AN: Tenth chapter! I feel like I've just reached some sort of goal, but don't worry! We're not at the last chapter yet, there's a bit more to come :)
I hope you all enjoyed my last chapter as I did and I hope you'll enjoy this one too. Mild warning: it's a bit of a mess. I think I suck at writing chapters like this, but nevertheless I hope you'll like it anyway!
As usual: reviews and support are always highly appreciated! I LOVE every single review, I love every single person who's reading this mess :)
All the rights to mommy BBC, especially to Moffat and Gatiss this time, all the fun to me :)
John wasn't at home yet when Sherlock came back. He was probably still doing his morning shift, so Sherlock had all the time to think what to do for his doctor.
He calculated that that day he would have come home by seven p.m., because he knew that he went shopping on Tuesdays, since Sherlock had once remarked that the freshest fruit and vegetables arrived at the supermarket on Tuesday. Therefore he thought of making dinner for him. He discarded the idea some time later. He couldn't cook. Yet he could order some sushi at the takeaway. John liked eating sushi. It was perfect.
As he had so well considered, John came home 3 minutes past seven with two plastic bags full of food for the week to come.
"Hello, John.", he greeted as the doctor entered the room.
"Evening, Sherlock."
The gratitude. Showing gratitude. He was almost forgetting to do it.
"And thanks.", he said.
"For what?", asked John perplexed and amazed nevertheless.
Sherlock was impressed by the reaction he had just obtained from his flatmate.
"For the shop, obviously.", he told him.
The other man raised an inquiring eyebrow, but said nothing. John placed all the shopping in its right place quickly and then rushed away.
"Sorry, Sherlock, can't stop.", he shouted while already at the threshold "Me and Anna are going to the cinema."
"But I've got sushi…", Sherlock murmured sadly.
"That's good! Enjoy it!" , he smiled to the detective. "See you tomorrow then!"
Sherlock glanced down, his whole body trembling. It was going all so well until that wet blanket. He called the takeaway and cancelled the order. He didn't want to eat at all. He immediately thought of giving up, but he recognized that he couldn't do that. No, he had to try again. Now that he had started, he couldn't go back.
The second day of his plan started rather unusually. During the night he had decided to go to the cinema with John. He hated going to the cinema, he couldn't stand it. But John liked it and he had been happy to go there with Anna the previous day. So Sherlock had deduced it would have been a good idea. John was away the whole day, having both the morning and the afternoon shift. Sherlock had barely met the doctor at the kitchen table, before he had left for work.
Now he had to understand what kind of film would be the best for John and deduce what he had watched with the woman. It took him longer than he had expected. There were about 50 films on screen during that period in London. So first he had to find the cinema where they had gone, which had required him the whole morning. When he finally got the location, he had to guess the right film.
He was on a date, so possibly it had been a romantic film, but Anna seemed to love action films too by the way John had described her to him. Sherlock had never met her and that made everything a little more difficult, not counting that most of the time John spoke of her, he didn't listen at all. But he knew that he was the only consulting detective in the world, and that he could find it. Yes, only Sherlock could do that.
After one hour of calculations and deductions, he found the film they had seen. He was sure it was that. A romantic, but quite adventurous, comedy. Yes, perfect film for a romantic date. But not really the kind of film that John liked. He was more into science-fiction and historical films, but he would never take a girl to see it. In the end he booked two tickets for a new science-fiction film in a cinema nearby. He was really pleased with himself.
John had come home at eight, the film started at nine.
"John!" he shouted.
"Mmmh?", the man answered.
"I've got two tickets for the cinema tonight. There's that new science-fiction film you've been talking about."
John gave him a puzzled look again.
"Sherlock, I'm too tired to go to the cinema tonight. I had a horrible day at work and all I need now is a good sleep until tomorrow."
He thus ducked in his armchair and yawned. At one point he turned to Sherlock, who was still standing up in the kitchen, his heart a little broken again.
"And…cinema? You hate cinema! Wasn't it dull?", John questioned.
"But you like it, and I thought…", Sherlock said, lowering his voice.
"Yes I like it. But I'm really tired tonight. I'll go straight to bed now."
And he stood up and left the room.
That hadn't worked either, like the previous day. Oh well, he had gone too far. He needed to think what to try the following day. He couldn't quit. The conquering-John's-interest had become a ten on his cases' scale.
On that Thursday John worked in the morning, so he came home relatively early. They had nothing to do and Sherlock tried to make the atmosphere more comfortable for his flatmate.
"Would you like a cup of tea, John?", he asked kindly.
"It's rather nice of you to ask me, because it's quite cold outside and tea would be just…"
He suddenly stopped and stared at Sherlock.
"Wait…have you just offered to make me a cup of tea?"
"Yes.", answered Sherlock innocently "What's wrong with that?"
"Uh. Nothing, really. But it's the first time you asked me. It's…weird."
Sherlock retained himself from smiling the brightest smile he had ever smiled. So John Watson was pleased of the change. That was good.
"If you don't want me to…", he said anyway, fearing it would go too far otherwise.
"No, no. I appreciate it, Sherlock. Thanks."
Sherlock prepared the tea, which resulted a bit too watery. But John laughed.
"That's why you never do it. I think it's the worst tea I've ever had!"
Sherlock could sense a fit in his guts. He wasn't even able to boil some water and make tea. How could he be able to conquer one's man heart? His facial expression should've shown his state of mind, because John immediately corrected himself.
"No, sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean it. It's good really, considering it's your first time…it's good! I'm sure you'll improve", and he smiled.
Even if the tea was horrible, he had made John laugh and had made him happy with that small gesture. John was right: he was improving.
On the fourth day it was John's day off. Sherlock had thought about going walking around London and, maybe, trying to confess him what his heart had inside. But his plans broke before even starting.
John entered the kitchen triumphantly saying he was going to be away the whole day, because he and Anna were going to see an art exhibit in central London. The detective almost yelled at John to not go. God, this was harder than he had imagined.
Saturday was a rather good day at the beginning. John had the afternoon shift and in the morning he wanted to do some food shopping for the following week. Sherlock had offered to go with him.
"I'll go shopping after breakfast, Sherlock", he said "do you need anything?"
"I'll come with you, John.", he answered calmly.
Sherlock thought that John's jaw had just disarticulated. He was looking at him extremely astonished.
"W-what?", John muttered.
"I'm coming with you to do some shopping. You seem surprised. I don't understand the reason why."
Obviously Sherlock knew that the reason was that he had never ever gone shopping with him before. He was so pleased that he was noticing his little attempts, his heart jumped in the chest and he felt better all of a sudden.
Sunday was the best day of them all, even if it didn't end like Sherlock had wanted.
John had another day off for reasons Sherlock couldn't get. He had worked more than needed, or something like that. And Anna had gone visiting her parents. Perfect, just perfect. He had thus decided to go for a walk with him.
They went to the park nearby, where usually, on Sundays, played an amateur cricket team which John loved to watch. Even if it was late autumn, it was a rather warm day and the team was there. There were two matches that morning and the two men enjoyed them together. At midday John was hungry.
"I'm starving, Sherlock!", he smiled at the detective.
In the reddish glowing light of that beautiful day John's blue eyes glittered joyfully and Sherlock lost himself into them for a while. John noticed.
"Sherlock, are you ok? Have you gone in that mind palace of yours?", John smirked.
"Eh?"
Sherlock came back to Earth.
"No, sorry. I was thinking.", he answered.
John was staring at him doubtfully.
"You surely are weird these days, Sherlock. Are you trying to hide something from me? Because all this kindness by you is, well,…weird."
Sherlock's heart made a jump so high that it seemed to reach his throat. He inhaled and exhaled two or three times trying to calm down. So his attempts hadn't passed unnoticed at all. They were walking side by side at the moment, and Sherlock's mouth went dry at the occasional contact with the other man's arm. It was the time for Sherlock to tell him. Yes. He gathered all his courage.
"Listen, John, I…", he almost whispered.
"Look, Sherlock, whatever it is, I like you being less annoying with me. Except you are doing this because you have murdered someone or you're going to start a collection of human bones in the living room. If that's the case, being nice won't work. I won't forgive you for something like that even if you're nicer than before."
Now it was his time to stare at the doctor completely puzzled.
"No, John, I…", he tried once more.
John's mobile rang in that precise moment. God, the worst time ever. Sherlock wanted to take it in his hands and smash it on the road, so that it couldn't interrupt him anymore.
"Hello, Anna!"
Oh no, not her again.
"Yes, yes, yes. Of course, dear! Yes, why not? Obviously!", John rejoiced at her voice.
Sherlock felt his heart breaking one more time, this time it seemed like it had been made of glass and all the pieces were travelling to and fro in his whole body, making everything ache. He shut his eyes for a second. He had been so close.
John hung up.
"Anna and I are going to try a new Greek restaurant this evening.", said a smiling John turning to Sherlock, who was struggling to hold back his tears. "What were you going to say?"
"Nothing important.", answered Sherlock, barely the strength to walk "Really, nothing important."
They returned home, Sherlock completely silent.
John Watson was getting dressed for the evening with Anna. They hadn't planned it and the call at the park had been completely unexpected. He was happy to go out with her. Although he couldn't deny that the behaviour of his best friend in the last six days was still bugging him. A lot. Sherlock had never been so nice before. Some days their living together had been almost unbearable for John. The detective had been moody, lunatic, bored to the point he had shot a wall, had come home covered in pig's blood. Those days hadn't been the best. But even the normal days with Sherlock Holmes weren't normal at all. He had never shown any sign of affection, never said a thank you, never cooked, never made anything that could've made their cohabitation better.
He thought and thought about the horrible tea the detective had made, but at least he had tried. He had never done something like that before (yeah, except that time with spaghetti, but that was because John had almost challenged him to do that). No, he had never done something nice just for the purpose of being nice to the others.
Hadn't the man been Sherlock Holmes, he would've thought that he was showing him some affection. But the man WAS Sherlock Holmes and for him affections, sentiments, emotions didn't work at all. He grunted, hoping that Sherlock wasn't about to do something stupid, for which he had already started to apologise trying to be nice with him. Nevertheless, the whole matter looked rather suspicious. But he hadn't the deducting skills of his friend and really couldn't guess what was going on inside that brilliant mind of his.
He sprayed a bit of perfume on his wrists and he was finally ready to go out.
Sherlock heard the front door slam as soon as John left for dinner. He had been so close. He was about to confess his love for him. But no, John had to give his version of Sherlock's mind. But no, John's mobile had to ring. He closed his eyes, hands jointed together in front of his eyes, like he was praying. Except he wasn't praying. He was obviously analysing.
He couldn't bear it anymore.
He had spent six days trying to make John understand, but he hadn't.
He had spent all his energies on that.
Now he needed a better solution, a definitive one.
It had all started with those damn letters, he remembered.
Maybe it was time to write the one he had in mind a long time before.