"I'm off to work," John called out. Glancing around the flat, John saw that Gwen was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, whilst Sherlock was crouched on his chair, fingers pressed together, eyes glazed over. Clearly he was deep in thought. With a sigh—realizing he would get no response—John smiled fondly and left, closing the door behind him.
Gwen soon finished her coffee and plopped down on the couch, pulling out her laptop. Quickly she looked over at Sherlock. He hadn't moved an inch. Gwen began to type away, ignoring her flat mate.
"You don't believe in coincidences."
At the sound of Sherlock's voice, Gwen looked calmly at the clock on her laptop. Three hours since John had left and only now was Sherlock stirring at all. Smiling slightly, she raised her head to meet his eyes. Gwen did not need to ask what he meant. Immediately she understood that he was referring to her comment when they'd received the Mrs. Wilson case three days ago.
"What makes you say that, Mr. Holmes?"
"You're too much like me to believe in coincidences. Also, your foot is tapping."
Immediately her leg ceased its bouncing. She hadn't even realized that she'd been doing it. She never tapped her foot. Such habits were absolute giveaways in normal people, hence why she allowed herself to have no such habit. The fact that her foot was tapping was rather significant. She was even more nervous than she'd initially realized.
The internal curses floating through her mind did not show at all in her face.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you-"
"You didn't," he cut in immediately. A small smile currently graced Sherlock's face, but as always it was the brilliant brightness of Sherlock's eyes that transfixed Gwen. She loved when he had that look on his face, as he always did when he was 'in the zone'. That look of pure ecstasy, of wonder... Of love.
After all, it was undeniable. Sherlock loved his work.
"In fact..." he continued, "You've helped me."
"How so?"
Suddenly Sherlock leapt up from his chair and began pacing madly about the room.
"It's been driving me mad!" he exclaimed. Just by looking at him, Gwen knew he was on to something. That look was the one he always had when he was about to reveal a puzzle's answer. It might have unnerved her if it hadn't fascinated her quite so much as it did.
"The old woman... Why? Who would want to kill her? Why like that? Whoever did it clearly wants us to know that it was a murder. There was no attempt to make it look like an accident, oh no no. It is almost as if someone is trying to leave a message. But for who? And to what purpose? Her house has been professionally dealt with. There's no trace of how anyone got in, no calendar, no appointment book, nothing!"
Now Sherlock turned, making direct eye contact with Gwen, his eyes ablaze.
"I had my suspicions of course. After all, what are the odds? Months after you come to live with us there is a murder case where you happen to know the victim. Then when we asked you about it, you brushed it off as if it were nothing. It wasn't until now that I became sure. This murder... It's a message for you."
Gwen opened her mouth to respond.
"Not just you of course," he continued loudly. Gwen's mouth snapped shut. "A message for you and I. Oh what fun! But why- Why?"
As if he'd just remembered her presence, Sherlock quickly turned on Gwen once more.
"You must know!" Sherlock realized. "Tell me. Who's done this? What's the message?"
"I don't..." began Gwen timidly, "I don't really know."
"You must know!"
"Yes, you just said that," snapped Gwen. "However, that does not change the fact that I do not actually know. I'm sorry."
Suddenly Sherlock was crouched on the floor right in front of Gwen, very close to her. Reaching out he snatched her laptop away, dropping it on the couch next to her. Leaning in close, Sherlock held her head in his hands, locking his eyes fiercely with hers.
"Think," he stressed, "There must be something. Something that you know. You just need to think."
"Get off of me," returned Gwen harshly, pushing his hands away as she scooted down the couch. "Have you no understanding of personal space?"
Sherlock hardly seemed to hear her. As soon as she'd pushed him away, the cogs in his head had begun to whirl and his brilliant mind quickly evaluated her appearance and behavior. All this was quickly added to the other data he had collected on her thus far. Suddenly, something clicked. As he made this realization only seconds later, his brow crinkled in confusion.
"You're attracted to me," he murmured softly, staring intently into her blue eyes. Gwen's breath caught a bit, but then she rolled her eyes slightly.
"Brilliant observation, Sherlock. Do you have a point?"
Sherlock's eyebrows rose at her admittance, but now he was smiling slightly.
"You don't deny it?" Gwen chuckled.
"Why should I do? You're one of the most intelligent men I know. I'd be surprised if you couldn't see things as basic as that. Besides, lying to you is never a good idea, I find."
"You never lie to anyone you care about," said Sherlock immediately. Jolting himself a bit, Sherlock quickly stood up, stepping away from the couch but maintaining eye contact. Still sitting on the couch, Gwen smiled in surprise.
"No, I don't," she agreed. "I didn't realize that you knew that." At this Sherlock smirked.
"Of course I do." Silence.
"Well," Gwen said, "Would you like to know what I know?" Sherlock's mouth curled up at the edges and he tilted his head a bit, waiting for her to continue.
Gwen slowly stood up and walked closer to Sherlock, causing his eyes to narrow at her, cautious of her intent. When she stood a comfortable distance from him, Gwen stopped and continued.
"I know that you, Sherlock Holmes, are jealous."
"Of who?" asked Sherlock instantly.
"Of me." Sherlock felt the nervous tension in his shoulders ease up. "Because of the time I've been spending with John."
Sherlock said nothing. Gwen smirked slightly. Then she stepped forward once more until she was mere inches away from him. Sherlock did not budge at all, feeling as though she were putting him to some sort of test.
"I also know that you're also jealous... of John."
"I have no reason to be jealous of John," said Sherlock, clearly amused.
"No, of course not," agreed Gwen. Sherlock was a bit disconcerted to see that the smirk had not left her face. Suddenly Gwen extended a hand, placing it on his chest, over his heart. Shocked though he was, Sherlock still did not move.
"At least, there wouldn't be a reason to be jealous of him, except that you're attracted to me."
Eyes widening, Sherlock's thoughts immediately and unintentionally focused upon his breathing and the rather rapid beats of his heart. Her fingers over his heart, feeling its beating as well.
Moments later, Gwen's hand slid away from his chest. Their eyes still locked intensely, Gwen stepped backwards. Breaking their contact, she turned towards the door.
Sherlock finally broke from his practically entranced state, his mind whirling once more. In only seconds he thought back over and processed their entire conversation. It was like he could hear it all in his mind. And something stuck out to him that he hadn't caught before.
"One of?"
Gwen paused, turning back to face Sherlock.
"Pardon?"
"I'm one of the most intelligent men you know?" he repeated. "Who else do you know?"
Chuckling, Gwen merely smiled and turned back to the door. The frustration boiled up in Sherlock as he realized that, as usual, she was not going to answer his question. He opened his mouth to speak again when-
"I'm going out. Don't forget to check on the toenails in the pickle jar."
Don't forget to...?
*click* The door shutting jolted Sherlock awake from his stunned state. How had she known about the toenails in the pickle jar? He hadn't told her! And she couldn't possibly have stumbled upon it. This time—due to constant nagging from John—Sherlock had finally kept his experiment in his own bedroom.
How could she possibly...?
Sherlock's eyes widened as his mind reached the only possible explanation.
Gwen had searched his room.
Rushing to his bedchamber, Sherlock dashed about, checking each and every one of his possessions.
Nothing had been moved. Nothing had even been touched. The pickle jar was just where it should be. His notebook was securely stored under his mattress.
Sherlock stopped suddenly. Slowly looking up, he made another realization. Sherlock whispered aloud to himself, smiling faintly in appreciation.
"Oh... Oh, stupid." Sherlock gave one loud laugh. "Stupid, stupid... She was distracting you from pursuing the question. Stupid."