John surveyed Baker street from his perch on the front step of 221B. Every object both animate and inanimate posed a potential threat. This was not a good time for a walk. Cars and people bustled up and down both sides of the street in their efforts to make it home on time for dinner. John's face was stern and his attitude serious – he was concentrating. He had never fully understood what Mycroft had meant in their first meeting when, while comparing the average person's view on London to Sherlock's, he'd said: "when your with Sherlock Holmes one sees the battle field". John understood that feeling now... though the context was quite different from what Mycroft had intended. He felt like his instincts were kicked into high-gear. He was back in a war-zone and it was his mission to get this stubborn man some exercise and then back to their home safely.
"John?"
Without turning his upper-body, John glanced over his shoulder at his flatmate. Sherlock was resting his right hand on the doorframe and his left lay on John's right shoulder, his head was tilted slightly and his body was tense. John knew that he was listening to the myriad of noises out on the street. Was he nervous? Or what this tension a result of suppressed excitement?
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"Are we actually going to leave the doorstep sometime tonight?"
"Sorry," John took a deep breath, "ready when you are."
"Then let's go."
"Watch your step."
They moved slowly at first. Once on the sidewalk they had to avoid many obstacles. John didn't speak at all except to warn Sherlock of potential dangers, "Little boy on a skateboard soon to pass you on your right... woman with a small dog approaching to our left."
The people who noticed the two of them openly stared at Sherlock in curiosity. John wanted to hit someone. Sherlock was focusing intently on the number of footsteps that it took to safely reach the street corner. His dull eyes were fixed straight ahead, but his body was hyper-aware. To others he was seen as a helpless blind guy leaning on his aid whom he needed to get him safely wherever he was going. But in reality, he was an incredibly strong, intelligent and obstinately independent young man who – for the first time in his life – was allowing himself to trust in another human being. John knew that Sherlock could have made this journey on his own. If John was not a part of his life, Sherlock would have been out of the house and wandering around London on his own long before now. He was not helpless and he was certainly not needy, at least... not because of his disability. In fact, since the accident Sherlock had done more for himself than he ever had when he could see. The old Sherlock would call John away from a date so that he could send a text, or make him some tea. The new Sherlock almost never asked for anything; he always got up and went looking for things on his own and, as much as possible, would do things entirely by himself.
A part of him wondered if Sherlock was only allowing him to be his guide because he knew that John needed to feel needed. Of course, Sherlock wasn't superhuman. He was still a little disoriented and in need of support and guidance to make a trip fraught with hazards such as this without incident. John knew that, for Sherlock, trusting John's judgement and letting himself be led was the quickest and most logical way to achieve a goal, but it was also admission of weakness. Therefore, this was by no means the easiest solution where Sherlock is concerned.
When they made it across the street and under the shaded trees of the park, the noise transformed into a vague hum of activity which no longer held any danger. Both men relaxed considerably as they strolled silently down the gravel path.
John's mind began to wonder as his and Sherlock's steps fell into steady even pace and there was no real need for vigilance. He thought about Lestrade's phone-call and the murders. They had been in the news since the night after Sherlock had landed himself in the hospital. The postings on John's blog after the fifth body was found were becoming demanding and accusatory: Where is Sherlock Holmes? Why haven't you updated? Why isn't Sherlock working on the hangman's case?
The hangman was what they were calling him because all of the victims had been strangled to death and their bodies hung by the neck and put on public display.
"It sounds busy here," Sherlock said then.
John snapped back to full awareness and saw a group of picnic tables and a large fountain. Families and friends were milling about and chatting.
"Would you like to take the path to your right? We can avoid them if you want."
"On the contrary," Sherlock stated, "I'd like to take a seat and listen for a bit if we can."
"Ok, over here to our right there's a bench."
John led him to the bench and Sherlock ran his hands over the back and seat before sitting down. They sat in silence for a moment and John watched a family laugh and chat as they finished up their picnic.
Sherlock wondered what John had been thinking about, he was unusually quiet and very tense. "What do you see, John?" he asked.
"Hm?" John was unsure that he had even heard Sherlock right, he had spoken so quietly.
"Describe them to me," he said with a nod in the direction of the voices.
"Well, there's family sitting at a picnic table about ten paces to our right," John spoke quietly so that people around them would not hear. "Over by the fountain in front of us two children – twins I'd imagine... a boy and a girl about six years old – are splashing each other. A third child is chasing the pigeons off of the gravel walk. Their parents are sitting at the bench opposite, talking to each other."
"Very practical and succinct," Sherlock said when John had finished. John couldn't tell if it was a compliment or not. "Now try describing the family at the picnic table in more detail. I want to see them, John, paint me a picture."
John describes hair colour, height, age, clothing, the items on the table, and still Sherlock asked him to go deeper.
"I don't know what else to say Sherlock, I've described everything I see," John said, fighting back frustration.
"No, you've described everything that you think is important," Sherlock corrected, "In order to truly describe everything that you see you must be more observant. You must force yourself to see the details that you would normally take for granted."
"Like what?"
"Jewlery, scars, wrinkles, actions and reactions... for example, are the parents laughing? Do they look happy and comfortable with each other? Is the woman wearing a wedding ring? If so, does it match the one that the man is wearing? Are her nails painted? Is she wearing make-up? Are her clothes brand new? What toys are the children playing with? These things can tell you if your assumptions – that they are a happily married couple eating dinner with their children – are true or not."
John continued to observe them while attempting to be discrete, he didn't want to look like a crazy person. He realized very quickly that Sherlock was right. The woman wasn't wearing a wedding ring, and neither was the man. The more he looked the more he saw, it was incredible. It seemed as if this couple were on one of their first dates. Sherlock prompted him by asking all kinds of questions about appearance and behaviour and made deductions based upon the information John gave him. Before he knew it a half hour had passed and the family was packing up to go.
"They're leaving," John said.
"Yes. Not bad for a first attempt,' Sherlock complimented, seemingly pleased with John's hard work.
"That was incredible," John said, amazed by all that he had just learned.
"I'm glad you found it useful," Sherlock replied honestly.
John looked at his flat-mate closely, could he deduce anything from Sherlock? Would he ever be able to read the thoughts hidden behind those emotionless grey eyes?
"You have now learned the first and most important rule of the trade," Sherlock continued, oblivious of John's attention, "One must never assume, John, simply observe,"
John couldn't help but realize that it had taken him half an hour to see what Sherlock normally saw in one swift glance. This training was going to be a very long and difficult process. Sherlock had been incredibly patient and supportive. It was unlike him. John appreciated the change; it was evident that Sherlock had taken his words to heart and was endeavoring to be patient and to make John's life easier in return for his help. Even so, John wondered if he would ever be ready to be of any real and reliable assistance at something as important as a crime scene. What if he missed something? Or several somethings?
...
They continued their adventure until it had grown dark. John was completely emotionally exhausted. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief once they had reached the door of 221B and the stress, that John didn't know he was under during the walk back, began to eb.
They entered the hallway to find quite a surprise. There were boxes stacked on top of each other in the hallway.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked when John stopped dead just inside the door.
"Someone delivered a whole bunch of packages... they're addressed to you," he said after a quick glance at the address labels.
"Who are they from?"
"I have no idea... they don't say."
Sherlock approached hesitantly and ran his hands over the mysterious boxes and packets – there were about twenty items in all. "Well I suppose we had better get them upstairs and open them," he said matter-of-factly.
John discretely scooped up the one small package on top which was clearly labelled. He recognized it as the gift he had ordered online for Sherlock several days ago. "Yes, alright, how about you head on up and I'll grab some of this," he said absently as he read the label.
"I can take something too," Sherlock stated. He bent down and collected a medium-sized box and tucked it under his left arm. With his right he reached out and took hold of the banister and made is way up to the flat.
John watched him anxiously and then collected some packages and parcels of his own and headed up after him. What on earth are in these things?
