The Colour of Light Part VI

by oleanderhoney

After the events at the Pool, Jane and Sherlock try to piece together the remains of their relationship. A short interim in the months following the devastation Moriarty left in his wake.

4. Armistice

A tentative bridge built through phone conversations.

AN: Final Chapter for During! Playing around with an interesting dialogue style, so hopefully you all like it. Be on the look out for the next installment, the ASiB redeux titled: 'Fraud, Scandal, and Farce.' Should be good, and bless you all. xxHoney.

---

"Hello?"

"…Goodnight, Jane."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

-o-

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Sherlock?"

Hesitant.
"Goodnight…Jane."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

-o-

Surprised.
"Jane?"

"Hello."

"You called me."

"I did."
Proud. Warm.

"I…oh."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

"…Goodnight, Jane."

-o-

"Sherlock?"

"…Hello, Jane."

"You haven't called in a while."

"I've been busy."

"Oh. With a case?"

"…No."

"Sherlock…"

Silence.

"Why aren't you taking cases?"

"I don't have time for any of them."

"Well that's a lie if I've ever heard one."

Uncertain.
"I'm not —"
Halting.

"What?"

Silence.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

Reaching, searching, grasping.
"I…goodnight, Jane."
Changing tack.

Silence.

A sigh.
"…Goodnight, Sherlock."

-o-

Worried.
"Sherlock?"

"Jane."

"Everything all right?"

"Of course it is; why do you always ask me that?"

"I guess I'm still getting used to you calling me."

"I've been calling you for weeks, now."

"Yeah but this is the first time you've called me in the middle of the day. So you can see why I might be puzzled."

Fumbling. Deep breath.
"Right. Well. I just called to, er, to…um…"

"Yes?"

"I bought a new toaster. For the flat."

"Oh, you did?"

"Yes."

"Well thank —"

"Goodbye, Jane."

— —

Rueful.
"Bye, I guess."

-o-

Groggy. Clears throat.
"Hel — hello?"

"Hello, Jane."

"Sherlock? It's three in the morning."

"I know. Sorry."

"What do you want?"

"I forgot to say goodnight."

Sleep addled. Swallowing.
"You…you forgot to say…"

Impatient.
"Goodnight, yes Jane, keep up."

"Sorry, but you did just wake me up at three."

"Yes."

Irate.
"Three in the morning, Sherlock!"

Meek.
"…Goodnight, Jane."
A grin.

"You're impossible."

A beat.

"Jane."

"What?"

"You have to say it, Jane."

Rumpled. Fond.
"Augh. Goodnight, Sherlock."

-o-

"Hello?"

"Ah, Jane. I found out how to chemically disincorporate human flesh by using —"

"Oh, Jesus, Sherlock I'm having lunch!"

"I don't see how that's relevant to my experiment —"

"No. It's not. Just…hold on."

{The sound of bare feet on wood. The squeak of a hinge.}

"What are you —?"

Disenchanted.
"Just wait. I was eating a ham sandwich, and I have to throw it away now."

"As I was saying…"

-o-

"Hi, Sherlock."

"Jane. You'll be pleased to know I replaced the electric kettle."

"You…did?"

"Yes. Mrs. Hudson was happy to get her old one back."

Sceptical.
"Uh huh."

"Yep."

"Sherlock. What is all this?"

"What do you mean?"

"First the toaster and now the kettle."

"And? If I recall you're the one who has been hounding me about them."

"Yeah, I know it's just —"

Wary.
"Just…what?"

"Why aren't you taking cases, Sherlock?"

"There aren't any good ones."

"Have you been getting the ones I've sent you?"

Sublimely disinterested.
"Ugh. The ones from…?"

"From my blog, yes. You've got a fan base."

"Don't remind me."

"What about the one with the dog? That sounded interesting."

"Please. That's a two, at most."

Realisation.
"A…two? What's that some type of scale?"

"Yes."

"You invented a scale?"
Snickering.

"Ye – I don't see what's so funny."

"Of course you would invent a scale."

Defensive.
"I find this repetition dull and entirely irrelevant."

"Is it out of ten?"

"Yes."

"Ten being…?"

"Triple homicide locked room murder on a cruise ship."

Amused.
"Specific. And a One being…?"

"The ongoing mystery of whether or not Anderson brushed his teeth that morning."

"Gross."

"It happens more often than you'd think."

"Yeah. Didn't need to know that."

-o-

Annoyed.
"Yes?"

"What about the woman with the missing broach?"

"Please."

"Come on. That's got to be a six, at least."

"Not interested, Jane. Besides, this woman doesn't even have a real case. She's just looking for an excuse to chat me up."

"What — no. How can you tell?"

"Dull. She puts her phone number in her email signature after a quote by Tennyson. If that's not desperate, then I don't know what is. You should be careful who you find on the internet, Jane."

"But —"

— —

"Rude."

-o-

"Hello?"

Frantic.
"Where have you been?"

"What? Sherlock I had —"

"Christ, Jane! You know he's still out there, right? And you insisting on this ridiculous self-imposed exile — do you realise how vulnerable that makes you?"

"Sherlock —"

"For days, I have called you. Weeks. There's a pattern. And suddenly…suddenly…"
Ragged.

"Sherlock! Listen to me for just – just a second, okay?"

Silence.

Then carefully.
"I needed to order a new battery for my phone. The old one is fried."

"Your – your phone?"

"Yes."

Silence.

A heavy breath.

"Damn it, Jane."

"Sherlock —"

Sharp.
"When are you coming home?"

"I don't — Sherlock I'm —"

"Never mind."

— —

"Hello? H — dammit, Sherlock."

-o-

"Sherlock."

Timid.
"Jane. I —"

"Are you just going to hang up on me again?"

"No."

"Really? You mean we're going to talk like actual civilised people?"

Disgruntled breath.

"You're angry."

"Yeah."

"I should apologise."

"Yes. You should."

A pause.

"I'm…sorry…?"

"You don't sound real sure."

"No I am. Really."

Scoff.

"What is all this about, Sherlock?"

"What —"

"Why aren't you taking cases?"

Combative.
"When are you coming home?"

— —

"Jane? Hello? Oh, that really is annoying."

-o-

Coolly.
"Hello?"

"Hello, Jane."

Tense.
"Is there something that you need?"

"I just, er…I…"

"It works both ways, you know."

"Sorry?"

"I don't do too well when I haven't heard from you either."

Searching. Realisation.
"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh.' It's been a week!"

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"Two months."

"Sorry?"

"I'll be back at Baker Street in two more months. Harry's taking a journalism job in New Zealand, and I am watching her flat."

"Why does she need someone to watch her flat?"

"I just —"

"She lives alone! Doesn't have any pets…"

"I can't be in London right now, okay!"

Silence.

Quietly. Pleading.
"Understand. Please understand."

Breath.
"Good. Fine. Two months, then."

"Yeah, so now that you know, you don't have to keep calling. It's fine."

"But —"

"I just…never mind."

Silence.

Breathing. Aching.

"Goodnight, Jane."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

-o-

— —

"Oh, voicemail. Well, this is tedious. Chances are you won't even get this in a timely fashion, and the point will be moot. This is an olive branch, if you will. Which should amuse you because I really don't do this, as you know. I'm in the middle of Tesco's and everything; even I can appreciate the situation. The reason I am calling is because I don't remember the brand of tea you usually get. There are so many choices, what is the point? Just…tea. That's all I'm bloody after — oh hold on, one of the clerks is —"

{Sir you need to leave we are closing.}

"— just a moment; I'm on the phone —"

{Sir, you need to take your items and —}

"YES. All right just —"

— —

"Voicemail again. Do you know how irritating it is to talk to a machine? No, don't answer that. They're kicking me out, the idiots. I didn't have time to find out where they keep the Hobnobs, so my tea will be biscuit-less. It's a tragedy, I hope you're happy. And because you didn't answer I just bought the tea in the red box."

{ITEM NOT SCANNED.}

"If you don't like it then you can go get more when you come back."

{ITEM NOT SCANNED.}

"Hold on…"

{ITEM NOT SCANNED. DO YOU NEED ASSISTANCE?}

"No, I don't bloody need —"

{ITEM NOT SCANNED.}

{Sir, do you want to —?}

"NO. I've got it. How hard can it be to —?"

{ITEM NOT SCANNED. AN ATTENDANT HAS BEEN NOTIFIED TO ASSIST YOU.}

"Damn this infernal —"

{AN ATTENDANT HAS BEEN NOTIFIED TO ASSIST YOU.}

— —

Frustrated sigh.
"I didn't get any tea."

— —

[Save voicemail for 21 days. Y/N?]

[Y]

-o-

Laughing.

"Yes. Ha. Ha."

"Sounds like you went on an adventure at the Tesco's the other day."

"How can you stand it, Jane? It's all so horribly dull. And frustrating."

"Well someone has to get the groceries or we would starve."

"Exactly. That's why you need to come home. All I have at my disposal is Mrs. Husdon's roast."

"Oh, poor baby."

"And no tea!"

"…That's really sad, actually."

"I know."

"All Harry has in her kitchen is this weird Turkish coffee."

"I'm quite fond of Turkish coffee."

"Why don't you drink it, then."

A beat.

"I could."

"You could, what?"

"Come and drink it for you."

"Sherlock, I'm not sure that's —"

"Surrey isn't that far away. I could catch the last train."

"You…no, Sherlock. No."

"Wha – no? Why not?"

Inhalation.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"But —"

Exhalation.

"You can if you tell me why you've stopped taking cases."

Silence.

"Goodnight, Jane."

"Goodnight…Sherlock."

-o-

"Sherlock?"

Tight.
"You didn't answer."

"It's late. I'm sorry I was asleep."

Silence.

A muffled gasp.

"Sherlock?"

Breaths. Quick. In and out.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"You…god, Jane…"
Hyperventilating.

"Listen to me: deep breaths, okay?"

Torn, tattered, air.

"That's it, Sherlock, calm down. Talk to me?"

"Pool…Moriarty…Christ!"

Choking.

"Breathe, Sherlock! In through your nose for eight seconds. And out for four. Do it now."

Trembling.
"Oh, god. It was the pool, the pool Jane!"

"I know. I know, Sherlock, god I'm sorry. Stay with me."

"I don't — I don't get — nightmares, Jane."
Vicious pull of air.

"It's okay."

"No! It's not! I haven't — I haven't dreamt since I was in my twenties. Ow! Damn it."

"What's going on? Did you hurt yourself? Tell me where."

"H – hit the mirror. Didn't realise…"

Steady.
"My kit is in the sitting room on the desk."

"I know."

"Antiseptic, bandages. Keep it dry."

"YES I —"

Silence.

Breathing.

"I should…I should go."

"Sherlock? Wait —"

— —

-o-

— —

"Sherlock, it's Jane. Please answer your phone. I've called four times now. I haven't heard from you. Just…I'm sorry okay? I – I messed up. I've been so…so consumed with my own…shit. I didn't. I haven't considered you in all this. You were there at the pool too. You've been. There. For me and I. Shit. I — please call me."

— —

"Sherlock. It's Jane again. Just calling to check in. Call me back. Please."

— —

"Hi it's me again. I erm…I'm just calling to say goodnight. And — oh!"

— —

"Sherlock?"

"I didn't get to the phone. In time."

"I…oh. Is – is now a good time to talk?"

Noncommittal.
"It's…fine.

"Did you get my messages?"

"Yes…"

"Christ, Sherlock. I'm – I'm sorry. I should have been there I should have —"

"Don't."

Silence.

A sigh, then softly.
"He's unpredictable, Jane. He's backed me in a corner, and that's why I can't take any cases."

"Who?"
Faltering.
"Moriarty?"

"Yes. He…I don't know what he wants. I won't play into his hands again."
Frustrated groan.
"It's the only option, and it's paralysing. But it's the only card I have: Do Nothing. Don't you see? It's too big a risk."

"Maybe…maybe that's what he wants you to do. Is nothing. Like you said: paralyse you."

"The thought had occurred."

"Don't let him win, then!"

"Jane…"

"No, listen! That's what you told me. You told me not to let him win; not to let him get inside my head. Same goes for you. That's how he works. It's more mental than anything."

"And then he blew up a three storey building, Jane!"

"He only did that because he knows you're the only person who can beat him."

Disgusted noise.
"Let the police handle it!"

"That doesn't sound like the Sherlock I know."

Tired.
"Jane —"

"The Sherlock I know wouldn't let some psycho mess with his head."

"Jane."

"The Sherlock I know wouldn't —"

Thunderous.
"I CAN'T LOSE YOU! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Silence.

"I can't —"

Quaver. Stop.

"You won't. Sherlock, you won't."

"You can't know that."

"Yes. I can. I promise you."

Silence.

Weight. Breath.

"When are you coming home?"

A beat.

"Soon."

-o-

"Jane."

"Hi, Sherlock."

"Jane, what are you doing?"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"I've read the blog, Jane. 'The Great Game'? Really?"

"It's an exercise. Part of my therapy. Bella says blogging is good for me; helps me reintegrate into civilian life."

Resigned.
"You should really take it down. What would Lestrade say?"

"I've blacked out all the names and such. And I got his permission to do so, so there."

"No need to sound so smug."

"Have you seen the hit counter? It's through the roof! They love you, Sherlock. My inbox is overflowing with clients who want you to take their cases."

"Well then they shall be severely disappointed when they find out I'm not this action hero you've made me out to be."

"Will you just listen to this one?"

Aggravated sigh.
"Jane I told you —"

"Just listen. You can hang up if you want, but I'm going to tell you about it anyway."

"Jane."

"'Dear Mister Holmes, my aunt Mathilde recently passed away, and they gave me an urn of her ashes. But the thing is, I know human ash, and what they gave me isn't it'."

"Boring."

"Okay how about this one: 'Dear Mister Holmes, I believe my wife is having an affair' —"

"No."

"'Dear Mister Holmes, my colleague and I have this website that explains the true meaning of comic books on account of the fact that people are prone to missing all of the themes' — "

"Oh god."

"Wait! Listen, listen, listen! 'But then the comics all started coming true.'"

Contemplative pause.
"Interesting."

"Right? That's what I'm saying. It's got to be an eight, at least."

"Please. Eight is a bit high for this case."

"Well why don't you judge for yourself?"

A beat. A sigh.

"Come on, Sherlock. Comic books that come to life. It's an eight."

"Where do I get in touch with them?"

Triumphant.
"Hah! Yes, I will tell him to meet you at Speedy's"

"You are not allowed to be this smug when you write this up."

"I will be how ever I want, thank you very much. Now put on some clothes, I know you haven't yet."

-o-

Condescending.
"'The Geek Interpreter'?"

"Well hello to you too."

"Why do these things need a title?"

"They need titles."

"These are just so…hackneyed. You could just number them."

"The title stays! Look, I didn't call for you to criticise my blog. There's another case that sounds interesting. It about a woman who died in her sleep with no visible cause of death. The only thing that's visible is these weird speckles all over her body according to the Guildford police."

"Guildford…that's in Surrey?"

"Yes."

"I'll take the next train in."

"Great. I'll pick you up from the station."

-o-

"Hello?"

"Do people really read your blog?"

"Sherlock…now's not a good time —"

{Crash.}

"Because I don't understand how anyone could take this as stimulating literature."

"Shit."

{The sound of water rushing.}

"Even your titles are uninventive. 'The Speckled Blonde?' That's the best you could come up with?"

"Don't knock my blog. Like I said that's where all of our clients come from."

Indignant.
"I do still have a website."

"Yeah, in which you enumerate on two hundred and forty types of tobacco ash. No one is reading your website."

{Smoke alarm.}

"Jane?"

"Dammit!"

"Are you trying to cook, Jane?"

"I have to call you back."

"It's two hundred and forty-three, Jane!"

— —

-o-

"Jane?"
Clears throat.

"Were you sleeping?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry, I'll just —"

"No, no, it's fine. I'm awake."

Tremor. Hitched breath.

"Jane? What's the matter?"

"Just…stay on the line with me?"

"…Okay."

Silence.

"Sherlock?"

Silence.

Whispered.
"I want to come home."

-o-

— —

Jane. Where are you? Call me back.

— —

Jane. This is urgent. Call. Me.

Strident.
"Where have you been? I've been calling!"

"I know I'm sorry I didn't have time. I did text though."

"Time? What do you mean you didn't have time?"

"Well I was going to tell you —"

"A Ten, Jane!"

"Wait, what?"

"A. TEN. Lestrade has a Ten for us."

A beat.

Excited.
"You mean…?"

"Triple homicide locked room. On a cruise ship."

"No!"

"The Tilly Briggs Cruise Liner!"

"Well isn't that something. Now I don't know what to get you for Christmas."

"Yes and then we —"
Pause. Backpedal.
"I mean if you're amenable…to er. You'd have to come back to London, and, well…"

Laughing.

"What? If you don't want to go then all you have to do is —"

"Shut up you berk. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"What?"

A beat.

"Look out the window."