Ch. 33

Grumbling because he had to "call out sick" from work, John climbed up the stairs of 221B for the second day in a row. He entered the flat without knocking, ready to scold Sherlock, but all he found was Norah.

"Where is the git?" He asked, popping his head in the kitchen. No Sherlock.

"Got you out of work too did he?" She said, pointing down to her lab coat.

"This better be good. If this is to plan a second date for you two, you're on your own."

"Right, thanks for that by the way."

"Yeah, how'd it go? He was really afraid of mucking it up."

Norah tried to contain her smile. "Fine. Just fine."

"Did he…erm..did he say…" John rotated his hands around, not wanting to fill in the rest himself.

Norah shook her head. "No."

John heaved a sigh and looked at the floor. "Norah, I'm so sorry," he said, approaching her. "Sometimes I don't know how you do it."

"Yes you do," she scoffed playfully. "You've been doing it for years." She punched him in the shoulder.

"Well, yeah, but not like this. He just…he means well. You're the only woman who he's ever been in a real relationship with. That's saying something, if it makes you feel any better."

"Actually," Norah said, "I feel okay. We're okay. We're great." She smiled like she knew something that John didn't.

"Oh…well…good. Brilliant."

"John, Norah, excellent timing," Said Sherlock, suddenly strutting into the flat.

"This had better be important, Sherlock. I can't keep missing work," said John.

"Oh, I assure you John, it is of the utmost importance." The diabolical grin on his face and the twinkle in his eyes was reassuring to John. Sherlock must have discovered something exciting.

"Well, let's have it then. Spit it out," Norah bid him, impatiently.

Sherlock looked at Norah, then, looked at John. "Shake my hand John."

"…What is this?"

"A handshake."

"Do you have something that's going to electrocute me in your palm?"

"For God sakes John just shake my hand!"

With shifty eyes, John apprehensively held his hand out to Sherlock, who took it. Norah looked on, observing intently.

"Now, pick that glass up off the desk without looking at it."

Ever confused, John picked it up with ease and presented it to Sherlock. He was left-handed. Sherlock beamed, let go of John's hand then jumped up and down excitedly.

"Sherlock I'm missing something. Do you know what this is about?" He asked, turning to Norah and pointing to Sherlock. She looked just as lost as John, but was searching furiously for what she wasn't seeing.

"John, think back. The pool. Midnight."

"I try not to."

"Moriarty answered his phone with his left hand, yes?"

"I don't know, I wasn't paying attention to which hand he answered his phone with. I was sort of more focused on the fact that we were about to die."

"He did, answered it with his left hand, indicating dominance in that hand."

"Okay, he's left handed, what's the big deal?" John asked.

"THE ROOF JOHN! THE ROOF!" He shouted, throwing his arms in the air. He paced over to his wall, waving his hands around the papers.

"What about the roof?"

Sherlock spun back around, eyes wild, mouth practically foaming. "On the roof, Jim Moriarty naturally shook my hand with his right hand and grabbed his gun with his left, but he fumbled with it slightly."

"It wasn't his dominant hand," Norah commented.

"Precisely!"

"Look at you two, match made in heaven," muttered John.

"On the roof he motioned with his right hand, touched his face with his right hand, shook my hand with his right hand, but at the pool he appeared left-handed. When he came to my flat he was left-handed." he was pacing back and forth.

"Suppose he was ambidextrous?" John said.

"No, no no no. In Kitty Riley's flat, he held up his right hand in defense when he saw me. It was an involuntary muscle movement. The handshake on the roof was as well, and so was answering the phone and picking up the teacup. They never switched between their two hands during one isolated encounter."

Norah nodded at him. "Richard Brook was right handed in the television show. He killed himself on the roof,"

"And James Brook is still alive," Sherlock finished.

They looked at each other suddenly, a great deal of lust in their glares which made John incredibly uncomfortable.

"Brilliant. Why?" He asked, trying to cut their sexual tension.

Sherlock cocked his head at him. "Why what?"

"Why would Richard agree to kill himself to make a statement for his brother?"

Norah walked up to the wall, running her fingers over the papers. "…Maybe he didn't agree, maybe James persuaded him. Blackmailed him." She suggested.

"Oh no, I think he agreed whole-heartedly," Said Sherlock, pressing this fingertips together in his 'thinking pose'.

"What makes you say that?" asked Norah. John sat down; It was evident that he was going to be here for a while.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Folie a deux."

Norah's face lit up like a Christmas tree, but John squinted. "…We're speaking French now?"

"Sherlock," Norah exclaimed, grabbing her cheeks. "You're a genius!"

"So I've been told."

"Would somebody please fill me in here?!" John begged.

"The folly of two. Also known as Shared Psychotic Disorder. A condition in which an otherwise healthy person takes on the delusions of someone who is mentally ill, particularly someone that they are close to." Sherlock held his hands up, palms out facing them. "I believe Richard was not naturally ill, but that James indoctrinated him. Made him believe in his plots and schemes. He was very willing to sacrifice himself in order to aid his brother in walking me off of a roof, and he was a very good actor. Very good indeed, except for his hands."

John and Norah stared at him in silence.

"BRILLIANT!" John shouted, jumping up and hugging his friend. Sherlock was so startled that he almost fell over. To this day, Sherlock's sagacity never ceased to amaze John.

"Yes. Well." Sherlock didn't know what to say. He patted John on the back.

"What happens now?" asked Norah. "Can we lock him up?"

"He has a rather persuasive effect on juries. I have to appeal to Mycroft about not giving him a trial. Even then, James may have connections in parliament. We need to wait it out for now. Unfortunately. I'll go see Mycroft now." Sherlock started for the door.

"Stop," Norah demanded. "John, I do love you but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What? Why? Did I do something?"

"No of course not, I just need to rip all of Sherlock's clothes off."

Sherlock and John both shot her the same blank stare, but Sherlock's was probably fueled by something a bit more primal than John's.

John gulped. "Right. Yep. I'll just be going then. " He scrambled out, terrified of PDA. "Erm, enjoy yourselves, I suppose."

Norah looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at Norah.

And before either one of them knew it they were tangled up in sheets.