Chapter 17: Don't be a machine

Alice turned around and looked around the bedroom. She hadn't really paid attention to the room before, she had always considered it her father's private domain and not to be tempered with. Next to the door she found a periodic table, which didn't surprise her at all. She turned to the cabinet filled with all sorts of things, including a bust of Goethe, whom Alice only knew as the writer of one of the Faust's, but maybe her father could teach her something more about the man. Then she turned 180 degrees to something that had caught her attention from the first moment and the only thing she had already taken a closer look at. The Wardrobe. She stared at herself in the mirror and then immediately opened the doors. Sets of neatly piled blouses and on the hangers perfectly neat sets of blazers and pants. Three pairs of shoes were standing underneath them. But then she noticed the other things hanging in the closet. A big police coat with reflectors, a lab coat, various glasses, moustaches and all kinds of other things. Alice looked at them for a while, but then she pulled up her hair in a high bun, the short hairs falling out, hanging right above her eyes. She brushed them to the right as she put on the first pair of glasses.

Sherlock was still sitting in the living room, holding Gotz von Berlingen in his hand, but he wasn't reading. He looked up as John Watson entered the living room, who was standing in the middle of the room, seemingly lost. What was it with this man and getting lost? Only a few days ago, Sherlock and him had been walking around London and suddenly the little man was gone. After half an hour Sherlock had seem him wandering around as he himself was sitting on a bench in St. James's Park. John had apparently missed Sherlock taking a sudden turn and after that had lost his way, unable to find both his flatmate and his flat for the matter. He responded in the same manner now as he had done when John had approached him in the park.

'You took your time.'

'Yeah, I didn't get to shopping.'

Sherlock looked up, feigning his surprise, supressing his smirk. He had gotten lost again, who could have foreseen it. Sherlock Holmes did. He pitched up his voice.

'What? Why not?'

John turned to Sherlock, now again orientated on where he was and where to direct his speech.

'Because I had a row in the shop, with a chip and pin machine.'

You got lost again, how telling. The words were burning on Sherlock's tongue, but then John's words dawned on him. He had had a row...with a... machine? He didn't get lost on his way to the ASDA...he...

'You had a row with a machine?'

More human. It's not a crime to not act like a machine all the time. Remember that Sherlock, don't be a machine, don't be like Mycroft, not all the time. Maybe admit that you have to let go of the control of a conversation for once.

'Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abusively.'

Don't be a machine, lose control. No, you can't, don't be like any other human being. But then Sherlock started to smile when he heard Alice's voice in his head again: 'Are you being a caring father now?' She couldn't stop him from being more human, but that wouldn't mean that he could not hold himself back a little. He couldn't hide his smile though as John continued talking.

'Have you got cash?'

Still smiling, though not because of John's row with a machine, or anything about John for the matter, Sherlock responded. Don't be a machine, act human.

'Take my card.'

He motioned the wallet that he had placed on the dining table in the kitchen after he had gotten upstairs again. He followed John with his eyes as he walked to the kitchen to get the wallet, then turned his eyes back to the book, even though he was still not reading. Halfway to the kitchen, John turned around though. Sherlock noticed it immediately. Oh, here we go again, another lecture on how he should get up out of his chair and do something. He was doing more than enough, right here where he was, even when John couldn't see it. He looked up from his book, seemingly innocent.

'You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left.'

Not moved, oh John, if only you knew how much I have moved. He turned a page, still pretending to read. He sighed, John wasn't done yet, but it was no use telling him about the fight he had had that morning, he wouldn't believe it, his mind was way too placid, even for an army doctor it seemed so out of use and so void of imagination whatsoever.

'What happened about that case you were offered? The Jaria Diamond?'

A few more pages were flipped. No, don't care about Gotz anymore. Sherlock put a small piece of paper serving as a bookmark in between the pages and closed the book. In that motion noticed the Shamshir halfway underneath his chair.

'Not interested.'

He quickly got up a little and shoved it underneath his chair a little more using his shoe. He sat up straight again, suddenly jostled back into his state of mind when the Iranian had entered his living room that morning. The sword sheathed, just like his face. He had explained the case, standing in the middle of the room, refusing to take a seat. When Sherlock had told him that the case was not worth his time, the man had threatened with all sorts of things. Sherlock had continued to refuse and had wanted to walk away, when the Shamshir had been unsheathed and the man had started swinging it at the consulting detective. Then he revisited the memory of the man, knocked out on the very same seat that he was sitting on at the very moment.

'I sent them a message.'

He followed John, as he walked around the table, found the scratch the swordsman had made when he had attempted to slit Sherlock's throat on the kitchen table, and attempted to wipe it away a little bit. Then the army doctor looked up, his eyes demanding an answer for the scratch that had suddenly appeared on the table, while Sherlock had not moved at all during the entire morning. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. Without saying another word, John disappeared from the kitchen and his feet could be heard running down the stairs, with the card of Sherlock Holmes safely in his own wallet, ready for some grocery shopping. Then Sherlock started to smile, oh John, if only you knew. He looked at his wall with the couch in front of it, it was a bit of a bare wall, it needed some fun, some more colour aside from this boring grey with black curly things all over it. It had been Mrs. Hudson's influence on the apartment, and one of the things Sherlock didn't change, but that didn't mean it would stay that way. Then he got up again, remembering Alice, who was still in his bedroom. He quickly bounced to the door, not that he was excited, he was just going to get his daughter out of his bedroom, she was still in his domain and he actually preferred her outside it. When he came to the door, he quickly opened it, and stopped in the doorway. The coat was a little broad, but it fit well enough. The heels coming out from underneath the slightly long pants made up for the length. The hair coming over the straightened collar was dark brown and curly. The length of it was partially hidden in the messy bun on top of the head. Sherlock stood and waited until the person standing in front of his wardrobe would turn around. He wouldn't have to wait long, since the person had already noticed him in the mirror. With hands curled around the edges of the coat, Alice turned around and faced her father. Dressed in his blouse, pants and blazer and wearing one of his spare coats and scarfs. She was still wearing her own shoes, a pair of black classic heels. Not the most logical choice, but she couldn't live without them. Where all other fifteen-year-olds would wear sneakers, she always walked around on heels, they felt jusy as comfortable to her. Her cheekbones and the collar were on one line, the look was similar to that of Sherlock when he was just looking around, the green eyes cold, but he could see the slight sparkle in them too. He took it all in.

'You clearly found my wardrobe interesting.'

Alice turned back to the mirror in the closet and smiled.

'I played a little dress up in your disguises closet. But this one seems to be the best.'

Sherlock continued to look at her. Take it off. He wanted her out of his clothing, nobody had any business with them. Nobody. Just like he had told Alice to put his violin down, he wanted to force her to take off the clothes just the same. She was already so much like him, a perfect copy. Her mother was gone in her appearance, which he could not have predicted when he had met her. She had turned around again and then back to Sherlock. With her hair up. Why did she look so much like him? Alice saw the expression on her father's face.

'I'll take it off. I don't mind.'

Sherlock continued to look at Alice as she took off the scarf. But then he shook his head.

'No. Not if you want to wear it.'

Alice looked surprised.

'Excuse me?'

Sherlock started to turn around and go back to the living room.

'Don't ask me to say it again.'

He walked back to the living room, but it took a while before Alice joined him, dressed in her own clothes again, aside from the blazer. She was also still holding one of the scarfs. She sat down on the red chair and stared straight at her father. Sherlock stared at the ground, at the classic heels, one of which was dangling in the air.

'You will never find me apologising, so never expect that of me.'

Alice nodded.

'And I am not prone to sentiment.'

'Obviously.'

Sherlock looked up, now the coldness was real, no lively sparkle.

'Alice.'

Alice, whose eyes had gone down, went up again and she looked at Sherlock.

'You let go.'

Sherlock nodded.

'I fight it.'

'You should. It would be strange if you didn't.'

Sherlock smirked. Alice rose up from her seat again, still holding the scarf. Sherlock remained seated, looking a little down to the floor, following the heels as they disappeared from view. When Alice was almost out the door, Sherlock opened his mouth again.

'Thank you.'

Alice stopped in the doorway and turned her head around. The shorter hairs were hanging in front of her eyes and she brushed them away. But then she turned around and walked down the stairs again. Those had been the words she had been waiting for. He was fighting it, and she didn't blame him, but this was a first step to letting go just a little bit. He hadn't told her off about the scarf, but Sherlock had seen it. Don't be a machine. He would try. He would stumble, but he knew that he could succeed in this too. He would succeed in everything he attempted, he always had. This would prove to be a difficult skill to acquire, but at least he had Alice around to help him step by step. And maybe, just maybe, John. But that was something he didn't quite believe yet. He liked the man around and sort of needed someone to talk to, since his skull...

And now he noticed it, it had been there for an entire day already, he had just not noticed it. His skull was standing on the mantle. But, Mrs. Hudson had taken it, how did it get back here. Sherlock walked towards it and then noticed the little note underneath the skull, he partially lifted the thing at the temples and picked up the note.

Dear Sherlock,

I saved your skull from the trash bag of Mrs. Hudson. Now you have the choice of three companions. Either not talking, regular human being or a copy of yourself. Choose wisely, don't be a constant machine.

Alice

Sherlock smirked and looked back at the skull. That girl, she kept on surprising him, and he liked it, he actually quite liked it.