On getting to know you...
John pondered briefly why, oh why, did Sherlock had in his possession a batch of make up remover wipes, he could have asked, he was sure Sherlock wouldn't mind giving a very throughout explanation, but the journalist in him decided it wasn't worth knowing right now.
He was beyond tired, both mentally and physically and wasn't even sure about the time of the day - hell! He didn't even know what day it was! - and so he pulled his cellphone from his pocket only to realize it had ran out of battery.
The charade had been quite successful to his surprise, but Sherlock seemed to have expected it - but he was not fooling John, he was actually enjoying having gotten it his way - and they had spent quite a long time at the Yard analyzing the evidence they had obtained at the place while DI Lestrade busied himself with press statements… John was not jealous of that job, he knew very well how the tabloid press could be.
While there, John got to see a side of Sherlock he hadn't seen…
There had been a constable who had been sitting on the very end of the big police department, John would not have noticed her had it not been because Sherlock had turned to see her making copies.
When DI Lestrade came back he started talking to the two of them, but Sherlock just stood up at one point, claiming to need coffee, but John saw him walking over to the woman who seemed very confused to have him right there; he was oddly friendly and even, dare John say it, flirty - John wasn't sure how he knew that was act, but he did - leaning towards her and giving all the signs of interest, and you didn't have to be a dating consultant to be able to tell.
Later on Sherlock had explained that he was merely pushing the situation on the right direction, since one of her coworkers - another constable that had been sitting not even three desks away from where she was, but John had completely failed to notice - was interested but didn't seem to have the motivation to do much about it.
He had been left pondering about Sherlock's motivations about that…
"Is 10:47am on Thursday March 31st" - Sherlock answered the unasked question coming into the bathroom, the door was wide open is not like John needed any privacy to remove make up - in all honesty he needed help, because he certainly had no clue what he was doing - and the water in the faucet was running and every once in a while John would try to rub off some of the make up on his face with soap and water: - "Here, I'll help you"- he added and pulled out one of those make up remover wipes.
It took John's brain a little bit to catch up to the fact that Sherlock was removing his make up; not a lot of people had ever been these close to him. Obviously he had partners and he was in no way against physicality, but he was an englishman through and through and so the whole idea of physical proximity was as foreign to him as the name of the British prime minister was to Sherlock.
"I was held hostage for over a month"- John blurted out, not quite sure why he said it, maybe it felt like it was the normal thing to do when the moment was as suffocatingly intimate as this one.
Sherlock made no sound, he didn't nod, he didn't hum, he didn't do anything that could hint as a sign that even slightly implied that John should continue… but as usual, there was something underneath the whole blank stare on Sherlock's face that made John feel like there was an unnamed feeling? Not, not a feeling, perhaps an idea? John wasn't sure, contrary to popular belief he wasn't very good with those kind of words. He had an ample vocabulary for pain, and anger, and red and all the things people chose to overlook when they were not nice things to look at.
"We were in the same room, but we were so far apart. People don't realize how important human contact is until they are forcefully deprived from it"- John continued talking; he couldn't really tell, but Sherlock had finished removing all the make up from his face, but he just kept the make up remover wipe on John's face, almost as if to give himself an excuse to keep touching John - and why oh why did he need to be touching John? - and maybe to encourage him to continue: - "The australian guy made a lot of lighthearted jokes at the beginning, but after a week it felt like they had broken his spirit. He always said that people believed he was british and that he never really corrected them"- he said with a pulled smile - one of those smiles you really don't wanna have on your face, but feel like you need to put it there, to ease the tension on the words you just uttered - and Sherlock stopped bothering to pretend he was still removing make up, his hand holding the wipe laying limply by his side: - "He was the first one that got killed, I'm not sure what week it was or it was in the nighttime or daylight; all I know is he said 'You reckon they'll kill us?' and then they did it, they just shot him and didn't even bother to take the body out for several hour, or days or God knows how long"- John said and he felt like he had ran out of energy, he no longer had it in him to say anything else; maybe it wasn't what Sherlock wanted to hear, probably he had been too emotional about it, but he didn't care anymore, it was out and that was just fine.
A long silence settled between them, and John was distinctly aware that Sherlock's blue eyes - he had a white shirt, and white always brought out a blue hue to them - were locked on him, but his own gaze was set on the green tile of the kitchen, which he could clearly see from where he was standing inside the bathroom… this flat was rather small, how could the two of them fit in this place?
Sherlock was the first one to move - to John it might have felt like an eternity, but it was no more than two minutes, Sherlock had actually counted - binning the make up wipe remover, still not saying a thing.
"Sorry I unloaded all of that on you, I don't even say this to my therapist; maybe is the psychiatrist vibe you give off"- John said not quite sure how to lift off the weird mood that had set in the room.
"Well I'm far more expensive than your therapist"- Sherlock said and for a moment John felt offended, but then he noticed a smirk well hidden on Sherlock's lips.
"Well I am a high end prostitute, maybe that'll be enough"- John added jokingly and they both let out a small laugh and somehow that felt like enough; John didn't need Sherlock to thank him for sharing something personal and Sherlock didn't need to say any stupid comforting words.
"What happens now? Who killed that bloke at the office then?"- John asked feeling the need to rinse off the feeling of the make up remover from his face; Sherlock gave him some space, leaning against the bathroom's door frame.
"Well as I said, we need to continue investigating into those girls at floor 37 and you already provided a way in, we only need to let them come"- Sherlock explained with a cold expression and John got the distinctive impression his flatmate was trying really hard not to care.
"What do you…" - but before he could finish his question there was a long ring bell and John saw a creepy grin form on the other man's face.
Sherlock went to answer the door and John took those couple of moments to finish making himself presentable.
The sound of Sherlock's nice - fake - greetings reached John and he couldn't help the raised eyebrow, even if there was nobody there to see it. Had he been any other person, someone more introspective perhaps, he would have wondered how was he able to tell when Sherlock was being fake if he had only been living with the man for a month… But he was not any other person, he was not in the sligth-less bit introspective, so he didn't even ponder about this and simply went out of the bathroom to make his way into the sitting room area where he knew Sherlock would take the client.
When Sherlock walked in John had already found his place by the fireplace and had set up a chair for the client - a beautiful slender woman, with legs all the way to heaven and long straight jet black hair with a pair of matching dark eyes - and the psychiatrist had to fight down a grin to reach his lips.
"Here"- Sherlock said indicating the seat for the lady and making his way to his own place: - "How can we help you?"- Sherlock asked with his game face on and John couldn't help the grin.
He wasn't very sure why he found Sherlock interesting; sure, he was a genius when it came to reading people like books, but behaved in a manner that made people believed he didn't care - John had come to accept that Sherlock's scale of caring was slightly different from the average person - which made him probably not the most popular man in a room.
But when it came to his clients, there was a hint of a different Sherlock, sure, maybe a revised made-for-all-audiences Sherlock, but still very Sherlock.
John wasn't sure how he came to notice these things about his flatmate - maybe it had to do with the fact that the first week he moved in Sherlock spent it silently observing (glaring) at him which in turn signified that he had a lot of time to observe the other as well - but maybe between the silences he had learnt something about Sherlock he had not even asked… or maybe he was just imagining things…
They sat there talking to the woman for about an hour, but not a lot of information was gathered; she left after receiving a call she had taken on the foyer and coming back to inform them their services would not be required.
"She just wanted to make someone jealous, it worked it seemed"- Sherlock said making his way to the kitchen sounding annoyed at having wasted an hour of his life.
"What do we do now? We need to find a way to get more people to talk to us"- John said walking into the kitchen to find Sherlock making tea and giving him a strange look he asked: - "What are you doing?"-
"Tea, you don't need great powers of observations to see that; even you could deduce it"- Sherlock said with no real bite to his voice, while rummaging in the cupboards for a mug.
"No shit Sherlock!"- John said and stopped feeling like he knew that phrase from somewhere: - "I wasn't aware you knew how to make tea"- he added when he couldn't remember where had he heard that phrase.
"I'm an Englishman John, of course I know how to make tea"- he answered rummaging the drawers now, searching for a tea spoon.
"The one on the left"- John said immediately realizing what his flatmate was looking for.
Sherlock paused and gave him an odd look and then rummaged some more and finally got the spoon.
"We might need to go to the bank again, find out if there's any parties going on"- Sherlock said now busying himself with the process of making tea, John was still a little surprised by the event he was witnessing - of course Sherlock knew how to make tea, why had he never made tea before? The bastard! - that the words that Sherlock had said almost escaped him.
"Parties? How can there be parties? Someone just died!"- John said and almost didn't notice the mug Sherlock casually placed in front of him while moving back to the living room area. The journalist almost missed the meter of his line of thought, almost.
"Of course there's parties, There's always parties. I'm sure we can find a way into one of them through Sebastian"- Sherlock answered from his armchair in the living room and pulling his phone out he dialed Sebastian: - "We need into a party"- he stated in a business-like manner and John actually heard the laugh on the other end and the other man's voice saying 'I thought I would never see the day I heard you say that!' and without further elaboration Sherlock just hung up.
"So a party"- John stated in a very pragmatic manner while Sherlock kept on sipping his cuppa.
"I assume you have clubbing clothing"- and John was sure he had heard some scorn on the other's tone of voice, almost as if the mere idea of 'clubbing clothing' was something one might find in a Saturday morning at the bottom of the stairs of Piccadilly Circus Station.
"Not sure if what I have will be good enough"- John said truthfully, he was sure any party that a yappy broker would go to was most certainly way out of his league.
"We can work with that"- Sherlock said, finish his cup of tea and making his way to his room.
John almost missed Sherlock's smirk, almost...