Once again I haven't the emotional energy to tackle 'The Fall' yet, so here is some more light-heartedness, (well in comparison to the finale anyway). This is set right at the end of 'The Hound' and again is a bit of a stand-alone missing scene from the deep dark places of my now Sherlock-starved brain.
The light from the moor shines in through our small window, casting a white split between the two beds in the tiny room. For once, I am awake as he sleeps. He had been so wired since we got here that I take a second to bask in the unusual silence. I have, however always been a little perturbed by Sherlock sleeping; it feels like the calm before a storm.
I take in his dark curls splayed out across the hard grey pillow. His long slender body casting the bed sheets into beautiful stone statues. Sometimes I have to resist the urge to check that he is still breathing. For when he sleeps, it is as if something unnatural bares down upon us all.
I'm clearly in trouble and have known it for a while now. This infuriating man will not leave my consciousness. When the curtains of Baker Street are pulled, we reach the edges of ourselves and begin to merge. But it is always with a strange caution that will not leave his side. He stops it cold or I believe I imagined it entirely. Either way, we are always left with the ghost of it in the air. I can't walk away; can never conceive of ever walking away and so keep up the pretence. He had said that he didn't 'have friends' and then apologised in his own 'Sherlock' way this morning. But deep down I knew he was right. There was no word for what we were, yet the ambiguity hits me badly and I find myself angry at the smallest presumption made of us by the media, Lestrade and anyone else who cares to poke their noses in. And so we continue hovering above something immense, about to free fall in and both so very, very aware of it.
Just when I fear I may be in a grave yard of sorts, I hear the light sound of consciousness that pulls at him through his dreams. I believe they are the harmless inevitabilities of his own unique brand of sleep and so leave him to his unnervingly peaceful dreams and attend to my own illusive sleep.
Sorry I couldn't give you boys a double.
The landlord had given us a twin room along with his 'apologies'. I didn't have the energy to correct him as I usually made a point of doing. It hadn't been worth the effort. Besides, we'd already discussed sharing a room on the journey down here for financial reasons. Honestly, I don't know what we do with our money. It's almost as if it is being siphoned out from under our noses. I doubt Sherlock would notice if it was. He considers such housekeeping matters my job and therefore 'dull'. As it was we had managed not to actually 'share' it until this evening, our argument had seen to that.
My attention is drawn back towards my friend in the other bed as he starts to thrash a little and utter a few nonsensical words into the silence between us. Just when I think it may settle, a shout steeped in panic rips through the dark making me jump. This time it's real words that stab at my memory of earlier that night.
"No. …It's not you… Not yet."
"Sherlock are you alight?" I receive no answer and so creep over, fully prepared to scold him for keeping me awake. But I am met with the sound of heavy breathing and a sheen of sweat across his pale forehead; his usual precision-guided hands shaking as they pull at the sheets around him in agitation. He looks petrified.
He of course had been correct, the noxious agent had unmistakably been in the gas-like fog dispersed in 'trial' at the Hollow. This had been his second dose of it. His previous reaction the evening before as we had sat affront the cosy fireplace had seen his anxiety levels reach a crisis point I'd never known existed in my friend. This evening he had again been visibly shaken by the truth that had appeared to him, as we all had. But fear was such an alien notion to Sherlock that he desperately mourned the control that it stripped him of and therefore made the world just that little more vulnerable in my eyes.
"Sherlock, wake up," I say a little louder and bring hesitant hands up to his face to gauge his temperature, then automatically to the right to check his pulse. I expect him to wake immediately at my touch and scorn my worry, but instead he leans into the cool of my palm. His pulse is highly erratic. As I suspected the chemical stimulants were leaving their mark more prominently this evening, prompting his body to work through the surplus adrenaline.
"No. Not John."
The mention of my name upon his nightmarish lips unnerves me considerably and I sit on the side of his bed and switch on the small table lamp which jerks him awake. He registers my presence immediately and with lightening reflexes grabs the wrists that have made to remove the sheets that were binding his upper body. For a second we say nothing as silver eyes sweep over my features, as he reassures himself that it is indeed me and not the person haunting his dreams. Eventually his breathing slows a little and with embarrassment removes his hands from my now marked wrists.
"What the hell was that about?" I ask him softly.
"It was him John."
"What was who? You were dreaming Sherlock."
"No. Tonight at the hollow, with the exposure of the gas. I saw him. Moriarty. He's coming for me John." He looks sad to an 'insider' such as myself and rubs his eyes in a sleepy frustration. "He has…..…plans."
"How can you know that?"- I say uneasily. "No one has seen anything of him for a long while now Sherlock, you heard you brother."
"Don't be dull. What he's planning will need time." He takes stock of his own thoughts and I make to move from his side. He then turns to me with genuine fear in his eyes, grabbing my arms once again in a grip that chills me to the bone. "Whatever he does John. Whatever he has planned. Promise me he'll never succeed in dividing us, no matter what it makes me do."
"What are you talking about?"
"Just say it."
"Yes Sherlock, no matter what. You know I will follow you until the end. Now, please calm down."
He rests back into the pillow with some kind of relief, catching his breath but not releasing my arms straight away. "God, I need to get out of this room John. We need some fresh air". I looked at my watch; 02.30 am. I'd usually say yes to a walk, but he could see I was doubtful. I knew that he'd still go if I didn't and that there would be no chance of me sleeping whilst he wondered around the dark moor on his own. He of course could read all of this upon my features and so I give in.
I hastily don my clothes from earlier, struggling to keep up with Sherlock and just about managing to get my shoes on in time to follow him out through the bar. We both pull coats about our necks as the chilly Devonshire night wind nips at our extremities. I watch the tension ebb away from my friend slightly ahead of me as he clocks something upon the breast of the hill to our right. The flashing lights were once more sparking away creating all manner of nonsensical mores code and I shudder at the memory of my finding the local 'copping off' site.
"This way," he says to me. "I had forgotten about our mysterious light code, although I know this wouldn't have had any bearing on the time I took to solve this case. Really John, would it have killed you to have followed up one clue?"
I halt for a second, supressing the urge to punch him. "There's nothing there Sherlock."
"U.M.Q.U.R.A," he began to chant methodically. What could it possibly mean? U.M.Q.U.R.A." Before I could stop him he had marched on ahead into the darkness. "Come along John. This was your level of enquiry and you haven't completed it."
"Listen to the tone in my voice Sherlock. I really don't think us of all people should be investigating that up there. Leave it to the Police, believe me."
"Look. The flashes, they're getting faster John." – He shouts with delight.
"Yes I can see that Sherlock, I can also see the two police cars over to the left with their lights about to bring this party to an end."
He doesn't stop his marching. "Oh God. Will you come back down here Sherlock? I am not getting caught up there. Do you know what yesterday's papers called us? 'The Crime Fighting Couple'. We have to be more careful."
"What are you rambling on about man?"
He takes a torch out of nowhere and begins to shine it through the car windscreens. Two men start to wind down their windows, looking about for the torch based intrusion and we disturb another two around behind a van.
"So, gay night on a Tuesday then it seems. Brilliant Sherlock, have you quite finished deducing the bloody obvious yet, or do you really need me to clarify?" Just as I finish my tirade, an eye piercing floodlight sprays the moor; illuminating wide eyes and flushing out a few couples that had ventured into bushes.
"Right Gentleman", says the jaded faceless tannoy that makes my ears ring. "We've had some complaints from the land owners. All of you stay where you are, thank you very much and do make sure everything's…'tucked in' as it were; the Governor is on this evening and he does like a neat round up." The seasoned individuals around us emanate a small groan and I turn to find Sherlock tucked in behind me.
"What do we do now?" –I ask.
One of the officers notices our movement. "I think we'll start with you two."
"Ah well you see officer, we were only here taking a walk," Sherlock says stepping out from behind me. "We've been investigating a case. You may have heard of me my name is…."
"A likely story. Now come on, you and your boyfriend in the back of the van. No fuss."
"Don't be ridiculous. Anyone worth their salt in the force would be able to tell from our shoes and my left ear that we have just stumbled into this scene oblivious to the …intended situation."
"Sherlock?" -my best warning voice.
"Anyone 'worth their salt' as you say would notice that you have no socks on and your friend's shirt is untucked. In the van."- says the rather portly officer.
"How ridiculous."
"Are you calling me stupid?"
"DON'T answer that Sherlock."
He of course did answer that, which resulted in a rather embarrassing phone call to Lestrade from a small town police station an hour later.
"Well!" says the Inspector, looking at his watch and signing the relevant paperwork needed to check us out. "This isn't exactly what I thought you two were up to this evening, but each to their own. If you know what I mean?" There's a playful tone in his voice and he watches me rub my tired eyes. Sometimes Sherlock was just too much for even me to handle.
"Don't worry John, this will go no further, I've seen to that."
"There's nothing to go further." I say angrily.
"There really isn't the need to explain, I didn't have nearly enough of a night cap for that. He doesn't half get you into some scrapes though. Is it worth it John? He's driven away every girlfriend you've had in the last 18 months."
"He's not driven anyone away," I say angrily.
"Right okay, I'm sorry I've said too much. Shall we go and brake out the Master then?"
Sherlock refuses the lift back to the Inn from Lestrade on behalf of both if us, stating that we never did get our intended walk. He tells us he'll meet us back at the bar. I feel Sherlock's eyes on me as he slows deliberately to take my pace. A rarity.
"You're angry," he says quietly. "Does it bother you that much John, what people think of you. What they perceive us to be 'doing' or 'not doing'?"
I say it without thinking. "It bothers me what people think of you Sherlock."
"Why?"
"How about you answer a question for me for once. Why did you say the things you did to Sarah and Jeanette, to all of them? Why do you always drive them away? And another thing; why do you never correct anyone when they assume we're…..together."
He stops my angry marching with a grip upon my arm and it jolts something deep within me; grey eyes reading as they did when I woke him just a few hours ago. I hate it when I am observed like a cold hard test tube.
"Interesting."
"What's so bloody interesting?"
"I see Lestrade finally conveyed his thoughts to you. He's been dying to get that in for ages."
"I can think for myself thank you."
"Believe me I know." He doesn't remove his hand, instead he closes the gap between us shutting out the chilly breeze. "Would it be that bad John Watson? If what they thought was happening, was in fact happening."
Time slows a fraction and I can feel the warmth emanate from his closeness. No one would ever believe me if I told them he was warm blooded.
"When I said I didn't have friends John, I meant it. You are…..I have no classification for what you are."
We're here again then. I exhale loudly and run a hand through my hair in frustration. "What are you asking of me Sherlock? I never know. You're never clear when it comes to this."
"Because he's watching John. He has eyes in London I know it." –He whispers, leaning in as his cheek brushes mine gently. "It makes for more ammunition when he decides to come for me. I can't risk that. I won't risk my blogger."
"I don't care." I say breathlessly, slowly losing the battle against the force pulling me in.
"I do. I'd never allow it."
This was excruciating. I was sick of the pretence held up for so long. My hand closes around the one that still lies upon my wrist and his lips start to trace their path to mine.
"But we're not in London now."
"No John. How very observant you are."
We stay hidden by the dark path for a few minutes, just allowing ourselves the closeness. The sun makes its way across the moor; creeping slowly as if it knows our secret and wishes us time. How ridiculous this situation is, batting away the truth with a newspaper like a pesky fly all because of the threat of one man. One man. What could he do? Really?