"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," John said as he entered the room – gulping in air to try and catch his breath.
"It's fine. I was just admiring your book collection," she replied, "Is everything alright?"
"Yes, fine... Sherlock is just being Sherlock."
"Did I say something wrong?"
"No, he honestly is just doing the laundry. I was just so surprised I had to go see for myself," he added with a weak chuckle and sat in his favorite chair and leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on his knees.
"Well I'm glad to hear that everything is alright. I hope you don't mind, but I grabbed my tea out of the kitchen. I didn't want it getting cold."
"Oh, no that's fine... sorry, I suppose I really should have given it to you before I left... it's quite a mess in there I'm afraid," he said glancing over his shoulder to look at the kitchen and then to the stairs. He wondered absently when Sherlock was coming back, and what mood he would be in.
"It's alright; I was half-expecting it."
"You were?" he asked in surprise – her words bringing him back to attention.
"Yes, Sherlock's experiments. You rant about them all the time in your blog." She said with a smile.
John realized that he just couldn't do this right now. He couldn't just pretend that everything was ok. His mind kept wandering to the conversation with the man downstairs and he already felt guilty for leaving Sherlock and for lying to Mia.
"You know what, Mia," John began slowly, "Everything really isn't ok." He confessed, as he took a seat next to her on the couch and took her hand – she looked instantly concerned but allowed him to continue: "Sherlock isn't his usual self. Something's come up that's quite important and that we need to talk about. I don't think tonight is a good night for you to get to know him better."
"Is he alright?"
"Honestly, I don't know," he said truthfully, "It's difficult to tell with him... I think he will be. We just need some time to work it out."
"You're very good to him, John," she said taking his hand in both of hers, "I'm glad that you told me the truth. I don't mind going home early if that will be easier."
"Really? Because I feel like a complete ass right now."
"John, our friends are important. I know you won't feel better until the two of you have talked out whatever it is. And besides, I would do the same for my best friend."
"You are the best girlfriend in the world," John said with feeling. He leaned in and kissed her lips softly.
She smiled at him, "I know." She said playfully.
He kissed her again. "I'll make this up to you."
"No need. I'm sure our next date will be great... and who knows, maybe I'll end up ditching you at some point too." The mischievous look in her eyes sent a thrill like an electric-shock through John and he suddenly wanted very much for her to stay.
"Come on, I'll take you home."
"No need, John. I'm a big girl. You should stay here and chat with that odd and strangely fantastic flatmate of yours."
"No, I'm not sending you home alone. I'm not that much of an ass. Sherlock will still be here when I get back."
She got up and headed for the coat-rack, "I do look forward to getting to know him a bit better," she said while slipping on her coat and grabbing John's.
"Really?"
"Yes, he's... interesting."
"Yes, that would definitely be one way to describe him."
...
When Sherlock finally came up to the flat with the basket of neatly folded laundry, he found it had been vacated. It didn't really come as a surprise, though: he'd heard the front door close a few moments before. He placed the basket down on the bed in his room and headed for the answering-machine on the desk in the living room where John usually left his "going out" notes. He pressed the button and waited as the automated voice announced that there was one message...
"Hi Sherlock, I've gone to take Mia home. Will be back shortly to talk."
Sherlock sighed and headed back to his room to put away the laundry. There would be no avoiding John now, so he might as well not even try. He was surprised though, that John had decided to cut the date short rather than wait. It showed that he really was concerned. Sherlock didn't want him to be concerned... Why was John always troubling himself with worries? It must be exhausting.
He reached into the basket and picked up the pile of neatly folded shirts... John usually hung them and put them in Sherlock's closet according to colour. Realizing he had no idea what colour they were, Sherlock placed the pile on top of the dresser to be dealt with later and began putting away more mundane articles of clothing in the drawers where they belonged. It wasn't long before he heard John come in downstairs.
"Sherlock?" the familiar voice called from the foyer.
"In here," Sherlock replied.
He heard John enter the room... he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other and rubbing his hands together. Cold, Sherlock thought absently. The scent of the fresh cool air lingered on John and accosted Sherlock. He realized that John must have run up the stairs for the pleasant scent to still be on him.
"So, you brought her home then," he stated lamely, while grabbing the last few socks out of the basket and slipping them neatly into the top drawer.
"You got my message," John said and headed over to the pile of shirts. He opened the wardrobe and began unfolding and hanging each one in its customary place.
"You don't need to do that," Sherlock said quietly.
"I want to," John replied simply.
They worked in silence for a few moments, then: "I'm going to make some tea, do you want one?" John asked, once he'd finished with the last shirt.
"No, thank you."
"Well, come and sit in the living room any way," John ordered gently and left the room.
John's mind had been whirling since decided to he drop Mia off. He knew he'd been quiet in the cab, and she had silently respected that he had something important on his mind. She kissed him goodnight and gave him a long comforting hug before going inside. John knew that he had a keeper this time – Mia really was perfect.
He filled the kettle and turned it on. His mind was full of the past few weeks. How had he not noticed Sherlock's habit? Or even his frustration? Normally, when Sherlock was without a case he did something ridiculous like shoot the wall, or catch the flat on fire, or whine and pace and become downright miserable, but John hadn't noticed any of that in the past two weeks. In fact, life had been quite pleasant at home with Sherlock. When John arrived home in the evenings the man seemed genuinely happy to see him. They would chat about all kinds of things, though usually about John's day and how stupid Lestrade's team was. John had figured that Sherlock was absorbed in the cold cases and never asked him if he'd been working on anything new. John realized now he should have been suspicious. Normal human behaviour was erratic behaviour where Sherlock was concerned... Why hadn't he seen it? He realized that, for once in his life, Sherlock had acted like a mature human being and John had completely ignored him. Maybe this was why Sherlock had used to act so unreasonably... acting like a spoiled child was the only way the genius ever got any attention. Sherlock was never the kind to crave human affection, but admiration, attention – even if it was the result of irritation – were all reactions he did need.
The kettle boiled. John poured his tea and moved to the living room to sit opposite Sherlock in his favorite chair.
Sherlock toyed with the poker. He sat, legs crossed, elegant hands draped over the arms of the chair – one of them fiddling with the handle of the poker that sat in its stand – and simply looked at John. His grey eyes pinned to the spot where he knew the quiet doctor to be sitting. He was waiting for John to say something, but John didn't know what to say. I'm sorry? What for? Had John really done anything wrong? Or was Sherlock expecting John to continue to tell him off again? What does one say to a friend they know is struggling? I'm here for you? Certainly Sherlock already knew that... what needed to stop was the smoking. John could not in good conscience allow his friend to indulge in such an unhealthy – and frankly rather disgusting – habit.
"So, describe her to me," Sherlock commanded, breaking the brooding silence.
"What?"
"Mia, describe her to me."
"Sherlock that's not really –"
"I don't like not being able to picture her. Now that I've met her I need to know who it is I'm looking at."
"Fine," John conceded with a sigh, he didn't know how to broach the other subject anyway, "She's a little shorter than me..."
"Be specific, John. Treat her like you do our other subjects."
"Like the suspect in a murder?" John asked dryly.
"Yes, exactly."
John took a deep breath and released it slowly before beginning..."She's about five-foot-three. Maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. Has shoulder-length, dark, curly hair and large, pale-green eyes. She's... she's dainty and... feminine... she's beautiful Sherlock. Really, honestly, the most beautiful woman I've ever dated. And not just physically..."
"She has a nice figure I take it?"
"Oh yes," John conceded wholeheartedly, "but like I said... there's more to her than that."
"Yes, I can tell," Sherlock said quietly, "You speak about her differently than you did the others."
"She is different... I don't know how to describe it... but I really care about her. I really think that maybe she could be..."
"The one." Sherlock replied frankly. His response was said without sarcasm or bitterness; in fact, it had been said without any detectable emotion at all.
"Yah," John said quietly, "How did you...?"
"Honestly, John, I don't live under a rock. I know that people believe in the idea of soul-mates." The word felt wrong leaving his mouth in this context. Was Mia John's true soul-mate? Had he found a way to replace whatever it was he thought he needed in Sherlock? Sherlock didn't want to hear any more about her personality or how much John liked her. If things kept up this way there was only one possible ending to the scenario... John would marry her. John would marry her and leave.
"You know, it's funny," John said then, "She sometimes reminds me of you."
Sherlock stiffened imperceptibly, "How so?"
"I'm not sure what it is... I can't quite put my finger on it yet. It's just some things she does or says sometimes... I dunno." John wasn't quite sure why he had told Sherlock that, but he certainly wasn't going to tell him that the connection may have something to do with the fact that she could be is fraternal twin.
For Sherlock, it was an unsatisfactory answer. She reminded him of Sherlock? How? Why? Was that a good thing? He let it drop. It wouldn't do to mull over it now... He was sorry he'd brought the topic up, he was in no mood to hear any more about Mia.
"You know, Sherlock," John said leaning forward and putting his cup and saucer aside, "If things keep going as well as they are... I was wondering how you would feel about Mia moving in with us?"
"Moving in?" Sherlock couldn't believe what he was hearing. John wants to know if he would be ok with this woman moving in to their flat? Of course not! The very idea was offensive! ...but then... what was the alternative? If Sherlock said 'no'... would John move in with Mia? "I didn't realize it was that serious," Sherlock managed.
"While, I don't think it is yet..." John backed off a little, "It's still early... But, the relationship is going well. It's going... really well, actually... and if it keeps going well, moving in together will eventually be a logical next step. I just wanted to see how you felt about the whole thing."
"You're planning quite a ways ahead, John," Sherlock hedged, hoping against hope that it was true and that this 'eventuality' was a long way in the future.
"I know. I just wanted to mention it... and to hear your opinion."
"I don't have one yet."
"That's fair," John replied, "Just, let me know when you do."
They sat in silence by the fire for a while. John wasn't sure why he'd brought up the topic of Mia moving in. He'd certainly never spoken to hear about it, and he hadn't even realized he'd been thinking about it until he mentioned it to Sherlock just now. His timing couldn't have been worse... they were supposed to be addressing Sherlock's smoking habit and personal stress... he was supposed to be helping his friend out, not adding to the list of things bothering him. I really am selfish, he thought to himself and felt a pang of guilt as he looked at the young man sitting across from him – his pensive expression was turned towards the crackling fire.
"So what are you going to do about the smoking?" John asked finally.
"I suppose I'll quit, if it bothers you so much," Sherlock said resignedly.
"Really?" John asked in surprise, "Just like that?"
"I've done it before."
"You've struggled with it before, you mean."
"I succeeded once."
"For less than a year Sherlock... that's not really success."
"At least I tried."
"Yes, but what I'm trying to say is that if you don't really want to, you won't succeed. We need to find you something else... You need a reason to want to quit. It can't be because I want you too."
"I need a case, John," Sherlock lamented, looking utterly exhausted and depressed.
"You'll have one soon, Sherlock, I'm certain of it."
Just then – as if the fates had been listening – Sherlock's new cell phone began to ring and vibrate on the desk. He was up, out of the chair, and over to it in a flash, "Yes, hello? ... When? ... How do you know?" He began pacing as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line, "... When? ... Yes I'll be right there."
"What? What is it?" John asked as he felt anticipation rising in his chest. He'd missed this... the suspense... Was it a case?
"That was Lestrade," Sherlock said gravely as he headed for his coat, "It's Sgt. Donovan, she's gone missing."
"Missing?"
"Yes, they think she's been abducted."
"Why?"
"Because last week another officer went missing."
"And?"
"He turned up yesterday – dead."