Lessons in Friendship 9 - Rhythms of the mind
Disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC, Mr. Moffat, Mr. Gatiss or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.
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Chapter 3
The Sea - Part 1
It was early august and it had been warm the weeks before, but now it was cooling down and a summer storm was expected to hit Britain within the next few hours.
Although John wore a light shirt and had encouraged Sherlock to do the same - the detective choose a light silk one - he still wore his coat, which was not at all appropriate for the still sweltry and muggy breeze. It was as if the man just didn't care about the temperature. It wasn't just odd in the summer, in winter, Sherlock tended to wear to little in the doctor's opinion. John was sure his inner thermometer must be out of joint.
Sherlock had arranged a Landrover waiting for them at a small village near the coast.
The case had been tough and kind of chewy up to now and the detective seemed to regret having accepted it.
John was not sure where they were going. But it didn't matter, he was currently enjoying the airflow from the moving car, it was delightful, they had the windows open wide.
The coat was on the backseat right now but John was sure as soon as they would leave the car Sherlock would take it with him.
The car had air conditioning, but Sherlock hated those and informed him once more that he preferred to sweat rather than endure the stiff and itching air it produced.
During their drive the sky darkened and a light wind picked up, John was very glad he had chosen the light trousers, too.
The day had been exhausting, he felt soaked and the wind in his hair was pure bliss after the sticky air of the rooms they had stayed in during the investigations.
When they had entered the car John realised it was the exact same one they had at their disposal in Baskerville.
"Is this yours?" he had asked.
In Baskerville, he had assumed it was a rental, though there were several pieces of equipment that seemed to be customised.
"No."
His friend was obviously not eager to clarify, John noted.
"Why is it wherever we need it?" he probed.
"I ordered it," the tone was so unnerved John decided to let it go.
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They drove for half an hour, until Sherlock suddenly stopped at the middle of nowhere - on an already narrow coastal road - and turned into a small path, barely wide enough for the bulky car.
The further they went, the more overgrown the path became. He wondered how Sherlock knew where he was going, he hadn't used the satnav.
The sun was now hidden behind heavy and low ominous clouds and the weather was now windy, but not noticeable colder than before. John's gaze went to his watch, it was also almost 18.15 which meant almost two hours of sunlight left.
"Where are we going?"
"Shore."
Great, John loved monosyllabic answers.
Sherlock stopped the car a few metres further and exited it without warning, then continued by foot, of course he slipped into his coat while walking.
John followed, the long high growth on both sides of the path grazed John's hands when he followed his friend.
After a few minutes they had reached the shore, which consisted of a wide stripe of large bulky, sharp edged stones that went out into the sea, a rock groyne.
The waves clashed into them several metres ahead.
Large dark clouds could be seen on the horizon and those themselves where a spectacle.
Sherlock - with his handmade shoes - started to climb onto the rocks, heading towards the water.
John shook his head in denial, wondering if he really wanted to follow the detective, who climbed over the uneven surface with the grace of a cat, using his hands and feet. His coat moving in the wind.
The air smelled like saltwater and the sea.
John briefly wondered what they were doing here and if Sherlock knew where he was going, he surely looked as if he was heading somewhere.
He waited and observed.
To his surprise his friend didn't went far out but suddenly sat down, on a wet stone, not far away from the spray.
That was when John decided to follow him.
This was turning into exercise and he lacked all the skills climbing over the rocks the detective had shown; at least the other man didn't see, his back was to John. His shoulder and leg were not making the task any easier.
When the doctor came closer, he saw that one edge of the coat was hanging in the water in a puddle on one of the rocks.
He raised his eyebrows, once more wondering if Sherlock owned more than one piece of this remarkable piece of clothing because he was often quite reckless with his high quality garments. Though they usually reappeared looking neat and clean again whatever the man did to them.
He knew better than to disturb Sherlock when he was thinking, and this looked pretty much like intense thinking.
But was he really - at this very moment - concentrating on the case?
Probably, Sherlock lacked appreciation of beautiful locations.
When John reached him, the consultant was still staring out at the sea, his gaze distant.
The doctor just waited for something to happen.
Nothing happened.
Five minutes later John decided to sit down, too.
He found a relatively flat spot and sat down about two metres away from the unmoving statue of a consulting detective.
He could as well savour the moment if the other man was busy, he didn't get to enjoy the ocean very often.
The sea was beautiful and overall quite loud at the moment, rushing against the boulders.
Something was building up.
John hadn't been this close to the ocean since before Afghanistan.
He watched the constant movement of the waves, it was a lovely scene.
When Sherlock suddenly moved he flinched.
The other man bend over and removed his shoes, then his socks and then slid down towards the water a bit more.
He placed his bare feet onto the cold wet and probably unpleasantly rough surface of another stone.
John looked closer and saw his flatmate's eyes were closed.
This was the moment when John wondered if this was neither about deducing nor observing, so he decided to speak.
"Er,… what are you doing right now?" he asked in a low and slow voice.
He was sure he had spoken loud enough to be heard, Sherlock's hearing was quite sensitive, but he was ignored.
He knew this mode of not-speaking, and he had learned not to urge communication.
So he just leaned back, with his hands on the rock behind him, and enjoyed the moment.
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He sat there for almost half an hour, then decided to have a walk. He slowly stood up and climbed over the rocks down to the sandy area of the beach, he needed almost ten minutes to get there, but then he also got rid of his shoes, rolled up his trouser legs and enjoyed a slow walk down the waterline with bare feet.
It was refreshing, and so much better than risking wet shoes, it felt nice, the water moving around his feet, would have been a great day for a swim. In the far distance he saw some people on the beach.
He frequently looked back to check if Sherlock had started to move, but he didn't, at least not for another half hour, and then John turned back, with some see shells in one hand and his shoes in the other.
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The sea always provided interesting sensations.
Sherlock had always liked to sense it, not that he'd leave London for it, but when he had the chance he'd use it, it was a one of the few nice thing.
The air was fresh, it's sharp smooth taste and the soft sound of the waves against the shore were soothing something he couldn't name, only knew if felt wound up.
It was long ago that he had visited the sea with company, must have been in his childhood, with his family.
Since Mycroft spoiled everything positive within minutes, he had learned to hide things that feel good at age nine.
He had been to Kent two summers ago for a case, but on that spring day he had been too busy to go see the ocean.
The wind moving his hair and the taste of briny in his nose and mouth were distressing but enlightening at the same time, sometimes he could dwell on the pleasant wildness of it.
On sunny days the reflections on the water disturbed him, gave him headaches, hurt his sight; he preferred the weather to be a bit rough and dark.
Now John was sitting behind him, which turned out to be not too unpleasant. He was silent, didn't move too much and didn't try to make small talk. He was in fact just sitting there and Sherlock was able to concentrate for a moment to soak up the atmosphere of the place.
It was so much better to have John around than anyone else.
The movement of the waves made the piles of large rocks vibrate under him, it was intense to feel their force.
Sherlock had slipped off his shoes to be able to feel the impact of the water more intensely.
He knew the surface would probably be unpleasant to walk on, but the pain would ground him, sharpening the other sensations.
As long as it wasn't too much it could heighten the experience to a level that might floor everything he didn't want to sense.
It was a fine line between the pain destroying delight and intensifying it, but he needed to wander that fine path for a bit right now.
The fact that John would not pollute the experience was relaxing. Maybe he'd speak after a while, but that, Sherlock could easily ignore, and John was too kind to poke in moments like this, at least hadn't been since after the second month he had moved in.
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When John climbed back up the rocks and returned to his flatmate, the other man was moving slightly, a minute rocking movement most people would have overlooked.
"Sherlock… what are you doing?" he asked again in a low and slow voice, sure Sherlock was back with him.
"Sensing the sea," Sherlock answered immediately, so not in the mind palace and no longer ignoring him.
The doctor grinned.
Was this really what it looked like? Sherlock enjoying something?
If he had been asked, he'd have denied that his - most of the times - hyperactive flatmate was even capable of doing so. He was sure Sherlock had never really learned to relax, always thinking, never slowing down. He despaired when there was nothing to do.
"What are you sensing?" he wanted to hear more about his experience.
"Everything," Sherlock exhaled.
"Care to be more specific?"
"Why?"
John felt caught when Sherlock opened his eyes and narrowed his eyes.
"Don't be so suspicious, I was just enjoying the sea and wondered if you were doing the same."
"Oh, small talk, then?"
"No, friendship talk, wanted to know how you experienced it."
"Why don't you just observe the sea yourself, then?"
"You don't get it, do you? I wanted you to describe your sensations. I know how mine feel, no use in asking for those. I want to know about the difference, I learned there is one, so I'm curious," John explained.
"Sorry. Talking kind of makes it less… gratifying."
"Tell me later, then, in the car?"
"Maybe," Sherlock muttered and closed his eyes again, he was breathing a bit deeper than usual the doctor noted.
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Ten minutes later they returned to the car and Sherlock started the engine, they drove backwards in an amazing straight line for almost three minutes until he found a spot where he could turn the car.
"What was that about?"
"Driving backwards? The road was too small, would you have done it differently?"
"Nice try. Our pleasure trip to the shore," John rolled his eyes.
"Wasn't that obvious?"
"No, not really."
"I was enjoying the sea."
"Oh, could you… I don't know… explain how you do that."
"Nnno."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to."
"You know - as your friend - I sometimes really wonder how your perception works and I would love to hear about it in detail."
"What for?"
"I just told you, why is that so strange?"
"How could that… be a friendship thing?" Sherlock snorted.
"By letting me in. Insight might deepen a friendship."
"Or destroy it."
"Seriously? You really think that after living with you for over a year there might be worse things than I have already seen?" John tried to joke.
"You have no idea," Sherlock deadpanned and his expression made John backpedal in surprise.
"Well, I'm not one of your obnoxious uni peers. I ask this because I want to understand, not to exploit the knowledge to hassle you. By now you should have understood that. I don't do that."
Sherlock kept a moment of uneasy silence, which made John a bit worried because his friend didn't immediately confirmed that he knew.
"I don't ask you to tell me while you concentrate on relishing it, but you could tell me how you sense it afterwards? Take me through, now?"
Sherlock frowned, "Maybe next time."
John briefly wondered if that was a nice try of rejection, before he remembered that Sherlock didn't do nice.
"Alright," he agreed.
"Do it in turns?" Sherlock's voice was careful now, maybe even hesitating.
John raised his eyebrows, this meant Sherlock actually intended to do it.
"Alright… I thought you knew how 'normal' people's perception works, always complaining about it?"
"I do, but not directly. I researched and know that it is unreliable and superficial in comparison with mine, due to analysing witness statements for years… Because whenever I asked someone to describe it, people either made fun of me, wondered how stupid I am or got pissed. Polite individuals simply walk away. The only person that might have explained it to me in my youth was Mycroft, but, as you probably have noticed, he's not a reliable source - not honest enough. Also, his perception is quite similar to mine."
John chuckled.
"So, that's why you're not eager to share, bad experiences with your way of sensing things?"
"My senses were always hypersensitive on many different level… but at the same time some perceptions are hyposensitive, which together sounds unbelievable to normal people and they express it by punishing me for lying or being stubborn, perfectly logical assumption from their dull mindsets, I fear. They also tend to shift from hyposensitivity to hypersensitivity in certain situations, or blur together in an unsettling way."
John stored this and decided to give it a rest for now.
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In the following three weeks the crime turned into a case and they visited the sea on a few more occasions.
John started to describe to Sherlock about how he sensed it and what it felt like, without being asked, just to signal his readiness and remind the other man he was still interested and willing to do this. As a doctor, this also interested him from a medical point of view.
Sherlock listened, but didn't ask back or interacted with him, he was just passive, didn't share any of his own perceptions.
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A/N:
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