Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. I claim - instead - all oocness in this chapter. My beta tried so very hard, but couldn't make me behave. I am too stubborn.
Chapter 19: Explanations
Sherlock's lies rankled. Very much so. John, after Jim left, tried to rationalise them – to find some sort of justification for his…friend's (was he even one) behaviour. He failed. The urge to go see him and ask what the hell was he thinking was strong, but he resisted it at first. It would do no good to attack Sherlock, and he felt perilously close to that. What's more, the sleuth didn't exactly owe him an explanation – he certainly didn't answer to him – and yet John ached for one. But then he remembered the old adage about not letting the sun set on one's anger, so John gave up and all but marched to the detective's house.
"I didn't expect to see you again today. Missing me already?" the sleuth teased cheekily, welcoming him in.
John raised a very not amused eyebrow. "Yeah, well, I didn't expect to have to come – I always skim over the blog in the worst way. But something happened, so…"
"Something you need to consult me over? Do you have a case for me, John?" Sherlock's eyes shone with eagerness.
"Not exactly. Not a new case, at least. But I got a visit. By Irene Adler's lover-slash-bodyguard," the doctor revealed coldly.
"Ah," the sleuth breathed, clearly uncomfortable. "She told you."
"She felt that she owed me for not shooting Irene when I could," John explained needlessly. "So yes, she told me." Belligerent, he added, "Why did you lie to me? No, wait, let me rephrase that: what the fuck were you thinking, Sherlock?"
"Lying to you was the most expedite way to save us a boring discussion, with you asking what I won't give. It was simpler. Or it would have been without Irene's meddling," the detective stated, clearly annoyed with the Woman.
"I thought we were friends," John said, a deep tinge of sadness and disappointment in his voice.
"We are – John, we are," Sherlock assured quickly.
"No, we're not," the doctor rebuked vehemently. "My bloody life is on the line in Dyaus' mad game, Sherlock. And you can save me, but you won't. Friends help each other. Friends save each other, if they're able. You're refusing to."
"I have my reasons, John, but believe me – it's not because I wish to see you dead. Never that. it would be a horrific inconvenience," the sleuth said softly, with a little shiver at such a prospect.
It didn't mellow John much. "If you have reasons – which I find honestly hard to believe – let's hear them. I don't even want to become a God, you know that, right? You're not refusing to help not to take away my chances of victory, or something equally asinine?"
"I know perfectly well that you don't want to be a God. But John, that's the crux of the problem: I want you to be a God. I can't very well drop you out of the game then, can I?" the detective revealed with a shrug.
"You want me to be a God," the doctor repeated dumbly. "Why would you? I'm definitely not God material."
"I strongly beg to differ. Look, it was really hard for me to accept the existence of a deity in the first place. But you gave me no choice with your evidence – and to be honest, it terrified me. That any being could hold that much power over us – over me, that he could toy with anyone's life if He – or She – so choose."
"I understand," John cut in. "Well, not entirely, it wasn't like this for me at the start. I mean, it was definitely a shock, but since at the beginning Dyaus' servant seemed busy keeping me alive, I was too busy being grateful to be irritated or scared about God meddling in people's lives. But when the game started – I admit that I have questioned what Dyaus was bloody thinking and how he dared many times. I've never thought about what sort of God the other contestants could turn out to be, though. I only knew that it was a rather too big of a responsibility for me, but my interest is mainly survival, so that's why I got so angry when you refused."
"At the very least you maintain some sense of responsibility, not considering to use your powers to fulfil your wishes or amuse yourself or something of the sort. Truth is, if I have to trust my destiny to anyone and worship anyone at all, you're the only human being I can imagine in that role."
The doctor blushed. "I don't think anyone ever gave me a compliment quite so big."
"It's not a compliment, John," the detective replied quietly. "I'm just being logical, really. God is supposed to be entirely good, not only all powerful, at least that's how I've been brought up to believe, and you're the person I know that gets the closest to that ideal. I strongly doubt that any of the other contestants would be even half as good as you are."
"Oh, I do have my own flaws," John objected quickly, blushing even harder at that.
"Of course. You're a human being still. But I pride myself in observing people, and you wouldn't go out of your way to torment someone," Sherlock stated, after a sharp, searching look – as if he needed to confirm his own assumptions (what detail could give that away?).
"Obviously I'm not. But that only makes me a decent human being. Nothing special."
"You would probably be surprised at how few people are 'decent' – in your words – given the right conditions," Sherlock remarked.
"I'm sorry," the doctor said.
"Why?" the sleuth queried, raising a puzzled eyebrow.
"You sound as if you're speaking from personal experience," John pointed out.
"I am, but it doesn't concern you. You're not at fault," the detective replied. He didn't seem to get it.
"I know that I'm not, but I wish that you didn't have to go through it. I'm sorry that you've been hurt. And I'm sorry that we didn't know each other back then. You could have depended on me," the doctor explained earnestly.
"I don't need protection, I can hold my own. I'm not a damsel in distress. Not right now, not back then," Sherlock bit back sharply.
"Of course you're not. I never said you were. It doesn't mean that you can't have help from a friend," John uttered placatingly.
That sentence gained a small smile from the sleuth. "Are we friends, then?" he asked, a tinge of eagerness in his voice.
"Your explanation was very satisfying, so yes, I would say that we are definitely friends. I am sorry that I doubted you, but well…I couldn't explain your actions and assumed the worst," the doctor assured, smiling back widely.
"I thought that my reasons would have been all too obvious," the detective huffed, wordlessly but very clearly getting across the message, "You're so slow!"
"How could have I known that you thought so highly of me?" John replied in justification, still not a little amazed at the fact.
"Why wouldn't I?" Sherlock bit back, shrugging as if worshipping John was indeed the most natural thing.
"Thank you," John said softly.
"You're very welcome, my dear. As I said, I won't drop you out of the game. But I hope that you know, John, that anything else at all that you might need I would be glad to assist you with. Especially regarding the game. Who knows, maybe now that you can offer them an alternative to death the other contestants will be more inclined to acknowledge that as a deity you'd be a far better option than any of them," the detective stated, eyes alight with admiration for his friend.
"Maybe. I wouldn't count on everyone being willing to let me go on, though. It might not be a huge temptation for me, but some of them might be a lot more keen on winning the game," the doctor remarked. He was utterly grateful to Sherlock for giving him a chance not to kill these strangers. John had never liked the concept behind the game in the first place.
"Which is the very reason they shouldn't be allowed to," Sherlock countered, smirking. "Well, it doesn't matter. If they try to murder you, we'll kill them in turn. Self-defence. Nobody could blame us," the sleuth stated nonchalantly.
"We?" John echoed, mildly surprised. Sherlock's offer to drop people from the game for him had been a kind move, but that he wanted to be involved even in the murderous parts of it…well, John would have liked better to spare him that.
"Of course John. Do keep up please. Anyway, it seems that I can't take a case lately without one of your rivals popping up. The lot of you are everywhere, apparently. So it's better if I were involved officially in this madness. I thought…I thought that we could be a team," Sherlock said, voice snappy at the start but ending on a hesitant note.
"I would like that," the doctor hurried to assure. "We could be a fantastic team." Not just because thanks to Sherlock they could bypass the most basic of Dyaus' rules and implicitly say fuck you to the sadistic God who was toying with his life. The detective was bloody brilliant and John loved brilliant people and didn't ask anything else than be allowed to stay at their side. Sherlock, Jim…he wasn't picky. Oh, on that matter… "You'll have to do me a favour – save Jim from the game," John said lightly.
"Jim? Jim Moriarty? Does he play too?" the sleuth asked, apparently surprised. But that made no sense.
"Of course he does. I thought it would have been clarified to you considering what happened at Baskerville. Forgotten it already, Sherlock?" the doctor teased gently.
"I thought he was like me, faking to be a contestant to fool Stapleton, maybe. He looked as if he was on the protect John Watson team, too. If he played that game, why didn't he make any attempts against your life yet?" the detective queried, clearly puzzled by such an inconsistency of behaviour from the IT tech.
"Because we're friends, that's why. Best friends, even," John replied, tone a tad more sharp than he intended. "We meant to beat the game together and then discuss our options…or lack of them, really, but now that you're in the picture there's no need for Jim to be in danger any longer."
"And what is Jim's blog about?" the sleuth inquired, curious.
The doctor blushed lightly and then confessed, "Me. He's kinda stalking me through it. Though that has allowed him to save my life more than once, so I can't exactly complain about it."
"Then he won't want to lose the means to keep doing so," Sherlock remarked. "And I too am less inclined to lose a useful ally in making sure you win. I can drop him anytime, and I certainly will – just a bit later."
"And what if Jim gets killed in the meantime?" John bit back sharply, frowning.
"I thought friends were supposed to trust friends' abilities. He doesn't look at all easy to kill – he has brain, and uses it, for a change," the detective scolded. Such a sentence only made John frown all the harder, but before he could protest loudly, the sleuth sighed with a very put upon air and huffed, "Fine. I'll drop him off the game – if he wants. I will allow anyone who asks to leave the game. Or do you want even more? Do you propose that we 'save' even the ones who want to play? I'm quite good at procuring stuff. I might steal the contestants' phones and disconnect them before they even realize."
"Pickpocketing, forgery…you're a model citizen, uh?" the doctor remarked, grinning widely.
"As I told you, studying criminals one tends to learn a few tricks," Sherlock replied, shrugging nonchalantly.
"To answer you, no, I don't think we should disconnect people by force or using trickery. They might attack us all the same in revenge, and if we were forced to kill them in self-defence then their bodies wouldn't conveniently disappear. Though I can't imagine many people refusing the offer you have for them, Sherlock – almost any, to be honest. I think we're taking the game so seriously only because of basic survival instinct," John explained.
Sherlock sighed, "Only you, John, could not see the appeal of immense power on the average bloke. I know it is because you're honestly untouched by its charm. But do you see, now, why I claim that you
have attained godlike levels of goodness? You are at the very least a saint, my dear friend."
"I'm really not," John protested, embarrassed. The sleuth only smiled, clearly unconvinced.