Sherlock Holmes had never been one to get distracted easily. Now, choosing not to pay attention, that was another thing; but whenever he wanted to focus on something- like the case he was working on right now- he did so with laser-like precision.
... which made it hard to explain why he had been sitting in his armchair for the past ten minutes, staring at a dead woman's last tweets without reading them.
The fact of the matter was simply that he couldn't get Max out of his head.
As he tried to read through the seemingly endless tweets, he couldn't stop thinking about that night a week ago. Not just the Star Wars part- even though he had to admit that it had been fascinating- or that he was in the process of bingeing the entire Star Trek franchise now. No, his head was filled with her easy smile, with the way she tucked her hair behind her ear as she worked but it fell out anyway, with... with how she always seemed to have horrible luck at Candyland, and her hopes and dreams when it came to art- and every time he looked up at the ceiling he kept seeing that dragon and that human reaching out to it.
Something was wrong with him.
"... have you heard a word that I've been saying? Sherlock? Hello?"
Sherlock blinked and turned his attention to John, who was waving his hand in front of Sherlock's face. "What?" Sherlock snapped. "When did you get here?"
John gave him a look. "Five minutes ago," he said. "I was saying that Lestrade's talking to the brother, but it doesn't seem like he has anything more to say besides what he told us already. Donovan and Anderson are going over the CCTV tapes again too. Did you find anything on her Twitter?"
Sherlock didn't even look up at him. "They're wasting their time," he told him. "Donovan and Anderson. I watched the tapes, and Ceylan Hassan wasn't pushed. She stepped out in front of that bus on purpose; she wanted to die. The question is, why?"
John sat down next to him. "So you believe him?" he asked. "Frank, I mean. The brother. That there's more to this than just a suicide?"
Sherlock scoffed. "Of course," he said. He gestured to the tweets on the computer in front of him. "Have you read these? 'I know he's coming for me. I know he's coming. I know.' Clearly there's something else going on here."
John raised an eyebrow. "And...?" he trailed off.
Sherlock scowled. "I'm working on it," he grumbled.
It didn't seem like Sherlock was going to say anything more on the topic, so John sighed and sat down in his armchair. Sherlock continued scowling at the Ceylan's Twitter, scrolling through the tweets in silent determination.
"Frank- the brother- said that she deleted her Facebook account before she died," Sherlock said suddenly. "I need to see what was on there."
John frowned. "How?" he asked. "It was deleted."
Sherlock was silent for a moment, then held out his hand. "Give me your laptop," he answered.
000
"It was her ex," Sherlock declared as he and John walked into Lestrade's office.
Lestrade looked up from the paperwork on his desk. "Her ex?" he repeated.
Sherlock passed Lestrade his phone, where he had Ceylan's email account open. "We read the emails she deleted," Sherlock said. "At first we didn't see anything, but then we looked at the spam folder." He gestured to the phone. "Read the addresses. comingforyou. noescape. deadgirl30. It was the same on her Twitter and Facebook; she was being bombarded by a constant stream of spam containing hidden threats. It got into her head, and so she killed herself."
Lestrade blinked. "But how did you get the deleted emails?" he asked. "And her Facebook?"
John raised his hand. "That was me, actually," he volunteered. Lestrade looked at him oddly. "No, I mean, I didn't do it, but-" He sighed and started again. "We- well, Sherlock- found someone through my blog. His username is theimprobableone. He helped us."
Lestrade nodded. "Alright," he said, even though he still sounded confused. He gestured to emails open on the phone. "Still, though, how do you know the ex did it?"
Sherlock took his phone back and pulled up Ceylan's Twitter. "We read through her Twitter again," he answered, showing the tweets to Lestrade. "She mentioned this man she'd been out with a few times, but she ended it with him. He didn't take it well. Now go do your job and arrest him, Detective." With that, he turned and swept towards the door-
-but he paused at the last second, turning back to face Lestrade. "Are Anderson and Donovan still looking at the CCTV tapes?" he asked.
Lestrade frowned. "I think so," he answered. "Why?"
Sherlock smirked. "How about we let them keep doing that for a few hours, shall we?" he said. Before Lestrade could reply, Sherlock walked out of the office.
John and Lestrade shared a look, then John shrugged and followed Sherlock. The door swung closed behind him.
000
"Well, that was quick," John remarked.
He and Sherlock had returned to 221B after their talk with Lestrade, and at the moment they were sitting at the dining table. John had made a sandwich- the extent of his cooking skills, really- and Sherlock had poured himself a tea. Sherlock scowled as he aggressively spooned sugar- two scoops- into his drink. "Not as quick as it should have been," he said. "I was distracted."
John hmmed. "I could tell," he replied.
Sherlock groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. "Her deleted emails, John!" he exclaimed. "It was obvious. Simple. That's the first place I should have looked. It took half an hour. I should have been done in ten minutes."
John shrugged. "Yeah, well, we all make mistakes," he told him.
Sherlock scowled. "Not me," he grumbled.
For a moment they were both silent, John eating his sandwich and Sherlock sipping his tea. Then he sighed. "I thought about what you said the other night," he told him. "About Max."
John raised an eyebrow. "And?" he asked.
Sherlock stirred his tea absentmindedly. "I... let's say you're right," he said. "That I have feelings for her. What do I... what do I do?" John blinked in surprise, not having expected Sherlock to give in that easily. Sherlock scowled at him. "Oh, stop giving me that look."
John held up his hands in surrender. "I don't have a look! I'm not giving you a look!" he exclaimed. He sighed. "But, to answer your question, just ask her to coffee. It's not hard, really."
Sherlock scowled. "I know it's not hard," he snapped.
John spread his arms victoriously. "There you go!" he said. "It's not hard! So just go and do it!"
That just caused Sherlock's scowl to deepen, and for once it seemed like he didn't know what to say.
000
For the rest of the day, Sherlock alternated between pacing, playing his violin, and shooting at the wall. John was attempting to watch TV, but every so often he glanced up at Sherlock, who was clearly disturbed- well, more disturbed than he already was. The hours wore on tediously, to the point that John was even considering shooting at the wall too.
There was the sound of Mrs. Hudson starting to cook dinner (extremely early, as usual), and that seemed to prompt Sherlock into finally speaking. "I'm going to do it," he declared.
John looked up sharply. "You're going to ask her out?" he asked.
Sherlock nodded. "I am," he answered.
John sighed in relief. "Oh, thank God," he declared.
Sherlock's pacing sped up as he worked out his nerves. "I will," he said again. "The next time I see her I'm going to ask her out to coffee. It's easy."
John's gaze followed him back and forth as he paced from corner to corner. "Very easy," John reassured him. "You solve murders, Sherlock. This is nothing. It's simple."
Sherlock nodded. "Simple," he echoed.
"What's simple?" a voice asked from the doorway.
Both Sherlock and John whirled around to see Max standing there, having just come from work. "Max!" John exclaimed in surprise. "What- what are you doing here?"
Max shrugged with a smile. "I felt like stopping by," she said simply. "I haven't seen you two for a while."
John glanced at Sherlock, who had frozen in the middle of his pacing, looking at Max like a deer caught in headlights. "Actually, that was really good timing," John said slowly, his gaze returning to Max. "Sherlock has something to say to you, right, Sherlock?"
Both Max and John turned to Sherlock, who cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, I, um..." he trailed off. He walked up to Max, who was still hovering in the middle of the doorway. She stared expectantly at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence, and he looked down at her with an uncertain expression. "Max, I-"
Suddenly he scowled, cutting himself off mid-sentence. "I'm going out," he declared. Without another word, he brushed past her and walked out of the flat, slamming the door loudly behind him.
Max blinked in surprise, trying to wrap her brain around what had just happened. "Uh... is he okay?" she asked.
John just groaned and hid his head in his hands.
000
By the time Sherlock returned to the flat, it was late at night, and Max had already left. John was sitting in his armchair, reading a book as he waited for Sherlock to come back. He looked up as Sherlock walked in. "Where were you?" John asked.
Sherlock shrugged. "I took a walk," he answered.
John gave him a look. "That was a disgrace," he told him sternly.
Sherlock flopped down onto his armchair. "What are you talking about?" he replied.
John scowled. "You know what I'm talking about," he said. "You said you were going to ask her out."
Sherlock rubbed his face wearily. "I know, I know," he sighed. "I was going to do it, I was."
"But?" John prompted.
Sherlock groaned. "I don't know!" he exclaimed. "I... I got nervous!"
For a moment John stared at him in shock, then chuckled and shook his head. "You'll risk your life just for the sake of something to do, but you won't ask a girl out," he said. "Sherlock. You're overthinking this."
Sherlock scowled. "Don't I always," he muttered. "If you're trying to help, John, it's really not working."
John sighed. "Okay, okay, okay," he replied. "Just... I don't know what's so hard about this, Sherlock. You can act out all these complicated aliases but you can't ask Max out to coffee?"
Sherlock shot him a look. "This is different," he told him. "Max is different." He was silent for a second, then he sighed. "It's easy pretending to be somebody you aren't. Being yourself is the hard part."
For a moment John stared at him, then he reached out and clapped him on the back. "Alright, just do what I tell you to," John said.
Sherlock frowned at him. "What do you mean?" he asked.
John placed his book to the side. "I'm going to teach you how to ask her out," he told him. "And you're going to do it, and you're going to get her, okay?"
Sherlock was silent for a moment, then he looked at John with a determined look in his eyes. "Alright," he agreed. He hesitated. "And, uh... John? Thank you."
John blinked in surprise. "You're welcome," he said. The two flatmates shared a look, then John cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, let's start, eh?"
000
"They said they liked what you did on this bit," Anna was telling Max as they walked through the halls of Bibliotheque. It was the next morning, and Max and Anna had just left a meeting with a client about a design that they had worked on together. Anna was gesturing to a paper copy of the design. "So keep that, but maybe tweak the color scheme so it's a bit bolder, eye-catching, y'know."
Max frowned thoughtfully as they turned the corner on the way back to her desk. "Okay, got it," she agreed. "I can make the title bigger, maybe by ten percent, and I'll change the font too."
Anna nodded. "I like it," she said. "Try to get it done before- hey, wait, is that Sherlock Holmes?! The Internet detective?"
Max looked up sharply and saw that Sherlock was indeed at her desk, standing there as if it was totally normal for him to visit her at work. It didn't seem like he had noticed them yet. "... Yeah, that's him, alright," Max answered, trying to mask her surprise.
Sherlock looked up as they approached, his eyes meeting Max's. "Hi," he said simply.
Max blinked. "Hi," she replied.
For a moment the two of them stood there, staring at each other, then Anna cleared her throat, reminding them of her presence. Max jumped in surprise. "Oh, right!" she exclaimed. "Sherlock, this is my coworker Anna. Anna, Sherlock. My, uh, my friend."
Anna gave Sherlock a small smile. "Nice to meet you," she told him. She turned to Max. "I'll get out of your hair now. Just make those changes and get it back to me before lunch, okay?"
Max nodded. "Yeah, got it," she agreed. Anna waved at the two of them, then turned and walked away, leaving Max and Sherlock alone.
Once again the two of them just stood there in silence, neither of them sure what to say, then Max cleared her throat. "Are you feeling better?" she asked.
Sherlock blinked. "What?" he replied.
Max looked at him oddly. "Yesterday, when you walked off," she clarified. "John said that you had a headache."
Sherlock coughed awkwardly. "Oh," he said. "Yes. I'm better."
It didn't seem like he was going to say any more than that. Max leaned against her desk casually. "So, er, not that I'm not glad to see you, but... why are you here?" she asked.
Sherlock glanced at her and then her desk. Her desk is messy; it must have been a busy day if she hasn't had a chance to clean up, he thought. She's been doodling more though. She's inspired. By what? Well, him, possibly- hopefully. The thought made him feel... oddly nervous, but excited and hopeful at the same time. It was an odd feeling. Before he could explore that thought further, he forced his mind back to his deductions. Hmm. She didn't sleep well last night, her makeup is a mess. She's been stress eating- three large chocolate wrappers in the garbage and it isn't even lunch yet.
He was about to comment on how she should really water the small plant on her desk- after all, based on the dryness of the soil, she watered it every Monday, but it was Wednesday now and she clearly had forgotten about it- but then he remembered what John had said last night. No deducing, he had told him. Ask her questions, get her to start talking. Girls like it when you do that, y'know.
So Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly instead, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Erm, how's your plant?" he asked.
Max blinked in surprise. "My plant?" she repeated blankly. Then she followed his gaze to the plant on her desk. "Oh! My plant! I totally forgot about that!" She reached out and prodded at the soil. "Yeah, I should probably water it." She shrugged sheepishly. "I'm not good with taking care of things."
Sherlock hmmed, but otherwise he didn't say anything. Max sat down at her desk. "Yeah, everything's a bit of a mess right now," she commented. "I'm normally more put together than this, I swear."
Still Sherlock didn't say anything, and Max looked up at him to see that he was standing there with an uncertain look on his face. "Sherlock?" she asked. "Are you okay?"
He coughed awkwardly. "I'm fine," he said. "Perfectly fine. Just swell." If anything, that just caused Max to be even more concerned, and he gave her a small smile.
"... right," she agreed, even though from her tone it sounded like she didn't agree at all.
For a moment there was an awkward, terrible silence. Everything in Sherlock screamed to say something, anything at all, but his mind- his brilliant, sharp mind- was blank. Desperately he thought back to another thing that John had told him. Get her in a good mood before you ask her anything, he had said. Let her talk about something she likes, get her to loosen up.
Sherlock cast his gaze over her desk again, pausing on her sketches. "You've been drawing lately?" he asked.
Max glanced over at her sketches. "Oh, yeah," she admitted. "Yeah, I've been in the mood. Inspiration strikes, y'know?" She shrugged. "I was thinking about what you were saying. The other night, I mean. And you're right. About drawing, putting myself out there. It's a risk- I mean, once it's out there it's out of my control and I'm leaving myself vulnerable to complete strangers- but... I'm going to try it. Diving headfirst into deep waters, right?"
She was talking- Sherlock could see her lips moving- but her words were going in one ear and out the other. He watched her expression, which was getting more and more excited the longer she talked, trying to gauge when exactly she was in a good mood. He frowned, trying to figure out what he would say to her. Are you free after work tomorrow? No, too dull. Would you want to go out to coffee? Good start, but not quite there. Let's go out to coffee. There, that was better.
He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to speak; then, when he was ready, he opened his mouth and-
"Hey, um, I was thinking, do you want to go to lunch tomorrow?" Max blurted suddenly.
Sherlock looked at her in complete and utter shock, unable to form words. Max was frozen in horror, completely embarrassed that she had actually asked Sherlock Holmes on a date. She had thought she was over it, but seeing him standing there- here in her work of all places, looking comically uncomfortable- it had just slipped out without her fully thinking about the consequences. From the expression on Sherlock's face he was actually speechless, probably just as surprised as she was about what she had just done.
Oh, God, I've ruined it, she thought to herself. He probably doesn't even think of me like that and I've just ruined our friendship and-
"... on a date?" Sherlock clarified, finally having gathered himself enough to form some semblance of a sentence.
Max blinked. "Um... yes," she said. "On.. on a date." She coughed awkwardly. "I mean, that's to say, if you want it to be. If not we can just, y'know, pretend this never happened and just go back to normal because I really don't-"
"Yes," Sherlock interrupted.
She looked at him blankly. "... yes?" she repeated.
Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I... um... I want it to be a date," he said.
... he wanted it to be a date.
Max could hardly wrap her mind around what was happening, but even so she kept talking, only half aware of what she was actually saying. "Oh, okay, good!" she exclaimed. "Um, there's a nice Chinese place a few blocks away from here, if you're interested." Sherlock nodded mutely, his expression just as shocked as she felt, and still she kept talking. "Okay, so, um, my lunch break is at 11. Do you... do you want to meet me here, and we'll walk there together?"
Sherlock nodded again. "Alright," he agreed. He paused for a moment, not sure if he should say something else, but then John's advice came back to him. Get out of there once you ask her, before it gets awkward. Sherlock cleared his throat. "Um, okay then. I'll be here. I'll... I'll see you here tomorrow."
Max nodded too. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I'll... uh... I'll see you."
With that, Sherlock turned to go- but then he turned back around and held out his hand to her. Bewildered- and still trying to put her thoughts in order- Max stared at his hand blankly for a moment, but then she came back to herself and shook it. Then, nodding to her one last time, Sherlock walked away from her desk.
"Did he just... shake your hand?" someone asked behind her.
Max turned around to see her neighbor Tony sticking his head around the divider between their desks. She would have been surprised at his sudden appearance, but honestly, that was the least shocking thing that had happened in the last few minutes.
"... I think he did," she answered.
000
Meanwhile, Sherlock had just stepped out of the Bibliotheque offices, standing there on the pavement for a moment and breathing in the London air. Then he nodded to himself. "See, it's simple," he declared. And with that, he stuck out his hand to hail a cab back to Baker St.
After all, he had a lot to tell John... and a date to prepare for.