Goodwill
The signs had been there for months. Sherlock, separated from John in spirit now, had thrown himself into his work more aggressively than he had ever done. John found the vials one night and wept. Sherlock had taken a triple dose of the memory suppressor once this case got underway. Whatever it was, he wanted John to be no part of it.
"Are you sure you won't eat? I could pick you up something when I go out." John tried to keep the warble out of his voice. It wasn't that Sherlock was deranged, but repeated use of the serum was altering his previously eccentric behavior. He was now extremely withdrawn and startled at human speech directed at him outside of interactions related to his case.
"Beg pardon?" Sherlock tilted his head. John saw it again. His eyes darting over him trying to deductively reason who he was. John coughed.
"It's just that...You haven't eaten in over a week." John knotted his fists in his sweater. Sherlock nodded.
"And you know this because we live here together. Pardon, Doctor. I forget sometimes who the other tenants are. You and a lady, the um...not-housekeeper...correct?" Sherlock smiled, and pleasantly so. John's heart was weeping, but his face smiled in return.
"Yes, that's right." John nodded. Sherlock came closer to him, straightening his blazer jacket as if about to address a client.
"And you...You were asking me? I'm sorry. I was distracted, sir." Sherlock cleared his throat. John internally flinched at sir.
"I was asking if you wanted anything at the market? I haven't noticed you eating at all. We share a refrigerator and...Your side... Well, it's empty. But you...you haven't been eating anything? I've been monitoring your nutrition a bit. It's something doctors do as a habit and..." John cringed. Sherlock's face was so utterly rife with confusion.
"Oh, yes, right…" Sherlock's brows knit.
"But...Why would you offer to feed me? Sharing food has nothing to do with the rent?" Sherlock's face was blank and his tone had a bit of a bite. It held no aggression, but rather the cold calculation of his primary nature. John drew a shaking breath and clapped his hands on his thighs.
"Well, it's what people do. When they share the rent together. It's sort of like a gesture of goodwill between neighbors." John laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock nodded, and then cleared his throat.
"Well, Doctor Watson, while I can say that I am exceptionally flattered...You are aware that I am in the middle of a serious Global drugs bust investigation. One that makes me a particularly lethal person to show goodwill toward?" Sherlock tilted his head, almost sadly. John nodded and stepped closer. No, he hadn't known that.
"I think that's for me to decide, isn't it? It's not as though you can control people or their sentiments." John internally cringed. He was sounding so much like Sherlock, saying things that Sherlock had told him to get inside his head. Sherlock nodded.
"I rather like the way you think. Straight to the point. Well, you could pick up tea, perhaps. I've polished off the last of what was there…"Sherlock waved toward the counter. John swallowed.
"And nothing to eat then? Tea is a drink." John bit his lip, smiling. He was amused in the way that shattered him, soul and goodwill, all at once. Sherlock peered up from his research sheets again.
"Oh...Well, we've run out of crackers?" Sherlock nodded and smiled. John sighed inwardly.
"Alright, crackers. And I was...I thought I might bring up some fish and chips from that truck a few streets over. Would you...perhaps like an order of those?" John cleared his throat. Sherlock turned to look at him.
"That's...enormously kind of you? It perplexes me greatly." Sherlock spun himself and sat on his desk, folding his legs over and spreading a map on his lap.
"What? That I was kind to you? Well, I'm not quite that great of an ass, am I?" John chuckled, licking his lips. He folded his arms. Sherlock stared at him, a hand raised with a finger pointed skyward. He looked mortified.
"Oh...Oh, God. How would I have the slightest idea? Your character, your internal thoughts, I've no metric to deductively reason those. All manner of personal defaults are completely alien to me, good Doctor. I meant more or less kindness as a concept. Goodwill and all that. Truly unnerving. Sets my stomach to flutters." Sherlock opened a marker with a decided pop and started scribbling lines on the map. John realized that Sherlock was being more vulnerable than he'd ever been because he didn't know to be guarded. John was his only relation to the entire social world and John was not someone that he knew at all.
"Well, it shouldn't be hard, should it? You should learn that not everyone, maybe most of the people you encounter, but not everyone wants to cause you harm, mm?" John nodded, feeling dizzy. Sherlock sighed.
"Sir, I've learned that if there is not an unfortunate anchoring circumstance to tie me to someone, they will quickly find a way to sever relation to me. If I am not an absolute necessary asset to an investigation or the intended victim of terrorism, then I am nobody…" Sherlock paused, puzzling with wide fluttering eyes. Then he looked up at John.
"So, perhaps you are one of the spies a certain Mycroft Holmes sets over me. I cannot remember my relationship to him, but he is adamant I am contained and "looked after" as he calls it. Or perhaps your neighborly kindness stems from curiosity to the mission I am on-which I cannot divulge, I fear. Maybe it is none of the above and you have a strange pension for merciful behavior. Of all those things I can perceive, I cannot understand human kindness sans agenda. But, I would appreciate the chips." Sherlock smiled and turned away. John stood listlessly behind him. His sudden revelations had given him a renewed sense of fear.
"Alright, well, you are right far from the mark of my intentions. Not to worry. Your mistrust doesn't bother me. I'll be back in an hour or so." John slipped on his coat.
He paused at the door, staring in awe at Sherlock. Sherlock who fumbled among all the many pages and photos of his progressed research. He was becoming more and more agitated, a vengeful ghost captured like poorly developed film in the echoing quiet of this room.
It's odd to love a stranger. But brother...I swear I care for you more than I do myself.
