody terrified. I don't want this feeling anymore, and I need your help, Harry."
"Oh... don't do the puppy dog eyes," she turned her head away, but a smirk was on her lips, clearing the tension that was brewing around them. "Fine, of course I'll help you. As if there would be any other answer. I mean, you picked me up from the dumps and got me on track, I need to do the same with you." She picked the cups of tea and placed them on the table side by side. She pointed to John and then to him, signalling he should sit by her.
"A right pair we are, eh?" John joked, taking his seat next to his older sister.
Harry nodded taking a sip from her mug, "just to be clear, I'm stopping you from going gambling?"
John nodded.
"Nothing else?"
John shook his head.
"Where did you get that five thousand pound from?" All though it was rather abrupt, it fit with the conversation very well.
"I got it-"
"Don't you dare tell me anything less that the truth." Harry almost shouted, and her eyes would only look into John's. "Where did you get that money from, John?"
"I did a favour for someone." Harry was obviously not impressed with that answer.
"Who? What? Give me something John."
John started to fiddle with his cup, circling his finger round the rim, and his other hand scratching the handle.
"There was a guy called Anderson. Before I tell you the rest, can you please promise me you will not judge me and hate me the way I hate myself, and you will too, but know that I would not change the circumstances at all. Can you promise you will not judge me?"
Harry looked quite startled at his little outburst, but nodded. John prepared the explanation in his mind, moved his mug out of the way and stared down at the clasped hands in front of him.
"There was a person called Anderson. He found me where I used to gamble and asked if I was someone else. I tried to tell him I wasn't, I did, but then he offered money. And I wanted to help you, and no I am not blaming you, because the want of that money was too strong for a weak-willed mind like mine. He then told me to go in this house and get a picture of the hidden man, whose name is Sherlock, by the way.
"I went inside, and as far as I can gather, a room full of many men turned into a room just with me, I think because Sherlock showed himself. But I stayed, because I hadn't seen him. We then started talking, and he was amazing. Oh, his voice Harry, his voice was so deep, and so rich, it was beautiful. And he played the violin. He is every brilliant composer all mixed in one. When he played violin, I could feel his heartache and his hope for the future."
Harry started to smile, though John didn't seem to notice, but instead carried on with his story.
"And then when he came out behind the glass, and I saw him... This meeting is engraved in my mind...And my God, he was absolutely gorgeous. His eyes were meant to be constellations in the skies, or the sparkle of unseen colours in the ocean, but they held so much hurt and carried no self-esteem at all, but they were his.
"He was wearing a black suit that fit his perfectly sculptured body perfectly. And yes, his voice sounded so much clearer and better then it was before. And he was looking at me, seeing what I thought of his face."
"Of his snout" Harry finished for him. John faced her immediately.
"How did you know?"
"It was on the news. Anyway, carry on, sorry for the interruption." She took another sip of tea.
"Well, I wanted to touch his face; I wanted to hold his head in my hands and try to keep him safe from anything; I felt like I should protect him, and never leave him alone again. But a camera was in my sleeve and a camera in my lapel. As soon as I lifted my arm the camera went off. I shouted 'no' and tried to hide the camera but it was too late. Sherlock took this as me not accepting him or liking him I think, and he ran off saying he was a monster. He couldn't have been farther than the truth. I hated myself; hate myself for what I did to him.
"I went out of the house, went to Anderson and smashed the camera on the ground, deleting the 'evidence' from existence. But Mrs. Hudson, their helper I think, and his mother came out too. His mother knows Anderson, and they got it all wrong and started to close the door on me. I ran and jumped over the fence and back in."
John sighed and cradled his temple.
"His face, Harry, such beauty and grace turned into something it should never be. His eyes were red; his face blotchy; tear tracks tearing their way down his face. He was on the stairs above me, and he was pleading me to marry him, if he married someone of likely kind the curse would break, but he's higher class.
"I couldn't break the curse."
"So you had to leave him?" Harry asked, as John turned his face down and nodded solemnly. She reached her hand out and gently caressed his shoulders.
"John, I don't hate you and neither should you. Yes, you may have done wrong to begin with, but you didn't stay with him because that wouldn't have made him any happier. And you feel terrible now which shows you are just as good as any other man. So please don't hate yourself."
"But you didn't see his face and when he told me to leave... He never wants to see me again." A tear had squeezed his way out of his left eye but his hand shot out immediately and wiped the tear away.
"Oh, John." Harry wrapped his arms tightly around her brother. She stroked his hair as he leant his forehead on her shoulder. This shell of her brother reminded her of their childhood, leaving John as vulnerable as anything.
"I want to see him again." John's voice was muffled, but no less heart breaking.
"Then try to." She paused for a second, "John, do you like him? Or is it something a little more than like?"
John lifted his head and nodded plainly. "I love him."
