It seems to me we haven't gotten much insight into Asher's head yet. This should remedy that. She nowhere near as happy as she lets on, don't let her fool you otherwise.
Dead Air
9.
Monday morning, Asher wakes up in a particularly foul mood. She wonders, briefly, why this happens to be the case, because quintessential emotions such as bitterness and anger are things she has striven to remove herself from. Then she rolls over and sees the calendar on the wall, and therefore the date.
"Oh." she grumps, rolling back over and curling her skinny limbs into a ball. "Obvious."
Today is the anniversary of the day her idiotic mother had drowned herself.
A warm hand stroking her hair. A voice, warm and sweet. A lullaby, just for her. A young Sherlock with big eyes and arms and legs he has yet to grow into. A house, small, but big enough in her eyes. Wood floors, sun shining through the windows and catching on a prism. Rainbows splashed across the walls.
She takes a deep breath, and pulls the covers over her head. The memories will come anyway, they always do. No point fighting. Asher presses the heel of her palm against her burning eyes. She doesn't cry. She doesn't remember how.
When Asher finally drags herself off the couch, John has already called out a goodbye and left for work. She slumps back on the couch after getting herself a glass of water and stares at the big hand ticking around the clock, time drifting by her in heartbeats and sudden pauses. She passes into a trance, retreating into her mind, and perfect silence falls over the flat.
She is woken when John comes bustling through the door, the sky outside the window tar black, her neck and legs stiff from sitting in the same position too long. She shifts around and shivers - suddenly cold - and for the first time in a long while she feels thin. Too thin.
"Asher, have you been sitting on that couch all afternoon?" John asks from the kitchen.
"I superglued my trousers to the sofa." she replies calmly.
There is a moment of stunned silence, then John pops his head around the corner.
"Really?"
"No."
John scowls at her for a moment, and she meets his gaze. She can see her own face reflected in his too-blue eyes, a sharp face with a mop of black curls that need cutting and silver eyes that have no happiness in them.
"You all right, Asher?" John asks suddenly, and Asher remembers that even though John may seem ordinary most of the time, he isn't really; not at all.
"I'm not. But that's the case most of the time, so no need for worry." she says, and she smiles wryly up at him. "You know."
John's mouth tightens, and he takes a shaky breath. He stands there uncomfortably for a moment, then sits down beside her on the sofa.
"I do." he says softly, so softly that Asher hardly can hear him.
"We're a pair, yeah?" Asher sighs.
"Did you actually just tell me you superglued your pants to the sofa?" John asks in reply. There is a momentary pause. They both burst out laughing. Asher thinks in wonder that the laughter sounds genuine. She can't remember ever having heard John laugh like this. She can't remember the last time she's laughed like this. It's a nice sound, she supposes.
They're bonding, how nice. And our first real glimpse at Asher's mother, and her relationship with her (hint: not a good one).
