Extended Fanfiction (Sherlock)

By: Colvin

August 23, 2015

Disclosure: I own nothing of the original characters or events from the original Sherlock BBC Television show. Also, information on characters and their relationships with each other may differ with time, even their life span. I'm only writing from the data provided to me from season 1 - season 3

Little Summary: Roman decides to take Christopher out to dinner so they can discuss some things. They go back and forth talking about various things openinglly. When it comes down to it the questions Roman will ask have his nerves shot. I used Google translate to try and speak Italian so expect errors if you speak Italian. Sorry. Then, John and Roman speak a little about Christopher and Julia. So many adorable moments in this chapter.

Chapter 28: The Questions and The Answers

I was less than a week away from moving back to America. Where i belonged so many told me. England wasn't a safe place nor would it ever be. So looking through their point of view and seeing more positive than negative i obtained a passport back home. I had my childhood home waiting for me with open arms. A glimpse of a simpler life i lived before. Going back I could finally start a life of my own without an restriction than the US constitution would allow me. Never again would i have to hide myself from a man i couldn't rise any higher than my knees too. No more dictation of who i couldn't and couldn't associate myself with. Solitary when i wanted it. I could really understand what it is to be an independent, free adult. I could be free.

However one night after a calming, topically, much needed storm, someone i can't say i wasn't expecting but was necessarily hoping to be at my door came knocking ever so apologetic. Christopher. After six months of ignored silence he showed up at my front door like a wet, abandoned puppy. He said sorry more times than i could count. Then somehow, i'm still trying to figure it out myself. It turned into a slow, (dare i use the word passionate?) non climatic, emotional attempt at sex where Christopher unintentionally yet knowingly said 'I love you'. I have yet to solve whether or not he meant it. By morning i told Christopher i was moving and he put on his protest. Claiming that he was sorry and has returned for good. My past was forgiven and my future mattered as long as he could partake in it. He begged me not to go. Once he left later that day he texted me from a new number since his old phone was lost. After that he texted me as much as he could.

How is work? -CW

Fine. -RA

Do you want to go out to dinner tonight? We could talk about things. -CW

Can't. Working until late. -RA

Need help? -CW

No. -RA

I hated being so distant with Christopher but i'm not sure i completely forgave him, trusted or understand him. Before he left he made sure to tear down my confident in being open with him and trusting him. Then after six months of avoidance he came back and drops 'i love you' on me like i'm suppose to say it back. Instead, i repressed the words like he never said them and pushed on.

My work suffered. I couldn't keep a solid thought in my head for more than two minutes without hearing Christopher moan on repeat my name and those words. When i was embalming a young child that was a victim of a hit and run, "I love you Roman". When i was filling out paperwork for a cop shot down mercilessly so the shooter could get his next fix, "I love you Roman". If i was eating, writing or sleeping, constantly in the back of mind exploding like, "I love you Roman". I found myself mentally screaming "why, why, why, what the fuck does that even mean?!" I had to take a second to calm down and breathe.

I've never been told i love you by anybody but my very own mother and it's because she was obligated to do so. Some days she'd rather have her teeth pulled than remind me. No one had volunteered to love me. Romantic, passionate or platonic. It's never been said. Well, there was that one time Trevor said it, but we both were too drunk to apprend. Other than that, no. I knew what love was based on in books, tv and surviving marriages and i'm not sure Christopher and i were on the same page.

Maybe he did love me in his definition but for five whole days, one hundred and twenty hours straight i dissected my brain. Picking out the deepest part of my mind and subconscious to uncover the compassionate emotion that contained the chemicals of monogamy, lust, desire, attraction and affection that love contained. Did i have these feeling or emotions towards Christopher? The longing to spend the rest of my life with him, just him. Waking up to his aging face every single fucking day. I had no response to myself. Moving on. Do you want and need Christopher sexually? Easy, hell yes. Are you physically and emotionally attracted to him? Yes. So after three hours of organization i broke it down to a couple simple questions that could answer yes to for the most part.

God, thinking about love make me hate the word.

I couldn't tell whether or not it was the way the light hit him when he smiled or it was just a natural glow. I'd never seen his face so lite up before. I hadn't noticed how white his teeth were nor how his complexation was just the right shade of peach, not a flaw in sight. His hair combed to right ever so elegantly, traces of hairspray mist and jell lingered. What I found most appealing about him tonight was the skin tight marble pattern design button-up with a black tie choking his neck. It fit him so feel and when he moved the slightest i got the scent of some popular cologne. God, he was so beautiful. Sometimes, when he turned his head a certain way or looked at me funny i swear it was like staring John Watson straight in the eyes. They looked so much alike.

I watched him gaze around our surroundings with a twinkle in his eye, a smile on his face and pleasant expressions when people of a high class passed by. Every now and then he would look over to me with a overwhelmed look on his face unsure about what languages were being spoken and the expensive attire. It was like he'd never been out in public.

I, on the other hand, was more interested in him rather my environment. And i was the one that rarely got out.

"What are we doing here?" Christopher asked with a joy filled voice.

"Business."

"Oh? What business?" He did his best to return his focus back on me, on us.

I let out a short laugh and cleared my throat, "Quite frankly i was getting tired of being cooped up in that house so i figured we'd just go out. I'm sure you feel the same way, looking at the same tile, same wallpaper, and china every time you eat."

"You live there, not me."

"That may be so, but your attention span normally last five minutes longer when we eat at my home."

His face flushed a little, letting out a nervous laugh.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. This place is very nice."

"I know!" He said with excitement, "How did you even get a reservation in a place like this?"

I sorta had a flashback. A moment of remembering of how i obtained a table at such a place. It involved retrieving Mycroft's credit card number and his member ID number from over five years ago. When i arrived here this was one of the first restaurants he took me to. Accidently i saw his private information and somehow recalled the correct numbers this morning. Initially, there wasn't an open table until next week but i wasn't going to wait that long. A verbal abusive argument ensued. Getting fed up with their lack of negotiation i spattered out some promising threats and within minute i had a table and a reduced price on my food. Now that's how business is done.

"...I have my ways."

He nodded.

I went to say something but a man dressed in a solid black uniform, patient hands and an interested expression whipped across his face. His aura was an aged yellow with concentrated sunsets colors mixed in. The waiter. He stood in front of our table.

"Buone signori sera. Il mio nome è Sandro, io sarò il vostro cameriere oggi. Vogliamo iniziare con i vostri ordini?" He said taking turns looking at us.

(Good evening gentlemen. My name is Sandro, i will be your waiter today. Shall we start out with your orders? )

I looked at Christopher who had a blank look on his face. Well, i guess he didn't know Italian.

"What do you want to eat?" I translated to him.

"Oh!" He shrugged with a laugh, "Um, i'm not, it's not in English. I'm sorry."

"I'll order for you."

I took a quick glance at the menu, skimming anything new that caught my eye. Feeling rather sated, i kept with something that I wouldn't want to engulf down. And Christopher, something common and appealing.

"Avrò la Trofie Al Pete ... e quel bel giovanotto avrò la carbonara cremosa. Oh! Anche un'altra bottiglia di Venica Ronco Delle Cime sarebbe bello. Grazie."

(I will have the Trofie Al Pete... and this fine young man will have the creamy carbonara. Oh! Also another bottle of Venica Ronco Delle Cime would be lovely. Thank you.)

I glanced over to Christopher and gave a half smile after ordering. His face was captivated by the fluent in the spoken language.

"Ottima scelta. Metteremo il vostro ordine in questo momento il signor Holmes."

(Excellent choice. We'll place your order in right now Mr. Holmes.)

"Grazie."

(Thank you.)

Once the waiter walked away Christopher's jaw metaphorically dropped to the floor. He stared at me with wide eyes and mouth open.

"What was that?!" He asked.

"I didn't know you couldn't speak Italian..."

"No, i didn't know you could!"

"I speak four languages. Italian, German, French and of course English."

Dumbfounded, he smiled at me with awe.

"Where did you learn to speak German?"

"Il mio terapista, abbiamo fatto più che cazzo Mr. Watson." I braggingly said.

(My therapist, we did more than just fuck Mr. Watson.)

All Christopher did and could do is stared at me blankly, "I have no idea what you said. I heard Watson though, right?"

I nodded, "Yes. I said, "My therapist, we did more than… recreational activities Mr. Watson."." I hesitated at my choice of words.

Uneasily, he adjusted in his seat and look away licking his about Ms. Lang, someone he doesn't even know made him feel thicker than a brick.

"So… are you sure it's okay we be there?" He carefully asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well you know, Sherlock." He leaned in and whispered.

"We are forty minutes outside of London. I'm not a prisoner in my own home Christopher." I inform him while sipping on wine also lying in the process.

"You act like it."

"How?"

"You don't go anywhere. I'm still in a little shock that i'm here, with you." Christopher laughed to himself.

I smiled amused at him. I lifted up my wine glass and began to swirl the rich mostly clear white wine in my glass. Occasionally smelling it.

"It's Friday, 8:26 pm. If Lestrade hasn't put him on a case to occupy him for a couple hours he's probably patrolling London, gathering intel on anti-government activist or drug lords. He has no purpose to be on this side of England unless the King is in strife. Which i'm pretty sure he far away in another country doing what Kings do."

"Or… he's just with my dad at the flat."

"...Well, yeah. Predictable but likely." I said trying to lower my ego.

Being out on my own i had to learn what Sherlock might be doing on daily bases. Where he may go, for how long and why. What parts of London he's commonly at and what roads i need to avoid and go down. I had to know a basic schedule if i wanted to leave my house. Some days i would follow the rules and other, my reckless days i purposely would add some risk to it.

"Have you met Sherlock? Since you got here i mean." Christopher asked looking avid.

"Came close, then i pull a bullet in Mr. Heartly's head."

As soon as the words left my mouth i quickly looked up at Christopher. His eyes were filled with surprise and shock. I scanned around to see if anyone was watching or listening. Thankfully everyone around us was trapped in a world made of money and greed. They could care less what i've done. They've destroyed millions of people to get where they are. Still, maybe i shouldn't have said that.

"Roman!" He hissed at me, "You can't discuss someone's murder like that out loud! Especially when you are at fault!"

"I know! I know! My bad."

With paranoia in his voice he pointed his finger at me, "One day you are going to pay for that."

"What are you going to do? Arrest me Detective Watson?" I said in a pouty, puppy dog voice, "Where is your evidence?"

He tried his best to hold back a guilty smile but his conscious withered away.

"I have your confession."

"Right. Mycroft took care of the situation. The only one who knows where his body is at is him and God. There may not even be a body. I don't know." My voice drifted off into a whisper.

"You don't know?"

I sighed and leaned back in my seat, "No. I was in Ashworth."

Only having half my attention span on Christopher and the other half on our surroundings i saw from the corner of my eye him wanted to say something else and considering our topic i knew he wanted to say something like, "Why did you do it?" so i quickly spilled something out before he had the chance.

"There was that one time i tried to go Sherlock's. I was plastered out of my mind and decided to to test just how far Mycroft meant his threat," I let out a short laugh, "I got arrested as soon as I stepped onto Baker street.."

"I've never seen you drunk before."

"It was drunk or high. I can't remember. But i'm boatloads of fun, with a new shipment every shot or pint."

"Jeezs." Christopher snorted.

There was a brief pulse between Christopher and i. While i finished off my glass of wine he stared at me. Studying my expressionless face. Studying all of my quite frankly.

"...You know," he started hesitantly, "maybe it's because i've been looking at the same face and hair for the past twenty-two years but i don't think you look exactly like Sherlock. Maybe it's the hair. Yours is almost straight."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean i can see some of the same features but..." he shook his head, "I think i'm just uncomfortable with the idea of you looking like him."

I busted out a sharp mildly loud laugh, "How do you think i feel? You're almost a perfect copy of John."

"I know, it's terrible."

"What's even worse is you act almost exactly him too."

"Oh yeah? How would you know? You've met him like two times."

"That's enough." I imply.

"Well you and Sher..."

Before he could finish our waiter returned with our requested dishes and bottle of wine. Christopher eyes were starving by the way he nearly drooled when they set down his plate.

"Ecco a te signor Holmes. Anche qui è la bottiglia di vino che avete richiesto, migliore in Italia. C'è qualcos'altro che posso ottenere?"

(Here you go Mr. Holmes. Also here is the bottle of wine you requested, finest from Italy. Is there anything else i can get you?)

"No, che saranno tutti. Grazie."

(No, that will be all. Thank you.)

I picked up one of my forks, ardent and keen to eat then I caught Christopher staring at me with a disgusted look on his face.

"Can i say something since nothing, absolutely nothing grosses you out?"

"I'd like to think i'm open-minded, but sure."

"Yours looks like a plate of caterpillars." He said with a grotesque expression.

I looked down at my plate, imagining it was actually a plate of yellowish green, slimy, wiggling caterpillars crawling on my plate with their animated eyes for safety and fat bodies. It was interesting. I continued to pick up my fork and take a bite of my bug green noodles.

"Can i say something?" I said once i finished chewing.

"No," He shook his head smiling, "I don't want to know what kind of nasty comment you could create."

"It's only fair. I'll say it anyways..."

"Roman! No! I'm hungry, i want to eat." He stopped me playfully.

"Fine. I'll go back to eating my plate of caterpillars while you can eat your… bloody worms sprinkled with maggots."

"Roman! Oh my God!"

My food may not have tasted like caterpillars but when i started to eat i realized i wasn't that hungry. I just picked at it. A ball of nerves filled my stomach up to the top, nothing tasted right. I tried to sip down some wine to calm myself, sadly it only made my stomach and throat burn. I was getting nervous. My hands got clammy and i felt the need to drink more wine yet i knew that wasn't a good idea. I'd get drunk off the rich perversed alcohol.

The reason for the sudden upset was the whole reason i brought Christopher hitting me in the face. Yes, for a change of scenery but there was particular ground i chose to do this. I had some news i wanted to share and a question i've been wanted to ask for a long time. This was the time, it had to of been.

I waited until Christopher was finished eating and looked to be ready for more conversation. He looked over at my barely touch plated and furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Not hungry? Or was it my comment?" He asked me.

The side of face seemed to tingle with prickly needles of nerves. I smiled faintly at him and fidgeted around with the unused silverware.

"I didn't bring you here necessary for a change in routine, fine dining or flirtatious chatter. There are some issues we need to discuss." I said in my best tone of seriousness.

He changed his posture to straight as a stick, adjusting his seat a little to cover up the neck cracking and nervousness forming inside him. He cleared his throat before looking straight at me.

"Which are?"

"Me moving."

He tensed up more, not taking his widen blue off mine. The topic seemed to age him and it was like i was staring straight at his father. I couldn't say he didn't want to talk about it but avoid it. I know he doesn't want me to go.

"Roman i know i maybe too late with not only my apologize but my wish for you to stay here, but i really want you to reconsider this. My reasoning for saying that is you may not see it but people here need you. I know Mycroft doesn't want you to leave and neither do i. You'll be missed to much. Your morgue is just starting to get big, what was it eight, nine bodies a weak? It's sad for people but good for you. You get what i'm saying?..."

"Christopher." I said trying to stop him.

"And i know you've dropped the Jill Ripper case but i'm sure Lestrade will gladly hand it back. He likes you better than Sherlock. Hell, even i like you better than him. You're still a dark, stubborn, rude prat and your inability to show empathy is a bit unnerving but at the same time you know how to show or fake compassion. You seem more human than Sherlock and people will like that. Roman, i don't know just how good you are at playing detective or if you even like it since you won't let me around the crime scenes but from the second hand information i'm told and you being the only son of the world's first consulting detective i'm sure it's not hard. You're one the smartest people i know and surprisingly enough you only brag about it less than half the time. You're a internal person rather external and that's okay it just means you learn through example."

"Christopher." I muffled out again my face starting to flush. Not out of anger but rather than flattery. God.

"I've heard people at the Scotland Yard call you the Angel of Death and outside the paradox of your job and style it's quite true. Have you ever heard the of the myth about the Angel of Death? It says the Angel of Death comes to people who are dying to collect their souls and what not, but in order to comfort that person and making their passing on better Death is appealed to be very beautiful. Not the scary guy wearing a cloak and carrying a scythe but blind beauty that captivates a person, makes the transactions smooth when they follow. Putting this in your perspective i mean you are a mortician. You stare death straight in face everyday so who's to say you aren't him? You are extremely attractive. Like, God. You are the smartest yet most attractive guy i've ever met so i must be dying. But i guess what i'm trying to say is..."

"Christopher!" I yelled out.

My mind was rushing in several directions trying to understand his fast pace spoken words and my face was probably a lovely shade on blood red. I had a awkward smile on my face that i tried to smooth back into seriousness but the pain in my cheek overruled. I don't think anyone had ever bragged/complimented me like that, ever.

When he noticed my expression and his constant rambling his face started to blush as well. How cute. I let out a large sigh trying to collect myself then i laid my hand on top of Christopher's.

"I… I'm not moving." I exclaim happily.

As if someone turned the dim option up on a light Christopher's face was as bright as the sun. A large smile spread across his face, ear to ear. He wanted to jump out of his seat to hug me but manners held him down.

"Really?!" His voice shot a pitch.

"Yes," I nod, "I wasted about five grand on the house but i'll pay it back."

"Oh my God, wow! What made you change your mind?"

"Well, ha, i made a silent promise to you and myself i wouldn't leave ever you."

Sheepishly Christopher looked away from me, i could tell he had a stupid looking smile on his face and his cheeks were getting redder.

"That's… that's nice of you."

I leaned forward in my seat and kept my eyes on his.

"But under some circumstances will i not leave," Christopher nodded and waited for me to continue, "I want you come back and work for me."

His tight expression of suspense and agony melted away into a smile. I heard him sigh with relief.

"Of course, yes. I hate working at the cafe."

"Good. I'll return you back to your normal currency payments."

"W-what about the other form?" He asked with a nervous pitch in his voice.

I felt the need to copy Christopher with his habit of adjusting in my seat, looking around and licking my lips. The ball of nerves were stabbing at my stomach and throat again. The atmosphere was getting warmer and i was about to break a sweat. The big question, the whole reason we are here was about to come out. No holding back.

"Well," I cleared my throat, "I know we haven't known each other for very long. A little over a year… but in retrospect it's a lot better than what Sherlock did. I understand if you say no or want to wait a little longer." I took a deep breath, "What i'm trying to ask is if… you want to move in with me? You can have any bedroom you want and you can come and go as you please. Your parents can come over anytime they like without Sherlock. I'll help you with school work. God, knows you need it. But like i said, if not that is completely okay..."

"Roman," I stopped talking as soon as i heard him say my name, "I won't be needing a bedroom."

We stared at each other for what seemed like the longest minute of my life. He didn't not take his eyes off mine or change assertion. Once i understood his reply, i looked away trying not show my disappointing reaction.

"Oh..." I muffled.

"Because… I will be using yours."

I looked up at him, confused. The words started falling out of my mouth quickly, "Okay, but i'm kinda using… ohhhhh" I smiled, "I see what you did there."

He struck a flirtatious grin back at me, chugging down what was left of his wine, "And you thought only you could be clever."

The waiter approached us with his cheesy work emotions and patient attitude, "Come è stato tutto? Posso ottenere qualcos'altro signor Holmes?"

(How was everything? Can i get you anything else Mr. Holmes?)

"Era molto buono. Non sono solo affamato come pensavo di e non, abbiamo finito qui. Complimenti allo chef."

(It was very good. I'm just not as hungry as i thought i was and no, we are done here. Compliments to the chef.)

"Ok grazie. Avere una notte meravigliosa signor Holmes."

(Ok, thank you. Have a wonderful night Mr. Holmes.)

When the waiter left i glanced over to Christopher his face showed much confusion and a little upset. At first he hesitated to ask but curiosity had gotten the best of him, "Why did he say Holmes?"

"I'm using Mycroft's membership card."

"Oh..." He nodded, "Wait, can't you get in trouble for that?"

"Probably."

Two weeks after our discussion of Christopher's living arrangements i prepared my home to welcome another permanent body by cleaning, rearranging and reorganizing the whole house. From top to bottom, it was time to spring clean in the middle of August. Not even a day later i paid for the construction when i couldn't find anything i needed and my allergies flared up. Sneezing on everything and crying for no reason. My mental map was completely fucked and a two minute job of finding a bunsen burning turned into a twenty minute man hunt to find the person who moved it. That person was me. I wasn't sure i could handle the change of everything but i had to try.

Eventually when the day came that Christopher was moving in i was nervous, excited and deading the idea of sharing my house with someone else. And it wasn't just more staff it was someone i thought highly of. Someone i'd have to look at for more than five minutes a day, i'd have to talk to him, entertain him and adjust some of my living standards to equal his. Then again, i cared about Christopher, i wanted him close so i could protect him. This was my idea but the whole thing made me sick to my stomach. With the amount risk, the change and the interacting with someone for long periods of time. I hadn't had to that in a long time so i wondered if i could even remember.

I don't know honestly what i was expecting when Christopher came through my front door holding a rather large box and a cheerful smile smacked across his face. The realness of the moment hit me, that's for sure. I just stood there frozen, cluelessly watching him struggle with the box. My brain was screaming at me to help him but my body stood where i was. It took someone else coming through the door behind Christopher to break and defrost me. It was the original version of Christopher, his father John.

I ushered over to Christopher and took the heavy box from him. Carrying it upstairs to the staged bathroom i set up so his parents wouldn't question anything between us i heard John's military foot steps behind me. By the time i had reached the top he was nearly on top of me. When i turned around he was actually not as close as i thought. He was still coming up the last two steps. Maybe my nerves were getting the best of me.

"Right there?" John nodded to the closed door behind me.

"Uh, yeah."

I went into the room and set the box down on the bed. Out of curiosity of what could be in their so heavy i opened it. A thick, black box with the words XBOX written across it and two piles of green cased disc lying beside it that reached clear to the top.

"Of course." I mumbled to myself as i rolled my eyes.

"Pardon?"

Turning around this time John was on top of me, peering into the box with me.

"Oh yeah. He's twenty-two and still plays video games." John snorted.

I smiled faintly, avoiding eyes contact. Looking at him just made panic of just how close my father would shoot through me. Him standing so near made me feel expose. He could see his best friend through my eyes if i let him.

"Uh, could i talk to you? Away from Christopher?" John asked.

My eyes unknowingly looked in his direction and i could see the face of worry and concern on him. He didn't want Christopher to leave home. Reluctantly i took a deep breath and nodded.

"Sure. I suppose my office would be the best place."

We both headed down the stairs. Saying nothing just listening to our thoughts. Playing out choice words we might want to use. He didn't want Christopher to leave while i wanted him move in with me.

I let John enter my study room first and as i followed in behind i closed the door, leaving a just a crack. He stood in the middle of the room shifting his steps, his fingers twitching and habitually liking his hips.

"You question Christopher's decision to live with me." I said blunty.

Might as well lay out all the cards on the table for debate.

"No, well yes. Christopher is my only son, my only child really. I want the best for him."

"It's his choice." I interrupted.

"I know. It's just... he's still in school and i don't think he's got it all quite together. You know?" John paced in a short line in front of me.

"Do not worry John." I approached him, laying my hand on his shoulder, "I plan to help Christopher better his academic performance and keep his focus on his career."

"I know you and him has a six month fall out. What happened there?"

I sighed, "Differentiated opinion's, that's all."

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, licking those lips, "Uh-huh. Well if he ever wants to come home, let him. Alright?"

I faked a smile at John and nodded, assuring him the best i could, "Of course. You and Marry are welcome to visit any time you wish. Just be sure to call in advance."

He furrowed his brow at me with discontent, "I have to make an appointment to see my son?"

"No. I just don't like surprise visits."

John wasn't happy with my answer but agreed weakly. It would take him awhile to understand and follow my rules when coming inside my home but for Christopher i would have to tolerate it. I couldn't deprive him of his parents nor just make him go there, that would make suspicion rise. It made it look like i had something to hide.

"I don't know if Christopher's told you... but him and Julia are trying..."

"They haven't spoken in almost a month," I said stopping John.

"Julia's been in France, but she's home now. I'm hoping now since Christopher has his mobile turned back on they'll get back in touch."

"Hmm," I strolled calmly around my desk, fiddling with the objects at rest, "why does Julia visit France so much? This makes her third time just this year. Not to mention the two trips she took last year."

"She has a family member who lives there."

"Julia's an orphan. She doesn't have family, you know this John," Stalkingly, i made my way up behind John, "She doesn't have a job that could finance all those trips. Unless," I drug out the last second theory, "she has a secret lover."

Immediately John turned around to me, showing a expression of confusion and discomfortable. His eyes locked on me as he stood silent for a full five seconds. His mouth laid open

"No," he insisted, "no, Julia would have told me. I give her money if she ask Mr. Adler."

"But why would she tell you? You want Christopher and her together so badly."

"Julia isn't a secretive girl Mr. Adler, she tells me everything."

"Did she tell you she's the one who cheated?" I asked raising my head.

"...Well, no. But no one would come out and justice their mistake. Especially one like that."

"I see," Inhale, "she's probably still seeing him… or her. Julia seems like a playful girl."

"All the way in France?"

"Possible."

He took a deep breath putting his hands on his hips, concentrating on the floor, "Things wouldn't have to be like that if Christopher would just man-up. Take what's his, you know what i mean?"

Mentally exhausted with his ignorance, a gave John the most sincere expression i could conjure up, "No." Before he could make another face, speak another word, or unconsciously habitually do one those habits he carries so well i clapped my hands together and spoke perhaps out of term, "Well i guess we better get back to helping Christopher before he hurts himself."

He glanced around my study room one last time, nodding but not quite agreeing.

"Alright."

Christopher only had two more boxes left. All in total, there was a little under ten boxes. Ten boxes containing more than likely video games, clothes and his various trophies.

John didn't stay much longer after the last box went upstairs. We didn't speak, only to say goodbye when a nameless phone call that probably was Sherlock came in and out the door he went before Christopher could return down stairs.

I watched Christopher jog down the stairs anxiously. Hands balled in a fist, body tensing up the more he moved. His eyes struggled to look back in mine as they searched for his father.

"Where'd dad go?" He asked, hopping off the last step.

"Sherlock called."

"Oh," he took a deep breath, winded by the downcline, "What do they do all the time?"

I looked at him from the corner of my, my side of my face twitching up.

"Probably what we do."

Blankly, completely missing my insider Christopher put his hands on his hips, thinking deeply at my words.

"But neither of have real jobs." As it hit him in the face like a brick he glare up at with a look of disgust on his face, "Shutup!"

I innaportatedly laughed and dismissed myself from the conversation. My feet routinely drug themselves towards my office.

"Are you going to help me unpack?" Christopher called to me before i shut the door.

"You can manage on your own."

-End.

Isn't Christopher AND Roman just sweetheart? Between John and Roman who is right about Julia? Could she have a secret love in France? If so who? If not, why is she there so much? Is it a good idea Christopher and Roman move in together? Asking all them questions! Review, follow, favorite! Please, love you. Next chapter: It will be awhile before i update again. Why? because i am currently writting Chapter 29: The Times and The Changes and it has 4 huge parts to it. (I am only on part 1) I will post each part as I finish them. The reason why it will take me while is because i just started school and I sorta have a job. Chapter 29 is a rather large time jump as well, 2 full years. 2 parts are told through Christopher's point of view and 2 from Roman's. The part names (in order) are called: Part one: It's Not so Bad, Part two: Graduation, Part Three: Because of Him, and Part Four: Copy-cat Killer. I promise all of these chapters will be fun, interesting and momentum builder to the story. Sherlock is persent in 3..ish parts of Chapter 29. Sorry for the wait and continued waiting, please be strong. I love you guys. At this point chapters 1-15 have been revised and updated.

Oh! I now have a instagram for pure Johnlock/Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman please go support me: Follow It'sAwlwaysBeenJohnlocked