Chapter 12
Sorry this took so long. Life's been busy.
31 January 2012
John stepped into Greg's office, closing the door behind him. "Hey, Greg."
"John," greeted Greg, looking up from the case file on his desk. "What are you doing here?"
John sat down across from the desk with a sigh. "Two years ago yesterday, Sherlock and I solved our first case."
"Oh, right," said Greg, sitting back in his chair. "'A Study in Pink.'"
"Yeah," said John. "And I was wondering if you noticed anything different."
"Different?" asked Greg.
"About Sherlock's death," said John. "Anything that might have changed?"
"You want to see if history changed after Sherlock met you," said Greg with a nod.
John nodded. "Basically."
Greg's gaze trailed off to the wall as he thought. "No." He looked back at John. "Nothing. Everything is exactly as I remember it." He paused for a moment. "Including the funeral."
John let out his breath and rubbed his hand over his brow. "I thought so." He shook his head. "Why haven't things changed? I mean, history should have changed when that first letter was sent back, right?"
"Unless history doesn't change for us until it changes for him," Greg suggested. "Which means…"
"We won't know if he's alive until June 12, 2013," finished John. "Then again, what if we don't know when something changes? I mean, if the past changes, then our memories would, too, so it would be like the new memories have been there all along, right?"
"Are you asking me or just thinking out loud?" asked Lestrade. "Because I have no clue." He leaned forward, placing his arms on his desk. "However…there has to be something intelligent behind this. How else do you explain the letters being able to go back and forth like that? It can't just be random. And if it isn't random, then whatever is behind this much know that you'll know when your memories change. Otherwise, this whole 'changing the past' thing wouldn't work."
"So, some…thing out there set this all up?" asked John.
Lestrade spread his hands. "Hey, I'm just thinking out loud. I thought that was what we were doing."
John smiled.
"And don't forget, we still remember that baseboard being blank, even though Sherlock carved those words in it," said Lestrade.
John nodded, staring down at the floor. It was true; they even had the video tape to prove it. He stopped and looked up at Lestrade, a smile breaking out on his face. "Lestrade, you're a genius!" He jumped up from the chair and left the office, completely missing Lestrade's confused expression.
1 February 2012
John placed his letter on the mantel, turning towards the door to leave when his phone rang.
"Hello?" John answered.
"John, it's Mike," Dr. Mike Stamford replied.
"Mike, hi," said John. "How are things?"
"Good, but I hear you're having a hard time getting office space for your practice," said Mike.
"A bit, yeah," said John, sighing at the reminder.
"Well, I have a friend who is moving to Leeds," said Mike. "He's looking to sell his offices. You have time to take a look?"
"Yeah," said John as a smile appeared on his face. "Yeah, I can drop by over lunch."
"Great, I'll tell him you're coming," said Mike. "562 Kensington. Twelve o'clock?"
"Sounds great," said John. "See you then."
A knock came at the door, and John glanced up from the letter he was writing.
"Hey, John," said Greg, stepping into 221B. "Any new letters?"
"Yeah," said John, standing and taking the small pile of letters from the bookshelf. "Here."
Lestrade took the letters and sat on the sofa to read them as John went back to his letter.
"1/2/12
Sherlock,
Nothing has changed here, so you can quit worrying. You're doing an excellent job pretending you don't know the future. Well, one thing has changed: I finally have my own practice. Not yet; the current tenant doesn't vacate for another month. Not to worry, though. I am just as ready as ever to run off on a case when you finally catch up to me. (And, no, I am not telling you why I am not currently on cases, so drop it.)
I've had an idea, although I'm not too sure how you'll feel about it. Would you be agreeable to keeping a sort of vlog going (it stands for video blog)? I'm not asking for anything like a diary. I know you would absolutely despise that. Just instead of writing letters, you tape them (would save you time for cases!), and maybe you leave the camera running every once in a while. This whole thing would be interesting to see from your side of things."
Of course, this wasn't his real reason for wanting videos. He wanted to see his best friend again, but he couldn't very well tell Sherlock that. The man would deduce his death and probably ruin everything.
"Wish I could do the same, but you would just deduce so much from it that you're not ready to know. Besides, now you have an actual John Watson to fill in some of the blanks.
John"
John folded the letter and walked towards the fireplace.
"So, what was that about this morning?" asked Lestrade as he folded up the last letter. "Why am I a genius?"
John brandished the letter he had just written. "The video. The one of Sherlock carving the baseboard. I've asked him to make videos instead of letters."
Lestrade smiled. "Oh, that's perfect. What a great idea!"
"Let's hope he thinks the same," said John, affixing the letter to the mantel.
18 February 2012
John stepped down the stairs to the main area of 221B, yawning as he headed into the kitchen. He moved around the room, making coffee and some toast. As he waited for everything to warm up, he went to the sitting room doors and glanced at the mantelpiece, not really expecting to find anything. Sherlock hadn't written him in two weeks after John had suggested the videos. This morning, however, there sat a flashdrive pinned in place by the knife.
John rushed forward and removed the knife, taking the drive and heading towards his laptop. His head snapped back up at the sound of the toaster springing up. He snatched his laptop and headed into the kitchen, setting it on the table and pulling the toast out onto a plate. Hurriedly putting butter on the toast and filling his cup with coffee, he turned and sat at the table, inserting the drive into his laptop. Once he opened the file, an image of 221B's sitting room appeared on the screen.
Sherlock stepped away from the camera and turned towards it. "So, I've decided to take you up on your offer. You know very well that my mind works faster than I can write."
John smiled, happy beyond belief to see his friend again. It was a strange sensation sitting here watching a video that was recorded two years ago before Sherlock's death and yet have him talking about things they had discussed just a few weeks ago.
"I've had to edit these quite a bit due to my forgetting it was on and filming all day long," said Sherlock.
John laughed. Yeah, he would forget.
"Today is the third, and we still haven't gotten a new case after the serial killer cabbie," said Sherlock. "Well, someone emailed about a missing engagement ring. Not worth my time."
John chuckled.
"I'm glad to hear that our—or, rather, your—history remains intact," said Sherlock. He then gave a frown as his gaze drifted off to the side. "Although, that is an intriguing idea. Would you even know if history changed? I suppose you would, otherwise you would have known those carvings were already there…"
John shook his head. Somehow, Sherlock always deduced everything, even a conversation he couldn't possibly have known about.
Sherlock pulled in a breath as he looked back at the camera. "I understand your reasons for not sending videos yourself. However, I wonder if you would make just one with as few clues as you can manage. I would greatly appreciate the chance to see you." He then lifted what looked like a small remote and pointed it at the camera.
The feed cut out and switched to a shot of the sitting room and kitchen as though the camera were sitting on the table between the two windows. Sherlock was barely in view, the edge of his dressing gown swaying on the edge of the screen as the sounds of a violin flooded from the speakers.
John stepped in from the kitchen, a cup of tea in hand. "When you said, 'the worst about each other,' I assumed you meant your skills with a violin. You're actually very good."
John shook his head. This video was placed on this drive in the last two weeks, and yet, he remembered this morning happening two years ago. This time travel business was starting to make his head hurt again.
Sherlock stopped playing and turned to look at John, who had sat in his armchair. "This doesn't annoy you?"
John looked up at him with a shrug and a frown. "Why would it? You can actually play."
Sherlock slowly turned back towards the windows. "It annoyed everyone else."
John looked up at Sherlock's back for a moment. "Sounds like everyone else needs to lay off, then." He set his tea down on the table beside him and picked up the newspaper.
"John Watson, you continue to amaze me," muttered Sherlock, barely loud enough to hear.
John looked up at him. "What was that?"
"Nothing," said Sherlock, starting to play again.
John watched him a moment before shrugging and going back to his paper.
The scene jumped to another day.
Sherlock sat in his armchair, his fingers steepled in front of his face. He narrowed his eyes and then called out. "John!"
After a moment, John stepped into the sitting room. "Yeah?"
"We need milk," Sherlock stated.
John frowned. "Okay…"
"The shop on the corner," Sherlock told him.
"All right, I'll get some on my way back from my therapist's," said John, turning to leave.
"No," said Sherlock. "Now."
John turned back, his brows raised. "Now?"
Sherlock didn't answer.
"What, and you can't be bothered to do it?" asked John.
"I'm on a case," said Sherlock.
John rolled his eyes, grabbed his coat and headed out the door.
Sherlock sat still in his chair until the distant sound of the front door opening and closing was heard. He then leapt to his feet and began pacing, glancing at the camera every so often.
"John H. Watson," muttered Sherlock. "You refuse to tell me your middle name; you don't want anyone to know it. However, the fact that you use the initial clearly says you are not embarrassed by it; you merely hate it." He stopped and faced the camera. "So, this is what you meant when you mentioned not telling me your middle name." He stepped closer to the camera. "Would you tell me? Surely, I've already found out in your past and you know that I don't care. It's simply a mystery to solve."
"Ooh-hoo!"
Sherlock immediately straightened up and turned back to his chair, sitting as Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door.
"Morning, Sherlock!" she greeted as she set the tea on the table in front of the sofa. She turned back to him with a frown. "Who were you talking to?"
"Myself," said Sherlock nonchalantly as he pressed his fingertips together.
The video ended, and John pulled the drive from the laptop, mulling over Sherlock's suggestion. He wanted to give Sherlock his request of a video, but could he do so in a way that didn't give any clues to the future? He probably could, if he was careful.
"—so, just another thirteen months, and I'll be able to tell you everything," said John. "But don't worry. You'll bee plenty entertained till then. Wish I could keep this up for you, but…well, you know. Keeping you in the dark is hard enough, but I can't imagine how you handle it. How did you manage to keep me from finding out all this time?" He turned the camera off and leaned back in his chair.
"Ooh-hoo!" greeted Mrs. Hudson as she entered the kitchen. "Who were you talking to, John?"
John was reminded so forcibly of a similar scene from Sherlock's video that he had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Mrs. Hudson. Ever the eavesdropper.
Mrs. Hudson frowned at the sheet that was hanging behind him. "What are you doing?"
John gestured down to the camera. "Just a video journal, Mrs. Hudson. My therapist's idea." He then stood and pulled the sheet down that he had hung to try and eliminate clues from the background. "I didn't want the dishes in the background." He gestured to the counter, grateful there were dishes there he had not gotten to yet.
"Oh, what a lovely idea," said Mrs. Hudson. "When my father passed, I kept a journal where I wrote letters to him. It was like having him back again." She bustled off to the sitting room.
John watched her go, smirking. You have no idea.
"16th of February, 2010," said Sherlock, standing facing the fireplace as he spoke to the camera. "I must applaud you on the video, John. Anything I deduced was already known from our letters and living with you here in the past. It seems having me as a flatmate has done you good.
"I kept your letters at first, but since you moved in, I've decided it was too dangerous having them around. I've taken to burning them. Although, you did find a charred portion of a letter (thankfully nothing damaging), and I had to explain that I've been practicing forgery. You were apparently amazed at how well I could replicate your handwriting.
"Nothing new here. Horribly boring cases; nothing worth repeating to you since you've already lived it. Although, I did receive an email about a missing diamond. That looks promising."
"What looks promising?"
Sherlock turned quickly towards the door. "What?"
"You said something looks promising," said John as he walked in with the shopping in his hand. "New case?"
"Possibly," said Sherlock.
"Good," said John, holding up the bag in his hand. "Then maybe we won't have to pick up milk for a while." He turned and headed towards the kitchen. "I don't understand how we keep running out. It's not like you eat all that much."
Sherlock watched John closely as he quickly pulled the remote out and aimed it at the camera to turn it off.
"19/2/12
So, that's why you always sent me for milk, isn't it? You wanted to get me out of the flat so you could record a video. What happened to all that milk? Don't tell me you just dumped it down the drain.
So, forged handwriting is not one of your skills. I'd wondered why it never came up in one of our cases.
John"
"24th of February, 2010," said Sherlock as he sat at his microscope, looking at different slides. "No, I did not throw the milk out. I used it for some experiments, but most of the time, I drank it. Surprisingly filling." He turned his head to look at the camera. "You've always wondered how I can go days without food on a case, haven't you?" He smirked and looked back into his microscope. "As a detective, I've studied graphology—the science of handwriting analysis—but I've never had much use of forgery myself. After all, I am a consulting detective, not a consulting criminal." He lifted his head slightly in thought. "That does sound like a novel idea, though. Wonder if I'll ever find one…"
He gave his head a shake after a moment and went back to his slides. "You're beginning to show real promise in your ability to put up with me as a flatmate and friend. You're starting to talk back, not letting me get away with—Oh!" His eyes lit up. "The gardener, of course!" He jumped out of his seat, rushed around the kitchen table and disappeared from frame.
Two seconds later, his arm reappeared as he snatched the remote from the table, and the camera shut off.
"3/3/12
Ah, the secret's finally out! How to sustain yourself during a murder case: abundant quantities of milk.
Oh, yeah. I learned long ago that you respect people for showing the backbone to stand up to you. Not to mention, I just don't let that kind of stuff slide.
Well, I finally got my practice. I was even able to keep the previous staff so no one had to look for a new job. Sorry my letters are always so short, but there's not much I can tell you without ruining your future.
John"
"11th of March, 2010," said Sherlock, lounging in his armchair in his sleep clothes and dressing gown and looking bored. "That's perfectly all right about the letters." He glanced towards the camera that must have been perched on the table in front of the sofa. An amused smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "I found ways to occupy myself." He looked back up at the ceiling. "You have exactly the kind of attitude a flatmate should have." He brought his head off the back of the chair to look at the camera. "Can you believe that not one of the people I've ever shared rooms with mentioned the things about me they had a problem with? They kept their silence and finally moved out when I 'refused to change my behavior.' How am I supposed to know to change it unless I'm told?" He let his head fall back on the chair again.
The next moment, footsteps were heard, and Sherlock immediately sat up in his seat, glancing warily towards the door.
"You don't happen to have coffee going, do you?" asked John as he stepped into the room, rubbing his hand over his disheveled hair. "I feel like I've been asleep for days."
Sherlock waved towards the kitchen. "In there."
John turned and left for the kitchen, Sherlock's eyes watching him shrewdly. After a while, John returned and sat in his armchair across from Sherlock, grabbing the newspaper and glancing at the top. He frowned and looked up at Sherlock.
"It's Thursday?" asked John.
"Yes," said Sherlock, his whole body tensing in anticipation of something.
John stared at him before shaking his head. "Wow." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I must be really out of it. I could have sworn yesterday was Tuesday." He went back to the paper.
The tension left Sherlock as he stared at John. He then smirked and got to his feet, slipping the camera remote out of his dressing gown pocket to turn it off.
"13/3/12
You cock. You drugged me, didn't you? I missed that whole Wednesday, and you never said a thing! You are so lucky I hadn't gotten a job yet.
So, you previous flatmates never said a word and just assumed you knew how you were supposed to act? Did they know you at all?
John"
"15th of March, 2010," said Sherlock, pacing with his violin and bow in hand, apparently haven interrupted his playing with this rant. "So, you're saying it's normal to know what is and it not acceptable to the person you're sharing rooms with? That makes no sense. Each person has their own personality, habits, dislikes and pressure points. What's the point in memorizing a set of given rules if they have to be changed for each individual? What a waste of brain space!"
"19/3/12
Oh, wow. This is all just making more and more sense. This is why you have no idea about manners and etiquette, isn't it? Because everyone's different, and you can't please everyone. Well, from now on, use me as a sounding board. Anytime you're not sure if something is acceptable, ask me.
John
Oh, by the way, enjoy your next week."
John put his pen down and glanced over at the calendar he had made to help him remember what was happening on Sherlock's side of things. Four days from now, their case known as "The Blind Banker" would start.