A/N: And here's the second chapter! I hope it lives up to your expectations guys. Seriously, I'm feeling slightly intimidated by how much you guys expect from this. But I'm writing for fun so meh, I'll go right ahead and just do that and if ya'll like it, well that's just a bonus. :D Do tell me what you think though, I reply to every comment! Oh and I'm totally open to ideas/con-crit because to be honest, I haven't really thought too far ahead yet with this fic. I have a couple of scenes mapped out in my head but I might end up getting bored and just abandoning it. It's happened before. Especially with how busy I am (supposed to be) with my last year of high school, it could go either way. Anyway, enough of me. Enjoy! x
Chapter 2: The Puzzle
Sherlock doesn't actually need to marry John to catch the murderer of newly-weds. He didn't lie to John. He had considered every other option, and this one really is most likely to give him what he requires without a hitch - no pun intended.
What John doesn't have to know is what Sherlock really wants. and what Sherlock really wants doesn't have much to do with the case.
The rest of the world was being so mind-numbingly monotonous of late, and he had to find some way to occupy his mind. It was either this, or allowing his mental capacities to slowly deteriorate as his mind palace engulfed itself in a roaring bushfire of its own making. He needs to contain it, needs to give his whirring mind something to burn. Simply breathing would not work. He needs a puzzle, needs it to feed the machine of his mind, or the pain grows to unbearable heights and he loses control. It's happened before, and he detests it.
The idea had been born while he was lying prone on the sofa. His face had been smooshed into the cushions, lungs expanding and contracting tediously, olfactory receptors sending signals to his brain and perceiving faint lingering scents of burnt toast, formaldehyde, and rosin. He'd been trying to occupy his mind by thinking through possible experiments on various species of fungi and mould compositions, but none had held any appeal. He'd already set up meticulous records in his mind palace about what is most common (and in some cases, unique), and it was all just so dull.
Everything was just so exceedingly, maddeningly, hopelessly dull and it was starting to make him petulant and irritable and itching for something new to come along. He was an inch off hacking into government databases and security systems again - just to piss Mycroft off.
Mycroft's stupid pudgy face turning red is always amusing, and it certainly beats out complete and utter inertia.
The case that Lestrade had asked him for help with - the newly-weds case - was pedestrian, a five at best, and he'd already solved it. All that remained was the matter of retrieving hard evidence, or catching the man in the act. He knew he was perfectly capable of finding the evidence they needed, but why on earth should he bother when everything about the case screamed banal and boring?
Surely he could have faith that the circus monkeys that run the Yard weren't completely incompetent.
Then he'd heard John walk into the flat, muttering something about people seeing only what they want to see.
Naturally, Sherlock had deduced that either Mrs Hudson or a neighbour - more likely the latter - had made a passing comment alluding to their non-existent romantic relationship again. In a stroke of true genius (surprise surprise!) Sherlock had a thought: Why not experiment on John?
Half of London seems to think they're together, and the other half didn't know them. There has to be something - something obvious - that Sherlock's missed to make them do so. An occurrence so common could not be coincidental, could not have some basis that allowed people, stranger or not, to draw such similar conclusions about the two of them.
Sherlock isn't completely oblivious. He knows the signs of attraction - heightened pulse, dilated pupils, elevated breathing - and John exhibits more of them towards Sherlock far more frequently than he does towards any one of his long string of girlfriends. It could be a number of other things, certainly; these signs alone and occurring individually in various situations don't prove a thing by themselves. It could be fight-or-flight responses kicking in prior to a chase, changes in lighting, or just plain old anger at something a bit not good that Sherlock does unwittingly.
Sherlock can admit he isn't an expert when it comes to emotions on a subjective level. When it relates to his work - when it's objective - he has it down to a science. Person X + Behaviour Y = Emotion J. At the moment, however, he can't draw any conclusions with the appalling lack of data he has on the matter. Starting off with next to nothing as he was did little to deter him. He was confident that he would be capable of understanding anything that a regular moron could. It wouldn't be too difficult to grasp with enough research and experimentation. Simple, really.
John is different - Sherlock knows that. Has known it for some time. He's a friend, and for some reason emotions associated with him are not boring. Nothing like the general public and their terribly predictable inclinations. John is an outlier in the set of data.
He's the closest thing to incomprehensible a human can be to Sherlock.
Often Sherlock's attempts to deduce John's reactions fail completely. He has estimated a 57% success rate with such deductions, which is wholly unacceptable with how long he's known John and how familiar he is with his habits and personality traits. It's almost as if John's brain is wired differently to those of the general masses, one that doesn't follow a pattern.
It doesn't make sense, and yet there it is.
Sherlock just doesn't know when it comes to John, and rarely does that happen. Almost never does. Now that he'd thought about it, he couldn't resist running tests on the one truly bewildering regularity in his life.
Sherlock grinned, forming a steeple with his hands. Goodbye boredom, hello puzzle.