IV. THE (RELATIVE) CALM BEFORE THE STORM (3/?)
But it had worked, without a doubt, so John soldiered on and decided he had to keep distracting Sherlock as best as he could until he'd judge the critical phase to be over. He came up with another idea.
John knew that (naturally) Sherlock had a thing for crime stories. Besides the occasional documentaries and the obligated news — the channel Sherlock always checked first (so yeah, it was really puzzling how Sherlock truly never retained any information overpoliticians apart from the fact that they were "people who had tea with Mycroft") — crime movies/soaps were generally the only programmes Sherlock bore watching (even if that often included pretending not to watch to begin with, but cutting in at some point about the plot being either too obvious or illogically twisted), and they often spend the off-case evenings in front of the TV.
John had even once rented some of his favourite crime movies, after Sherlock had made a 'what in hell are you talking about' face when Lestrade had asked them if Moriarty was "some kind of Keyser Söze" as a way to verify if he had gotten the malevolence potential of the criminal mastermind straight after they had explained the pool debacle to him.
John had been amazed (yet slightly disappointed; he had secretly hoped Sherlock might get played too, for once) when Sherlock had solved The usual suspects very early through the movie: "Really good choice, John. So much humour, really; it's all in plain view — at least for those who know how to pay attention, of course… I guess people DO enjoy being proved that they are idiots — even without the 'Verbal Kint' and 'Keyser Söze' thing which makes it transparent; language, John, language!"
Identity had had Sherlock baffled until its end; and you bet John enjoyed that rare occurrence, no matter the consequential complaining about the fact that "it was cheating, because there were in fact no actual murders to solve".
Se7en had been judged "dull" — "There's nothing to deduce, they just tell you who the killer is". John's attempts at explaining why knowing the killer wasn't per se spoiling anything were vain — had Sherlock never seen any Columbo? (to which Sherlock made a 'I'm afraid I haven't the faintest' face; and John judged it wiser to end the discussion there) — but they had had a good laugh when Sherlock had been irritated, offended even, by John Doe's diary entry (On the subway today, a man came up to start a conversation. He was making small talk, this lonely man, talking about the weather and other things. I tried to be accommodating, but my head began to hurt from his banality. I almost didn't notice it had happened, but I threw up all over him. And I couldn't stop myself from laughing.) being overly stereotyped: "Come on, that sounds like something I could say — vomiting aside, obviously; that doesn't make me a serial-killer"; to which John had countered, "Well, you said people now and then assumed you were one, remember?"
/
As a matter of fact, they might one day be thankful for watching so many crime shows/movies.
About a month earlier, a cop on TV wanting to render a suspect harmless had shouted "Down" to his colleague while throwing something at the man they were supposed to arrest. The man had ducked too upon hearing the injunction, and had been able to escape right after. Sherlock had suddenly turned the TV off and had met John's eyes with gravity.
"I should have thought about that sooner, indeed, but I was so used to work on my own and… John, we need a code."
"For ducking?"
"Evidently." (pause) "Vatican cameos."
"Sorry?"
"That's the code, John. 'Vatican cameos'. I once helped Mycroft to avoid a diplomatic incident by recovering some — I was really bored, and hadn't yet met Lestrade. Anyway, while I was chasing the two thieves, one tried to throw a tool box at me but ended knocking his mate down."
John had grinned. "They hadn't worked a code."
Sherlock had grinned back. "Obviously." Then he had ended: "Anyway, it fits the situation, and the chances we'd have to use those words for what they are are quite slim, so…"
"Fine. 'Vatican cameos' it is."
John hadn't been totally 'fine' though with Sherlock afterwards launching out of the blue for days to his head whatever was within his reach for the sake of practice; but he had understood that it might one day save their lives and hadn't complained too much about the eventual resulting bruises (really, had a dictionary been necessary?) or mess on his clothes (toast with jam should be breakfast; not projectiles). It had taken two weeks, but his brain had finally assimilated the desired automatic, instinctive response those two words should provoke, and Sherlock hadn't been able to hit him once since then (Sherlock kept training him once in a while).
/
But, from the look he had once given to Sherlock's book collection (mostly chemistry, anatomy and physics — not only in English, but also in French and German, by the way — a few books over history, and three dictionaries), John had gathered that, as far as his flatmate was concerned, books were NOT for entertainment: they were only recorded data's, valuable doors to knowledge.
So John asked Sherlock if he had ever read crime novels. The unsurprisingly disdainful look he received was the only confirmation he needed, and John went to the bookstore, bought some Agatha Christie's books which he remembered to be twisty yet totally logical, and challenged Sherlock about solving them before their end. Sherlock played the part of being utterly annoyed by the whole concept but of course accepted the challenge, always having to prove you wrong being another of his predictable traits.
John said he would do the reading in order to ensure Sherlock wouldn't cheat, but in fact just because it would draw thing out for a while, as reading aloud always took more time. Sherlock answered by scoffing, but then even raised the odds by stating that John should then read from behind him in order not to give away anything, as he obviously must have read the books before to judge them able to outwit him.
And so it began, with And then there were none, Sherlock lying on the sofa again with his eyes closed but now in a complete different mindset, and John seated in his armchair, after having turned it over. Sherlock deduced the culprit about half-way through the book, winning an "Extraordinary" from John and being obviously very pleased about it, judging by the first grin in days accompanied by a "Well, it was easy" John got back for it. Murder on the Orient Express and The murder of Roger Ackroyd were rightly elucidated too on the following hours, respectively rewarded by an "Amazing" (followed by the trademark "Obvious" and not-at-all modest shrug) and a "Fantastic" (followed by a "Meretricious" and a wink which got them both exchanging, stupidly laughing, "And a happy new Year" — it WAS definitely late, indeed).
John enjoyed the moment of true connection between them, finally, and decided he could authorize himself a few hours of sleep. He acknowledged losing the reading marathon with good grace, went upstairs to fetch one of his thickest woollen jumpers, and handed it to Sherlock for him to experiment on with several acids, as had been bargained.
"You're sure you don't mind about this?"
John was surprised: Sherlock had never been one to ask for permission about using one of his possessions before, so John really hadn't been expecting Sherlock ever asking for some kind of confirmation after the permission had been already granted anyway.
John's first thought was that it might be due to the inevitable, acknowledged, planned destruction of his pull-over (after all, any destruction of John's belongings prior this instant had always been accidental), but it didn't felt right: Sherlock was never polite just for the sake of it; besides, it had been John's idea to bargain one of his jumper, and Sherlock must have noticed that John had given him a jumper he hadn't been wearing since moving in anyway, and so it would be safe to assume that he wasn't really attached to the thing anymore, right.
Then he understood that the unfamiliar show of concern was Sherlock's way to apologise for his late behaviour. John couldn't deny that he felt touched. Most of the times, Sherlock's comments on his behalf just glided over; but sometimes, yes, they did hurt, momentarily (even though they were always forgiven, and meaningless on the long run, because John had long ago noticed that Sherlock could be cruel, and was remorselessly cruel to a lot of people, but that Sherlock was never gratuitously cruel to him). Tonight had hurt (which Sherlock more than likely had noticed), and a little balm over it, even if unnecessary, was appreciated.
John smiled. "It's fine, have your way with it." Then he added, showing interest for a silly experiment as a 'thank you' for Sherlock's 'apology': "I'd like to see the results though."
Sherlock smiled back, perfectly understanding their code. "Naturally. It's your jumper, after all."
John was then about to get back upstairs to sleep but Sherlock apparently had something else yet to say. There was a puzzling trace of hesitation though in the low-spoken calling of his name and John was curious and somehow worried as he turned back towards his friend.
Sherlock took the pack of cigarettes from earlier this evening out of his pocket, looked at it for a moment and then handed it over to John: "Keep those for me, will you: a secret supply can always turn out handy."
John was confused: he had figured that the cigarettes would have by now already ended in the trash bin (they were after all a symbol of Mycroft's 'power' over him); but now, Sherlock was, no matter the light tone of his voice, asking him to keep them — but hidden from him. It wasn't making a lot of sense to him, but John just took them though, of course.
"All right."
"Thanks."
John's eyebrows knitted once more — Sherlock only thanked anyone if it really mattered. So John was touched to be entrusted with what was obviously a very delicate matter; even if he had no idea about what he was exactly supposed to do with that damn pack…
/
The 'let's destroy John's jumper' experiment turned out to be another success in distracting Sherlock, if the state of the pull-over when John came down on the next morning was any indication. The experiment wasn't over yet though, some products still needing macerating (for the record, John's jumper finally stayed 3 days on their table), as Sherlock explained while John had his breakfast — which Sherlock had prepared, by the way; another tangible proof that the critical period was over.
Sherlock was at the mantelpiece, looking at his skull while talking to him; and John couldn't refrain from joking: "You know, if I was to oppose about something, it wouldn't be your skull: it's hardly the most unusual item in the flat." Then he went on in a low voice, turning his attention back to his breakfast, kind of more wondering to himself than actually talking to Sherlock. "I really don't see why you didn't put it back there the moment Mrs Hudson gave it back to you."
"Seriously, John! What would Mrs Hudson do with my skull?" John didn't need to see Sherlock's face to know that he had rolled his eyes; the tone said it all, huh.
John was taken aback: Mrs Hudson had never taken the skull then? He decided though that playing along might give him some answers, turned back to Sherlock and replied, grinning. "Hostage?"
Sherlock scoffed, but then smiled back at him. "Logical, quite ingenious assumption from someone who barely knew the both of us at the time, indeed. I had told you about the violin, and you must have had noticed the by then recent stain on the floor due to its accidental exposition to some kind of acid." Sherlock paused, as if for effect, before pursuing, playfully reproachful: "Wrong assumption though, as always. Really, John, you should know by now that A) she knows that I'd find it, were she to try to hide it, and B) she knows that I know that she's too kind to actually harm it anyway, and so the whole thing would be utterly pointless."
Sherlock seemed to be not only in a good mood but also willing to continue the conversation, so John countered mischievously: "If my erroneous judgment bothers you that much, you could just tell why you hide it away for so long and spare you the trouble."
Sherlock vehemently disagreed: "Of course not, John! I'd rather hear your theories." He sobered as he finished: "They're bound to be much more interesting than the simple truth anyway, which is really quite dull, I assure you."
John was now sure that there was something important about the skull, because it would have been discarded long ago if it was simply dull; but he had no further idea yet on what it could be. Then he noticed the time and got up while hastily finishing his tea. "Well, sorry, but you'll have to wait some before having your fun at pointing at my ineptitudes. It's time for me to get to the surgery."
/
After work that evening, John couldn't help but write an entry on his blog (minus the whole scary zombie state part and the troubling cigarettes issue, of course) about Sherlock's last 'exploits'— the novels' solving had been amazing, really — and ended wondering about "what he would have to come with in the future" to keep his flatmate occupied, because "Sherlock needed cases, constantly".
Lestrade called the morning after, momentarily releasing John from his 'I have to occupy Sherlock' duty.