Disclaimer: I own nothing, etc. etc.
A/N: Just to let everyone know; it might be a while before I update again- real-life calls. But I promise it will get the story finished, I won't abandon it. As always please read and review!
Chapter 11: A Blank Canvas
Cecilia awoke the next morning to an empty bed. Sherlock must have slipped out after she had fallen asleep. She stretched enjoying the comfort of the bed and the soreness of some muscles that had not been used in quite some time. As she let her mind wander an idea was slowly assembling itself in her mind. Creative inspiration had been missing from her life since she had arrived in London; she just couldn't paint or draw. She was suffering from artists block, if you wanted to call it that. Suddenly she sat up. She had an idea for a painting. She needed to start it. Immediately. She bounded out of bed and checked her supplies. She needed a canvas. She quickly dressed, threw her hair up into a loose ponytail and headed out.
She returned to the building hauling a large canvas wrapped in plastic. It was as tall as she was so it was a little unwieldy to maneuver up the entryway stairs into 221, luckily John was just returning from his own celebrations with Sarah.
"John!" she exhaled with relief. "I'm so glad you're here. Help me with this please?"
"Sure. What's it for?" He picked up the lower end and they quickly got it into the building.
"I just had an idea that I wanted to work on." Her eyes lit up.
" Can I see it when it's done?"
" Maybe. It depends on how it turns out." She laughed.
They got it through the apartment door and leaned it up against a wall in Mrs. Hudson's living room. Cecilia got out an old drop cloth and put it down in front of the canvas.
"How's your Aunt doing?" John asked in a casual but somber tone.
"I spoke with her a few days ago and she says she's loving it out in the country. She sounds a lot better too. I'm thinking of going to visit her soon, just for a weekend maybe."
"I bet she'd love that. Is she going to come back?"
" I think so. Her doctor is pleased with the recovery she's made, but he thinks she'll just get worse again if she comes back too soon. Maybe another month she said."
"Well, give her our love the next time you speak with her."
" I will."
" I'm going up to check on Sherlock. God knows what he's gotten up to alone in the flat all night."
Cecilia looked away and nodded. She suppressed a smile.
She went into her room to get her paints and glanced at the bed remembering what had gone on there the night before. She felt the fire of creative inspiration flare up inside her and she was filled with the desire to paint. She went back out to the living room and stood in front of the blank canvas. There was always a moment of apprehension before the first mark is made, the hesitation to mar something perfect, to eliminate infinite potential. Even when the idea is something great it could go wrong and end with something awful. Cecilia took a deep breath and remembered what she had conquered; she was that new person she had set out to be. She raised her brush and began to paint.
She was painting all day and the piece was really beginning to take shape. She was so focused on the work that she didn't notice when the sunset, she only realized what time it was when it was too dark to actually see what she was doing. She switched on the lights and took a moment to look at what she had done so far. She had to admit it was a little dark in content; a skull was not her usual fare, but it seemed…fitting.
-ding-
She ignored her phone; she didn't want to break her concentration.
-ding-
Cecilia sighed. She wiped her hands and picked up her phone, reading the first message
: John and I playing old case game. He needs your help.
: SH
The second message read
: John is sulking. He lost. Your fault.
: SH
Cecilia texted back: Can't come up. Painting. She set down her phone and was just about to pick up her brush again.
-ding-
: Prove it.
: SH
She held up her phone to the work she was doing and snapped a picture and sent it to Sherlock. She then turned her phone off. She didn't want to be disturbed until this was finished.
Sherlock looked at the image on his phone, intrigued by what she was working on. He was pleased that she had apparently moved past the block that had prevented her creative output since she had arrived. He wondered if he had had something to do with it. His mind wandered and the corner of his mouth curled.
"She really figured this out?" John interrupted; he was looking at the report on the animal control officer and his wife.
"Yes, John. Not everyone is as empty headed as you."
"Let me try a different one."
"Sorry John, I'll be back later." Sherlock slid his phone back into his pocket as he strode out the door.
" Where are you…" John didn't finish the question, as Sherlock was already gone. Unsurprised, John gathered up the papers and put them back in the filing cabinet. It was still a little early in the evening but he was tired, he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before and he had a shift tomorrow.
Cecilia heard a knock on her door. She rolled her eyes and let out a frustrated groan. One interruption after another! She was stalled on her work. She knew it needed something, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Every time she thought she was close something distracted her and she lost it. She sighed and opened the door. Sherlock was standing there.
"Sherlock? She couldn't keep the smile off her face.
"I didn't startle you this time did I?"
" No. The knocking kind of tipped me off." She stood aside and let Sherlock in. "Why did you come down?"
" I wanted to see your work first hand." He wandered into the living room where her painting was. "Is it finished?"
"Not yet." Cecilia answered in a frustrated tone. She approached the painting and stared at it. "I don't know how to finish it." She said aloud, but more herself than to Sherlock. She felt odd with Sherlock in the room. Even though they had been together, this was far more intimate. She tried to tap into those feelings that had made her want to start the painting. It wasn't hard for her to realize what those were, not with Sherlock standing right beside her. Suddenly she knew exactly what it needed. She put her paintbrush aside and dipped her fingers in the paint. It was cool and thick. She pulled her fingers back out of the paint and pressed them onto the canvas. She channeled the ecstasy of the previous night and moved her fingers in time to it.
Sherlock had never seen anything like this; he had never been part of a creative process before. He knew he wanted to be part of it, something tangible that would last forever. He strode up behind her. She had her eyes closed. He put each of his hands over hers on the canvas. Red paint soon covered his fingertips too.
.
John awoke when he heard the door to the flat open. He glanced at the clock; it was close to midnight. He had been asleep for only a couple hours. He got up and went out to the kitchen, needing a glass of water. The lights in the flat seemed harshly bright after being asleep. Sherlock was sitting in his chair by the fireplace, typing on his laptop.
"Where did you get off to?" John asked, shuffling to the sink in his boxers and housecoat.
"Nowhere important." He said dismissively.
"Right." John leaned against the counter drinking water and looked at Sherlock critically. He had been acting so strangely the past weeks. "Sherlock?"
"Hmm?" Sherlock did not look up from his computer.
John was about to ask why Sherlock had red paint on his ear but he realized Sherlock wouldn't tell him anyway. " Goodnight." He was all he said and then went back to his room.
"Yes. It was." Sherlock whispered to the room.