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Surrounded by piles of clothes, Faye was sat on the floor when John opened the door to her flat. She looked up expectedly and he frowned and she shook her head, turning back to the pile.
"Hey." She shot him before chucking a blouse over her shoulder onto the sofa, "Sorry I've not been up. Busy and things, you know?" She held up another blouse and did the same, it landing on the increasingly growing pile behind her.
"Yeah, I was wondering where you were." He replied. Sherlock had returned from Paris and had headed straight for his bedroom, not paying John any attention and still had barely said a word to him. He'd also expected Faye to come rant at him for Sherlock's behaviour, he knew how difficult it was being in such confined spaces with just him for company, but she hadn't turned up.
"I was going to come see you when we got back, but then I cleaned my cupboards. You'd be surprised how dirty they can get." She explained, "So, after I went through the kitchen and living room I was going to come up today, but I was getting dressed and I realised that I didn't like any of my clothing, so I thought I would go through it all." He glanced around, it did seem very tidy. Except for the mass of mugs on the kitchen counter.
"How much coffee have you drunk?" He asked her and she shrugged.
"I dunno. It's all been a bit of a blur." She replied, "I think I'll go through the mugs next, actually. I seem to have gained..." He sat on the pile of clothing in front of her, "John, what are you doing?"
"What did he do?" He asked her and she frowned, startled for a moment.
"What did who do?" She asked in reply and he sighed.
"Sherlock." He clarified in exasperation, "He did something in Paris, didn't he?" His eyes widened slightly, "Does he work it out? Is that why he's hiding in his room, because he knows you're Mary?" She shook her head.
"No, it's not that." She took a deep breath, "He kissed me." John's jaw dropped.
"Sherlock?" She nodded and he pointed upwards, "Sherlock Holmes? The man upstairs?" She nodded.
"Yes. And then he just walked off!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands in the hair, "I mean, what the fuck?!"
"Are you sure he meant to kiss you?" He asked and her eyes narrowed.
"I was pretty bloody sure when his tongue brushed against my lips." She snapped, "But why? What was he doing? I've been trying to work it out, but I can't! What possible advantage does he get from kissing me then walking off?!" She ran both her hands through her hair, grasping at the back for a moment, "And then..." She growled slightly, "And then he just climbs into bed with me, all touchy-feely..."
"Woah, woah, woah!" John exclaimed quickly, "I do not need to know the end of that sentence." She glared at him.
"Contrary to popular belief, I've not shagged either of you." She snapped, "He just sorta hugged me, then told me to stop tossing and turning and fell asleep."
"Yes, okay." John said after a moment's pause, "I can see how that would throw you."
"Thank you!" She exclaimed, "Seriously though, what the hell was going on?"
"Do you want me to find out?" She shook her head.
"No, if he'd wanted you to know he'd have told you." She replied, "He doesn't exactly keep opinions to himself, does he?" John nodded in agreement, "He was probably drunk or something. We were in the hotel bar, after all. And the next morning, he just acted like nothing happened." She nodded to herself, "Yeah, that must be it. I mean, it's Sherlock Holmes." John pulled her into a sympathetic hug and she clung to him tightly.
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Sherlock stopped the DVD as the credits rolled, looking to the pile of movies next to him. He'd dragged the television into his room the previous morning. On the wall to his right were scraps of paper, seemingly placed there at random but each holding little pieces of information he could remember. It was his search for Mary, and it wasn't getting very far, much to his annoyance. The only way it was going to be possible for him to move forward was if he did the unthinkable and contacted Mycroft. Which he still wasn't willing to do, so he had moved onto his next personal experiment – Faye. The knowledge that she was sexually attracted to him was not news to him, but the fact that he made her smile was. So, he'd decided to research that by watching one of his most loathed genres of entertainment; the romantic comedy. He'd dismissed period pieces as a matter of course, they were in the here and now and nothing from the 1800's was going to be of any help. The same with futuristic settings, all useless as they were guesswork at best. He'd just watched Love Actually, pile of sentimental nonsense but he'd noted down smile rates and settings, just like he'd done with the rest.
He'd needed a controlled sample of behaviour to compare the night in Paris to, so he'd acted normally all the way back from Paris, seeing how she would react to him under more typical circumstances. Again, she had smiled more when they were interacting. So, he needed to narrow it down further, what was it that was making her smile? That was what the films were for. Books were no good, he'd discovered that, because facial expressions were rarely described unless of significant note. So he'd sat through a dozen or so movies, all filled with the same drivel and sentimental garbage, hoping to work out what it was that made women smile like that.
He outright refused to even consider the notion it was because he wanted to find out what it was that made Faye smile, just so he could replicate the variables himself.
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John took the drink from Faye, still laughing at the story the woman in front of him was telling them.
"Dial it down a bit." She muttered into his ear as she moved over to the next customer, pulling him a couple of bottles of beer out of the chiller and opening them up before handing them to him with a cheeky smile. John was getting pretty cosy with Simone, one of the regulars at the bar who had just been dumped by her long-term boyfriend, which was good considering somehow he'd managed to lose Karen somewhere along the way. He'd told her he was just coming for a drink, he was going to stay away from relationships and things for now, but Simone placed her hand on his arm and she knew that wasn't happening.
"Fancy seeing you here!" She turned and stared in surprise as Richard Brook leaning against the bar, smiling brightly at her. She shot him a surprised smile.
"Well, I work here." She replied, "I suppose it's more of a surprise to see you here." He ordered a drink and she quickly got him it, "I'm sorry I didn't call you. I was going to but, I sorta got taken to Paris..." She trailed off, realising how that sounded. She blushed, embarrased by how quickly she had actually forgotten to call him after she'd returned with Sherlock.
"Does that happen often?" He asked and she nodded.
"More than it probably should." They both laughed together and he leant up on the bar, getting nearer as she continued to serve other people.
"When do you get off?" He asked and she shot him an apologetic look.
"Still got a boyfriend!" She lied, although the feel of Sherlock's hands cupping her face gently sprung immediately to mind and he actually looked put out.
"Is he an actor?" he tried and she giggled, shaking her head.
"No, he is not." She conceded. He nodded across the bar.
"Well, I hope for your sake it's not him." She glanced over to see John finishing off a kiss with Simone and she laughed.
"No, that's just my friend!" She called over the music, "He comes to work with me sometimes and I find him hot chicks to hook up with."
"I wish I had a friend like you." He teased and she pulled her tongue out at him as Freddie, another bar worker, tapped her on the shoulder.
"We're out of orange!" He called and she nodded, turning to Richard.
"That's my cue. I'll see you around!" He picked up his drink, using it to salute her before blending back into the crowd and she went back to her job.
Across the room, Sherlock scowled as the black-haired stranger walked away from obviously chatting Faye up. That wouldn't do, she was smiling then too. He'd have to put a stop to that.
Not that it mattered, as a couple of days later they were off to Devon.