Hi! This is my first time publishing a fanfic. I just love Adlock so much and I can't help it. Well, this story is supposed to be a one shot drabble but I felt like there's still so much more begging to be written. So here it goes.. I hope you guys will like it. Feel free to review!
"I'm sorry about dinner."
Sherlock walked out of the room after he had given The Woman's phone to his brother. After a few steps away from the door, he leaned on the wall for support. His knees suddenly felt weak. He heaved a deep sigh and looked up at the ceiling.
He's hurt and confused. He's confused because he's hurt. He had never felt this way before. 'Is this sentiment?', he thought to himself. He shook his head to dismiss the thought. He knew he can't feel this way because sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side, and he didn't lose. He has out-witted The Woman. But why did he feel like running back to the room to apologize to her and give her safety?
'She deserves this', he told himself. Or did she? She did use him for her own selfish reasons, but he knew that's not the whole truth. The signs he saw, how her pulse elevated and how her pupils dilated, were proofs that her sentiment for him was true. And even if she did use him, he can't help but admire The Woman in an intellectual way. She's witty and intelligent, and different from all the mundane women he met. She's the only woman who made him feel this way.
Sherlock'd too used to being so sure about everything, but right now, he's baffled as to what these feelings inside of him meant.
He could hear his brother talking to the Woman from the other side of the wall. He didn't want her to see him like this, so he started to walk away. There was only one place he could think of to find refuge, 221B Baker Street.
Sherlock's now in his blue robe and pyjamas, looking out the window while playing his violin. It's been a week since the night he last saw the woman in his brother's office.
"Sherlock, dinner's ready." John called out to him from the kitchen but got no reply. Sherlock remained silent playing the violin.
"You've got to eat something, dear." Mrs. Hudson said, full of concern while she was setting the table.
"Sherlock!" John shouted.
Sherlock stopped playing, returned his violin on its stand and sat on his armchair. "I'm not hungry."
"Sherlock, dear, you haven't eaten for days. In order to live, you must eat something." Mrs. Hudson approached Sherlock and rested her hand in his shoulders.
"Ah, living, living is boring." he sighed.
John and Mrs. Hudson exchanged looks and sighed.
John, is troubled because of the state of his friend. Something was wrong with his friend and he knee that. It wasn't normal. Well, nothing is normal when it comes to Sherlock, but this was different.
John fished out his phone from his pocket and dialled the only person he could think of that could help in this situation.
An hour later, they heard someone knock on the door.
Sherlock grumbled because he already knew who it was. "You called him?!" he asked John.
"I have no choice. You listen to none of our pleas." John answered.
"What makes you think I'll listen to him?" Sherlock grumbled and plopped himself on the sofa.
John sighed and opened the door.
"Dr. Watson." Mycroft greeted him with a nod. John nodded at him as a reply.
Mycroft walked inside the room and eyed his brother.
"Ah, brother mine. How are you?" Mycroft said.
With that question, Sherlock suddenly sat up and smiled at his brother. "I'm fine. I don't need you. There's the door. You can leave now. Bye." Sherlock said and pointed at the door.
Mycroft rolled his eyes because of frustration.
Mycroft sits on John's chair "I expected more from you. I never thought I'd see you in this pathetic state, brother mine. But then again, there's no one to blame but me. I have thrown you into her path and now..."
"I don't need any of your lectures, brother mine." Sherlock retorted.
"Oh, but you do, Sherlock. Sentiment is getting the best of you, and believe me, it would do you no good if you surrender to it. What was it that you said? 'Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.'" Mycroft looked at his brother with the steely gaze of his.
At those words, Sherlock clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, making his jaw clench. "I can very much recall my own words without your help, Mycroft." He wanted to land his fists on his brother to release his the pent up emotions within him. He was furious. At whom? His brother, for always making him feel inferior? At John, for calling his brother here? At The Woman, for making him feel 'sentiment'? No, no. He knew he wasn't mad at them. He's mad at himself. He's mad at himself for being weak, for letting his emotions leave cracks on the wall he's built for years to serve as his protection.
Sherlock stood up from his chair and went towards the window to stare at nothing in particular. He wanted to distract himself. He wanted to escape his flat this moment. To run and separate himself from everything and everyone.
"Sherlock.." Mycroft attempted to close the distance between him and his brother but stopped at his tracks. He knew that Sherlock is too much affected by that Adler woman and that he needed time. It's what he always needed in times like these.
Mycroft heaved a sigh. He knew what his brother's mind is capable of, or at least has an idea on what it's capable of. His brother's mind is like a scientist's or a philosopher's but he had no idea what his brother's heart could do. With that thought, his concern for his brother's well-being grew even greater. Whenever he looked at Sherlock, he saw Sherlock's 12-year old state who needed guidance and care.
No matter how much he wanted to talk some sense into his brother, he knew that he can't. Sherlock would block every word that he'd say. That's how stubborn Sherlock is.
Mycroft turned to John Watson who was standing against the doorway, watching intently on the brothers' exchange of words.
Mycroft could see how concerned John is for his brother, and he was thankful for that. With John in the picture, there's someone who can look after his brother when he isn't physically around. Although sometimes, he envies John's relationship with his brother. Sherlock is a lot more closer to John than Sherlock is with him.
Mycroft shrugged the thought away and nodded at John's direction. He walked towards the door. But a step away from the door, he stopped at his tracks and glanced back at Sherlock who still remained standing and looking outside the window.
"Look after him, John." Mycroft told John with a weak smile. John just nodded and closed the door when Mycroft got out.
Sherlock watched as his brother slipped inside the black sedan and as the car drove off and disappeared from his sight.
"I'll be upstairs if you need me." John said from behind.
"Why would I need you?" Sherlock answered.
"No reason at all." John replied and went up the stairs.
Sherlock waited until he heared the lock from John's door. When he finally heard it and was sure that John was inside his room, he took his glance away from the window and went to his room. He suddenly felt drained, as if the energy was snatched away from him. Maybe it was because of the encounter with his brother, or the fact that he hasn't gotten any sleep since the night he was able to guess The Woman's passcode. Alas, he wanted to get some sleep and finally be able to rest.
When he plopped onto his bed, a familiar scent came rushing into his senses- Casmir. He was suddenly alerted by it. The scent has triggered something within him. The emotions he felt a while ago is now ten-fold. He now remembered why he didn't want to sleep. His bed still smelled of her scent. Her perfume still lingered in his room and it was affecting him in a way he can't understand. He grumbled and got up from his bed. He's not going to get any decent amount of sleep tonight after all.
To be continued...