~The Board~
"I imagine you have questions." She walked to John's chair and took a seat. Crossing her legs she placed her hands on her knee. "Why?" he found himself asking. John had asked Sherlock the same question after he had faked his own suicide. Sherlock had assumed he was asking why, as in what was the reason for such a dramatic ruse? He had not been asking that. He was asking why he would pretend to kill himself and not ease Johns mind by letting him in on the secret. Why did he not trust John? Sherlock had not understood John's point of view till this very second. He took his seat across from her folded his legs pressed his finger tips together and placed his hands under his chin waiting. "Why? Sherlock… you know why. Between yourself and Mycroft I am sure the two of you have thought of more than a million reasons why." She paused and then asked "Have you spoken to Mycroft? Did you tell him that you saw me, that I came to you?" He had not. He took a slight pleasure in knowing that she had not gone to his brother. She had come to him first. "Smug. Your expression changed. I wouldn't be smug Sherlock. I actually went to you first because I knew it would be easier. Mycroft will have more than questions. He will have demands." She was lying, this was harder. She hadn't gone to Mycroft first because he didn't matter as much. "No. Is that why you, well you didn't die obviously, so is that why you left? You were upset by Mycroft's demand?" saying the word demand with a mocking tone. "He asked me a question Sherlock, he did not demand me. I was and still am my own person. That wouldn't have changed if I had said yes and we had gone through with an engage…" "Engagement." He finished with her. "He proposed Sherlock. He proposed and it still isn't good enough for you that I always said no. That I knew how it would make you…" she wanted to finish the sentence with the word feel. She knew that would upset him, saying out loud that he felt something more than a kinship for her. "That I knew it would displease you. It would have changed everything and neither of us Sherlock, neither of us wanted that." That would be the closest either of them came that night to saying how they truly felt. "Years Harris. Why now? Why are you here now?" She had wanted to tell him the truth, you weren't ready before, but now you are, even if she herself did not feel prepared. "Because I can be. Is there no part of you that is pleased to see me again? Pleased to know that I am alive, breathing, talking, walking…" Without me Sherlock caught himself thinking. There it was, the reason he was not particularly pleased with seeing her face again, hearing her voice, smelling her. On the stairs that moment that John had seen, that indecision, wasn't that at all. It was restraint. Her perfume had greeted him a few steps down but he had assumed it was just a memory. The past few weeks he would often smell her perfume or hear echoes of her laughter in the quiet moments when he was alone and his guard was down. He had smelled her though and knew she was just beyond that door. He had wanted to run to her, grab her by her shoulders and just stare at her for hours re-learning her and all he could of who she was now. He was not a sentimental man however. He hadn't always been a man though; he had been a boy once. In his boyhood he had met this girl. In their childhood he and she had been inseparable. Being young and naïve is not a perpetual state. They both did eventually, if a little unwillingly, grow up. It can change people and relationships when you see them though the eyes of experience. It had changed them , growing older. It had changed the way the viewed one another. It had also changed the way Mycroft had viewed his annoying younger brother and his almost equally obnoxious companion too. Sherlock always called her Harris preferring her masculine last name to her feminine first name. Mycroft had addressed her as Harris until suddenly one day as they were leaving their teen years behind he started calling her Sarah. It had bothered Sherlock the familiarity he had with her. He had met her first after all and they were closer in age then she and Mycroft. However now that they were growing older he noticed the two of them spending more time together apart from him. Then came the day Mycroft first proposed which led into the night that she had crawled through his open window and into his boy hood bed. When they had been younger she would sneak in on an almost nightly basis. She would slip out of her home bike to Sherlock's, hide her bike in a set of bushes near the end of their property, and climb the tree outside his room. She did all this silently never waking him. He had taken to keeping a sleeping bag and pillow under his bed for her on such occasions. He never wondered why she did it. He just knew that she did. Sometimes he would wake up and she would be there sleeping on his floor and sometimes she wasn't. As they got older she visited in the night less and less till it just seemed to stop entirely. The two had then gone off to study in London where they had their own flats but spent almost every day with one another. They had a break in their studies and were visiting their families. Mrs. Holmes had even managed to guilt Mycroft enough into coming home too to see his little brother and Sarah who had become like family to them over the years. Mycroft had asked her out to dinner one evening which was not strange. They would get a late dinner and have a lively debate. That was their usual activity together. The pair would pick a topic or a current event and just debate counter points back and forth. She could not do this with Sherlock. He never seemed to have a point to argue, he would just state he was right and that was it. She and Mycroft could talk of music, theatre, poetry, books, and art with one another for hours. She enjoyed just speaking with him and him her. She had grown into a well educated clever woman. She was more than adequate, she was suitable Mycroft thought. The two had never talked of their personal feelings about anything with one another. That was one of the reasons she was so surprised when he had suddenly started speaking about adult hood and leaving childish things behind during this particular meal. He spoken about understanding the roles one has to play in order to achieve ones goals. Certain societal norms were expected of you. "That is why I think the two of us should come to some sort of an arrangement. We are young and there is no reason to rush but when the time comes we could be wed. My family is obviously fond of you. Perhaps your approval of me would even soften Sherlock's heart towards myself and imagine the two of you related. I think he would be thrilled to share our last name with you" Shock, she had had never expected anyone in her life to propose to her. She was even more taken aback by the person asking. For her there were no flowers, there was no ring, no declarations, just a business proposition. There was at least that to be thankful for. "No thank you Mycroft" was all she said before simply standing up and walking away from him. She did not think about what she was doing. It wasn't until she was under that familiar tree that she even realized where her legs had taken her just by memory. She was too old to be doing this. To be finding comfort in someone else's home. The family she was visiting was not hers by blood. She had been adopted when she was seven. They had been good to her and treated her as if she was their own child and she would forever be thankful for their kindness. They were simple people though and ill equipped to deal with a girl like Sarah. She was bright, inquisitive, and like Sherlock she could deduce you to nothing in mere moments. That was never her game though. She was a planner. She could devise elaborate schemes and scenarios to have the exact outcome she wanted, the outcome that best suited her needs. She was a master manipulator. She never used that skill on the Holmes family she respected them all too much. She also doubted that she could. So as a child she had taken into breaking into their home at night. Mrs. Holmes knew she was doing this but never stopped it or said anything to her and Sherlock. Mrs. Holmes could see and sense the sadness in this little girl. She had been in and out of foster homes till she was adopted by the Harris family. She wasn't ill behaved she was just a somber and off putting child. She was difficult in the sense that she was too smart for her own good which made her harder to manage. But the Harris' were patient people who were older than average parents of children her age when they decided to make her a legal member of their family. At the urging of her case worker and several mental health experts they advised the Harris' to try and find a school that would be better suited for her needs and skills. That is where she met Sherlock and eventually Mycroft, a school for exceptionally gifted children. The parents of these special children thought it would be good to try and socialize them with others like themselves. Sarah had no interest in other children nor did Sherlock till they met one another. She was a quiet child and when not reading you could often find her just sitting in her room thinking. Her parents would have to remind her to eat, turn a light on, or even go to the bathroom. This behavior still lingered and to this day she often would come out of her trance like state unaware how long she had been immobile or how many days had passed. As an adult she came to realize it was this more than anything else that really upset her foster parents. How could a child be so still, say so little, know so much, and be so aware? She knew now that she had never really been a child. She didn't have parents and no one ever taught her how to simply play and imagine. Sherlock did though; Sherlock changed her as much as she changed him. So she would sleep on his bedroom floor, the floor of the Holmes residence where she felt accepted, understood, and whole. Neither of them were children anymore when Mycroft had made his proposal. Sarah and Sherlock had become young adults. They had been teased over the years for being so close and of opposite genders. Most people assumed that something was bound to happen or had happened romantically between the two of them already. It had not though. To even entertain that idea they would have had to think of it first. These two adults were as sexually inexperienced as when they had first met out on the school yard at ages 9 and 10. So when she climbed into his bed there was no intent there. Sherlock had been awake the second she touched his window sill. He was waiting to see what she might do next. It had been years since the strange neighbor girl first crawled through his window. If he had been a poetic man he would have been able to tell you that was the moment he knew she was more than just a friend, she was a kindred spirit and it endeared her to him forever. Neither of them knew how lonely they had been until they had met the other. He had never asked why she slept on his bedroom floor because he was afraid it would embarrass her and she might stop. He waited breathing steadily to simulate sleep as she removed her shoes and coat. She was refusing to let herself think. For the first time in her life she just didn't want to think. It was warm in the Holmes house and she was flustered from the evening's events. She stripped down to a black tank undershirt and her simple cotton black underwear. Sherlock himself was in just light blue linen drawstring pyjamas bottoms. Neither of them batted an eye to this either. They had gone on vacations together and seen each other in their swim wear and after many years of companionship they had become very comfortable with one another. What she did next was the first variable of that night. He had turned to face the wall before she had come through the window. He had not seen her take most of her clothing off and pull her long red hair into a pony tail off her neck. She was wearing the perfume he had gotten her this past Christmas though and he could smell her. Harris always gave him excellent presents, nothing gaudy or impractical. She gave him shaving kits, lab equipment, scalpels, even dozens of bottle of toothpaste one year. He always seemed to forget to buy it when he would finally get around to the shopping. He hadn't had to buy it since and that was going on two years ago now. He would normally choose a book for her. The year before Mycroft had gotten her a first edition of her favorite book Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. It was in French but she could read French, Latin, Spanish, Russian, Swedish, Chinese, and Japanese. She could read and speak them all fluently along with many more languages and dialects as well. Sherlock was having a small crisis about his gift for her this particular year. He could not give her a book after the last year. Mycroft's gift had annoyed him for some reason that he could not articulate. Especially when he had compared it to the paperback edition of Dante's Inferno he had bought for her from a little corner shop in London that year. So he wanted something completely different and knew that meant he was going to need help. So he asked his Mum, the only other female he knew. He would tell you that he and his mother picked it out together. Mrs. Holmes was a clever woman though; she had to be with the brood she was raising. Sherlock alone picked out that scent for Harris. The motion of lifting the thin blanket sent another wave of her perfume mixed with sweat over him. She crawled in beside him, something she had never done before. Something she didn't even realize she was doing now. He was still turned away from her but could feel her body against his bare back. Then a sound he had never heard her make before made his body stiffen and eyes widen in alarm. She was crying. Harris had never cried, not once the whole time he had ever known her. He knew she was trying to do so quietly. She was too. If he had been asleep it wouldn't have even woken him. He knew she was must have been very upset about something since she didn't even notice that she had gone from sobbing almost silently into his back to sobbing loudly and openly into his bare chest. He had turned to face her and wrapped his arms around her slight frame. Something he had never done before. He was right, she hadn't noticed. When she did however, as the unfamiliar sensation of crying was starting to ebb and she felt more herself, she immediately recoiled from him. This action hurt Sherlock. Not physically, it hurt somewhere deep down inside of himself. This shocked him as much as her realizing he was awake and he let her go instantly. They were silent for a moment looking intensely into each others eyes. She as usual was the first to look away. "Sherlock, I am sorry. I know I shouldn't have I just didn't know where else to go…" she was sitting up now her feet dangling over the side of his bed. She was regaining her composure and it was somehow disappointing to Sherlock. "I wasn't even thinking about coming here. I don't know how I even ended up…." "In my bed" Sherlock said. Now he wasn't thinking. She cut him a sideways glance and he knew what he had said to hurt her. She was already up grabbing her coat and shoes. She didn't even bother putting her clothes back on, she had already thrown them out the window onto the ground where she would dress in the dark after she climbed down the tree. "Don't, come on now it was a joke." He was standing now and mentally preparing to do anything to stop her from leaving. "It wasn't funny Sherlock." She hadn't wanted to leave. She wanted to stay there and listen to his steady constant breathing as he slept. Like she used to when they had been children. "Tell me what is wrong then? We have never been known to keep secrets from one another; it would be pointless to try." These two had been keeping secrets from one another and even from themselves since they had first met. "I don't know why it has gotten me into such a state. It's stupid. After all he didn't really propose he just mentioned it as a possible option for our, my future." Normally Sherlock would have been steps ahead of what anyone in the conversation was saying. Someone had proposed to her? Who did she know that would be in a position to even ask her that? What had she been doing? Who was she with? Was there a life of hers he did not know about? He remembered being slightly annoyed that she had chosen to have a late dinner with his brother that evening instead of eating with him. She had cracked a smile and even asked if he was jealous when he pouted about it as they were getting ready to leave. After all they lived a stones throw from each other in the city and had almost every meal together when they both remembered to eat. So she wanted different company and Mycroft had offered. She had options this evening, eat in with Sherlock or go out with Mycroft. "Mentioned it as a possible option…." Harris had said His head swam. When he was in control again he realized he was sitting on the bed. His arms were tense his fingers were digging into the edge. He vaguely heard her voice in the distance ask him "What's wrong?" What was wrong was that his whole world was wrong. Everything he thought he had known had come crashing down. If he had told her that she would have understood. It was how she felt when Mycroft had suggested they be married one day. For people who were aware of everything and everyone else around them they were completely unaware of their own feelings. Mycroft's little idea had made them think about and face something they had never wanted to acknowledge before. They loved one another. They had both always taken it for granted, that they were alone in their little world. They could have gone on like that forever and would have been content, never saying it never expressing it more than by simply being in each others lives. They had been above all that custom and tradition. They had focused on everything but personal matters because as they realized now it had all been settled in their minds. From that first day in the school yard till this moment they had been in a relationship and never even knew it. The scariest part was that it felt natural. He loving her, and her loving him came as easy to them as breathing. None of this was said between the two of them. But knowledge learned cannot be unlearned. Especially not for these two particular people. A chill in the air crept between them. She had gone quiet as did he. They were Adam and Eve, knowledge and self awareness had just cast them out of the garden. That was the moment they left childhood behind completely. There had always been a bit of sibling rivalry between him and Mycroft. The two had, on more the one occasion, when they were younger gotten into scuffles. Sherlock was larger and stronger then Mycroft so he could over power him easily enough once, and if, he could get his hands on him. Mycroft was a smart and cunning fighter and could hold his own rather well if needed. They had not had a physical fight in years. Sherlock was thinking of changing that now that Mycroft was trying to come between them. He had been thinking of at least four different ways to break his brothers' arm when he heard her voice. It sounded different to him now, clearer, sweeter, and calming. "Sherlock… Sherlock… you've resolved to do something. I hope it isn't to harm him in anyway. I could not bear it Sherlock." She could not bear it? She had concern for him, concern for Mycroft. "You are all special to me." He did not want to hear this. He hated every moment of this. He felt there was no use for jealousy in the world so he had never felt any himself or at least realized that was what he was feeling. His rivalry with his brother was due more to their competitive nature. He was jealous now though, jealous that he was not the only person in her heart like she was for him. He cared for his family well enough. He was thankful for all they had given him through heredity and their support. He had not chosen them though. He had chosen her, and he thought she had chosen him. He doubted it now. He had never had a need or felt these emotions before and he could feel it all piling up inside himself. He was trying to keep his composure. Not many people would have been able to notice the slight changes in his facial expression as he tried to wade his way through unfamiliar waters in his own mind and heart. She could see it though. He was hurt by something, something she had said or done. She almost reached out to him then stopped. They barely ever touched. She had been so distraught before she didn't even realize he had held her. He had held her when she cried and she had recoiled at his touch. That was her instinct. "Have I upset you?" she asked so firm and calmly that it shook Sherlock back into the moment. That was a loaded question. She had not meant to but yes, she had hurt him. He had seen her in pain and acted while she had hesitated. She stood very still slightly out of his eye sight and in the shadows of his darkened room. "Sherlock?" she stepped towards him slowly. When he finally raised his head she was standing there in front of him. Her hair had become tangled when she pulled away from him. He had not seen her let it down again. She had always kept her hair very long. It fell past her shoulders and down her back ending finally at her waist. She often wore it up so he never fully understood why she had never just gone and cut it all off. That moment looking at her he thought it so beautiful of course she could never stand to part with even a single strand of it. The moon was bright outside his window. Her ghost white skin was illuminated in its light. She looked like she had been carved from alabaster stone and he found himself suddenly wondering if he reached out and touched her skin would it feel smooth like river rocks? She was short enough and he was tall enough that their faces nearly met though she was standing and he was sitting. If he could have seen himself he would have seen the same moon, the same light, playing its same tricks with his skin. His clear vivid eyes glowed hauntingly seeming to soak up every bit of light in the room. His raven coloured loose curls shined almost blue in the moon glow. He had grown into a handsome young man and her into a beautiful young woman. With this new knowledge, these new eyes they looked at one another and saw each other truly for the first time. Suddenly both were keenly aware they were almost completely naked. He observed where her body curved and his did not while she took in how broad his chest had become. They were both blushing and for a second each damned themselves for being so pale there was no way to hide it. Modesty had never been an issue between them till now. She would not cover herself and neither would he. That would confirm what they were both thinking. "Sarah…" he said sadly. She had not heard him say her name in over a decade. It broke her heart to hear him say it now. "No please don't Sherlock. Not tonight, not after Mycroft. Don't spoil what is left." It had all changed when he said her name though. "Do you want him Sarah? Do you want to marry him?" he could think calmly and clearly if he didn't look at her. "I had never given it any consideration before. I've never given much thought to matters of the heart." "I cannot believe that." He was flat. "Why? Because I am a girl? We fill our heads with silly little things like gowns, and flower arrangements. You know me Sherlock." She had decided to sit next to him. She was aware he was looking everywhere but at her. "Why do you think I was so shocked? The closest I have even come to a kiss is with your mum same as you" she joked hoping to bring back some of their ease with one another. "How about you then Mr. Holmes? Ever thought about finding yourself a misses?" "I have seen the books you read. Boy meets girl, they fall in love, looses girl." He was avoiding the question and she would let him for now. She after all had avoided his direct question as well. "You may have seen the books I read but you had never read them. Sherlock if I refused to read books with any sort of romantic subplot I would be stuck reading only instruction manuals and car magazines". She nudged his shoulder with her own playfully. "It isn't my fault that love seems to be a reoccurring theme I didn't write it. But are you surprised? Isn't love and loss all part of the human experience? Don't we all have that in common?" "No" they said in unison now both smiling. "There we go a laugh. Sherlock no matter what happens I will always be here for you." He still could not bring his eyes to meet hers. So he did not see as she took his hand with such a gentle touch he thought it was air coming from the still open window. He had been right, smooth like a river rock "You were the first person I ever met who understood me, accepted me. The first person who made me feel like I wasn't strange and incomplete. I was such a lonely little girl…" her voice had cracked. He decided instantly that the worst sound in the world was her crying and he would never be the reason she made that sound again. He looked at her then. "I was such a lonely little girl…" she continued regaining her composure, "and you gave me a family. I was lucky to have been adopted by Emily and Franklin Harris. They are fine honest hard working people but they are not my people Sherlock. You, your family, this was the kind of family I was meant to grow up in. You are my people. You chose me, and I chose you Sherlock. Whatever that means we chose one another a long time ago." He was staring directly into her eyes now. When they were children he thought they looked like snake skin. Here now in the moonlight he could seem them clearer, intense, powerful, and hypnotic like churning waters on the night sea during a violent storm. "Mycroft is a good man Sherlock. He meant nothing by it. He is as blind to love as we are. He thought it was just a smart idea, a way to get ahead in politics. It never hurts to be part of a power couple" or to have a smart, clever, articulate, beautiful young woman on your arm. When people envied you it gave you power. Sarah on his arm would give him power Sherlock thought. Something about this stirred the anger in him again. He had a small suspicion that his brother may have wanted more than just a peer and equal. The idea of someone else's hands on her was too much for him to bear he had to turn away from her again. Someone else's he had thought. That implied that he had wanted to touch her first which made him question who he thought he had been. He let go of her hand and instantly regretted doing so. She accepted that the moment had passed. She didn't think staying any longer would make anything better. She stood up and was about to duck out his window when she heard him say in the smallest voice this man could make "Please don't go. I had always liked when you slept here" He hadn't known how much he did till that night. He was also worried that if he let her out of his sight this evening for even just a moment she would slip away and be gone from him forever. "No Sherlock." It wasn't enough this time for her to stay. He would have to say something to make her want to stay. She had just spoken so sweetly to him and so out of her character. She had shown her vulnerability and was feeling shame for it now. They were both somehow the most prideful and stubborn people that had each met. "If you were to marry him Sarah I would not hate you. You would be my family officially then. I cannot think of any woman or person for that matter on this earth that I would be more happy and pleased to share a last name with. I would not hate you but I would not be able to smile through your nuptials. I would not be able to be Uncle Sherlock to your children. If those are things you want Sarah he can give them to you. I can't. I can never express to you how much I wish I could but I can't. So I will not begrudge you your happiness if this is what will indeed make you happy. It is your choice Sarah and I know how unfair this is" "You're speaking as if I would marry him" "You should Sarah. Mycroft loves you. I think I may have always known and just ignored it. Perhaps if I had addressed it earlier we wouldn't be here now, or maybe it would have all happened sooner." "I don't love him." I love you. That would have been the whole statement if she had not been too terrified to say it out loud. "I know" and he would have finished with I love you too. He was standing now. She was half his size easily. She looked so small to him suddenly, so fragile. "I know but you could grow to love him. Or you could just simply tolerate him. He could give you a good life." "I don't want that life Sherlock. I told you already I chose my path a long time ago and I know full well what that means." "I want you to have that life. Even if I am too much of a coward to give it to you myself" He pitied himself and it angered her. "Listen to me William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I will decide what life I shall live for myself and by myself. Sherlock the way you feel I feel. We are both far too childish and frightened right now to just say it but Sherlock we both feel it. Tonight opened up a veritable Pandora's Box on our world. Ignorance is bliss but we are no longer ignorant. We feel it, but we don't have to fear it. What have we always said" she was only centimeters from him now and had grown in size thanks to the ferocity with which she spoke. She placed her hand on his heart and his on hers. "This is your heart. And you should never let it rule your head!" She felt it then. She felt his heart skip at her touch and her words. His body had betrayed him. For a brief moment he let his hand stay where her heart was beating steadily under it and he felt disappointed. "I think that is sound advice still. Yes Sherlock you are my heart and the fact I just felt yours falter at my touch I know I am yours. But your heart doesn't rule your head and neither will mine." She was reassuring him that nothing had changed. They were still Sherlock and Harris playing pirates, making up scenarios together where Mycroft gets horribly maimed or worse, playing the cello and violin together for practice and fun, sitting in a room quietly with one another just thinking, or reading books. He curled around some sort of text book and epic novels of tragedy, love, loss, and redemption sprawled across her lap. They were still completely their own person and she, like him, didn't want that to change. He was still doubtful but it was true, you don't have to be afraid. Not when there is someone right next to you just as afraid, just as alone, just as hopeless and lost. So he took her hands into his. Just one of his could have covered both of hers. She was his heart she was right. This petite, clever, cunning, spit fire of a woman with her ginger and honey coloured hair, stormy green eyes, and milk coloured skin was his heart in human form. Just like this tall, dark, domineering, pale, impossible man, with his black curls and eyes the colour of wheat and blue skies was hers. If either of them could believe in things like fate or destiny they would have been that for each other. "You are right. And I am sorry" was all he said before he leaned into her for their first kiss.