I feel terrible for updating the last chapter so late, I'm finished this one super fast! Please forgive me now?
Thank you to everyone who favourited, reviewed and alerted this story!
Here you get listen to Sherlock be all Sherlock-y! Enjoy!
Sherlock POV
John was a peculiar sort. Peculiar enough for me to invite not only to live with me after just one evening, but also invite him to help me with a case. That never happened. The only time anyone helped me was when Lestrade insisted to be included. Sometimes not even when that happened. I worked alone. Until this Doctor came around at least.
I believed that there were two possibilities for why I did these irrational things. One was that I had a brain tumor, but since I've had no other symptoms of being sick I could probably rule that out. The other was that maybe I was lonely. Usually I would just laugh and brush the idea off, but I have been alone, and while I have Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and my brother (even if I wish I didn't), none of them were actually able to relate to me, or keep up a intelligent conversation. Some might argue that Mycroft could, but I beg to differ.
Risking sounding like an adolescent hipster, no one understands me. While John did not understand me, he is the only one in a long time that could follow my train of thought at all. I also felt no urge to throttle him when he spoke like I did with the majority of other people. I wanted to share with him what I found in the case, I wanted for him to stay with me in my flat that I could have afforded by myself, all because I wanted him around.
It was a surprise such a man could be related to Anderson. John must take after his mother.
Instead of thinking about the case, I organized what I knew about John and what I wanted to know into folders. One of the things that was bothering me, why did he call Anderson Dim? I understood it was a reference to his intelligence, but that wasn't very clever, and John was clever, so it had to be something else.
I would have to ask John when he got back from fetching his things so my curiosity would be satisfied. Until then I would have to keep myself thinking about something else so that I don't obsess over this. I have a very obsessive personality.
My thoughts wandered to early this morning, when John was asking me what I was thinking about and I snapped. I'm usually more in control of my emotions, but I didn't want him to know that I was not thinking about the case all night, instead I was thinking about him. I was thinking about why I wanted him there, and how I'd come to the conclusion that I was lonely. I couldn't tell him that.
Of course, to make matters worse he was just in his pants. He was standing in front of me almost naked. Usually nakedness didn't alarm me, it was just a body, and I never felt anything towards any of them. But for some reason when I saw John's bare torso, his wounded shoulder and just that body so close to mine was enough to make my hands start to sweat with nervousness and embarrassment. I was lucky I have never been a blusher, because if I was, my pale skin would have been rosy. My reaction was so uncalled for. I had no reason to be embarrassed, and nerves seem completely out of place. John shouldn't make me nervous. I just figured out that he was one of the few people in the world I could stand having around me, why should I be nervous. I was so unfamiliar with these emotions, so it was difficult for me to pinpoint why I felt them.
I had experience another sudden emotion yesterday when I was first inviting John to live with me. I listed off my bad traits, and he immediately followed with things I would have to deal with if he lived with me. I thought nothing of it at first, seeing how I had no feelings of contempt towards the homosexual community, and him have a psychosomatic limp made him so much more interesting. I continued to think nothing of it until he came to the last point of him having sexual partners. I wasn't sure if it was just the mention of sex, even though that would make absolutely no sense, but I felt a sudden peak of anger. I did not want him to have these relations. It was possible because I just didn't want coitus happening in the play I lived, but I didn't understand why I was feeling anger instead of disgust over that.
I have never understood emotions, not even my own.
But because of the strange feeling I got over his sexual activities I knew I would have to make sure that no partner of John's made it into the flat. I would definitely be what the teens called a 'cockblock'. I wasn't sure how this would work if he went to his date's house, but I'm Sherlock Holmes, I'll think of something. It was just taking me a bit longer because this area was not one I was very familiar with.
"Hmmmm…" I hummed to myself, the sound filling the empty flat. I didn't like the idea of being alone in the flat anymore. Even though it was just one night, and I barely even saw John, I was now use to there being someone else in the flat. I was very good at adapting… Well adapting to things I agree with.
Not only was the silence unsettling, even if it was always silent, but if John wasn't here I couldn't go see Lestrade. I said I would be here when he got back and we could go together, but I guess my calculations were a bit off because he was taking much longer than I had thought he would. So I was bored! I was tempted to just leave without him, as I would with anyone else, but for an unknown reason I couldn't make myself. I just kept picturing how disappointed he would be coming home to an empty flat. Or maybe he would be angry, angry enough to leave. I couldn't handle either of those reactions.
My loyalty regarding this one promise didn't stop me from being jittery. I have long been showered and dressed and I know was attempting to find a comfortable position on the couch. In my anxious state I couldn't find one, because all I wanted to do was jump off the couch and meet Lestrade. I needed to know what Rachel meant. I needed to know. I could solve the case from just knowing what Rachel meant.
"Hey, Sherlock, sorry for how long that took," John announced when he finally arrived.
"Finally," I breathed, annoyed, but, strangely, not at John.
"I said I was sorry, but I have a good excuse. I think I was just kidnapped by a man that calls himself your friend."
"My friend?" I repeated, not sure if I heard him correctly.
"Well, he also said arch-nemesis."
"Oh." That made more sense.
"His name was Mycroft," John continued.
Of course, it was my brother. I shot up from my horizontal position on the couch. "What did that bastard say to you?" The idea of Mycroft talking to John made me sick. Did he offer him money to spy on me? Did he want him to leave me?
"Well at first he said he had a proposition," See? Mycroft doesn't like me have any fun. "But we didn't get into it because I quickly figured out that he wants to shag Lestrade. "
"Well that's obvious. So he didn't offer you money?" Strange of my brother to just let him leave like that.
"I just told him I would put a good word in with Greg and then left. Didn't hear what he had to offer."
"So no money for spying on me?"
"No offence, but if he offered me money to spy on you, I would probably do it…" John gave me a small guilty smile. "I would at least split the profit with you."
That comment forced a bubble of laugher out of my throat. I think I told asked Lestrade why he didn't take the money Mycroft offered him and split it with me. Lestrade didn't take the money at all, but still agreed to do whatever Mycroft wanted. If that wasn't love, I didn't know what love is… Probably the latter.
"It's fine, let's just go. I've been stuck here waiting for you for the past hour," I stood up, grabbing my coat from the back of the couch. It had only been an hour since John left, but it felt like eternity.
John left his two cases by the door, and moved so I could lead us out of the flat to the street where I flagged down a cab. One the way he told me about how Mycroft looked like Mary Poppins with his umbrella. He then proceeded to be shocked when I admitted to not knowing who Mary Poppins is and saying we would watch it together. I now knew it was a movie, possibly a television series.
Finally, it was my chance to talk. "John, why do you call Anderson Dim?" I asked, hoping it was something worth waiting for.
"Well his first name is Dominic," I didn't know that. I never wanted to know, but if I was to find out, I was hoping it would be Sylvia or Dick. "Everyone called him Dom when he was younger, but because he's an idiot, I called him Dim. His face would go so red when I would call him that in front of his friends. He would try to beat me up, but that never worked out. I might be shorter, but I'm not weak." I knew he wasn't weak. I could tell that by his arms, and his chest, and his ability to stay around Anderson for long periods of time.
"Well that was very anticlimactic." I sighed before taking out my phone and shooting a message to Lestrade saying we'd be there in just a couple minutes.
"When I was ten I thought I was very witty," John defended himself as we stepped out of the cab. He followed me into the building, hobbling with his cane. I would have to get rid of that thing; it would get in the way.
I began to devise a plan while we made our way to Lestrade's office, where he sat, waiting for us with a doughnut. "Took you long enough," The Detective Inspector mumbled through a mouth full of pastry.
"Sorry about that, mate, I had to get my stuff from Dim's," John apologized, taking a seat in one of the chairs provided. I elected to stay standing.
"You finally found a place to stay?" Lestrade swallowed, talking more clearly now.
"Yeah, with Sherlock," John's head tipped towards me.
"You're kidding?" Lestrade asked, surprised by the thought of someone rooming with me. I took a little offence, and John seemed to notice it on my face, even though I tried to cover it.
"No, I'm not kidding. Sherlock invited me, and I would prefer you didn't act like it's so surprising that Sherlock wanted me to room with him," He seemed to be defending me in a roundabout way that implied that he was the one that was hurt by what Lestrade said.
"I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just saying, you're solving crimes together after meeting each other yesterday, and now you're roomies. A little fast isn't it?"
John was all smiles again. "No worries mate." So John wasn't one to hold a grudge. "You know how I am in relationships, I practically U-Haul after the first day… And this time I did." He laughed at some sort of joke that I didn't understand. What I did pick up was that he said we were in a relationship. What did he mean?
"Relationship, John?" Lestrade rose as eyebrow.
"I'm just joking. We're just friends. That's all."
Friends. He called me his friend after one night. I didn't even know if Lestrade called me a friend and I've known him for seven years. It was strange to have a friend.
Clearing my throat, I brought their attention to me. "Sorry if I'm interrupting, but I wouldn't mind knowing what Rachel means now."
Lestrade sobered. "We found out that Rachel was the woman's child, but the baby was a still born."
"Seems like a pretty decent thing to carve into the floor." John commented.
I couldn't believe he couldn't see it. "Why would she write the name of her stillborn child into the floor? That's stupid."
"Sherlock!" John scolded me, like Mummy would have.
"It's true. This woman was smart; she wouldn't just right anything into the floor with the last of her strength… Now what does she mean?" I shouted the end, and began to pace, only stopping in front of John.
"What would the last thing you would think before you died be?" I asked him.
"Please God, let me live?" He offered.
"No, no, think about it. Really think!" I urged, my hands coming to rest on his shoulders. My mind, for an unfathomable reason, flicked away from the case for a moment and instead thought about how solid and… nice, he felt under my hands. Almost immediately after I switched back to the case.
"I don't have to," his gaze dropped to where my hand rested on his shoulder. Oh… Oh… Right.
"I'm sorry, but this woman was clever, so are you, but she was really clever, so what did she do with her last bit of strength?" I was just asking myself now; no one else seemed to want to help me. "It's a clue, a clue to who her killer is. Come John, we can leave now." I spun on my heels, releasing John, and made my way to the door. I was only stopped by John.
"Sherlock, don't you have something you want to tell Lestrade?" He was acting just like Mummy now.
"No," I replied defiantly. It was my case.
"Sherlock, either you do it now, or I do."
"Fine, fine, we found her suitcase."
"That's evidence, our evidence!" Lestrade was really just pretending to be angry; he knew I would have seen it anyway. "You're withholding evidence."
"What are going to do? Arrest me?" I just rolled my eyes. "I wouldn't be in there more than a couple minutes, and you know why."
"Mycroft," Lestrade growled. Yes, as much I disliked my brother, he came in handy sometimes.
"Oh, yeah, I meant to mention to you that I met him." John told Lestrade.
Why did they have to have this conversation now? I wanted to leave.
"Did you?" Lestrade's interest seemed to have peaked. Gross.
"Yeah, he said he was your friend. He's cute, isn't he?" Again gro- Wait… John thought Mycroft was cute?
I really didn't like that.
"I don't really think he's your type." Lestrade was trying to persuade him otherwise. Yes, Lestrade, keep going.
"Oh, I think he's exactly my type. He's cute, rich, and connected, just what I like in a man." I wanted to shout that because of relations I was rich too.
"I don't even think he's gay John," Lestrade still tried.
"We'll see…" John trailed off, turning and walking out of the office.
"Send one of your least annoying officers to pick up the case." I told the now peeved looking Detective Inspector before following my friend.
Once we were in a cab on our way back to the flat I decided to bring up some of the things that were said in the office.
"Do you really think Mycroft's good looking? Are you really attracted to him?"
"Oh God no," John chuckled. Those few words lifted a weight off my back… Because… well… I can't have my roommate shagging my brother. "I mean, he is good looking, but I'm not into that pretentious, rich boy thing. I was just planting the idea that someone else might also want him. You know jealousy and all that?"
"So you're not attracted to the cute, rich boys with connections?"
"Well, there's nothing wrong with an attractive man, and being rich can't be a negative thing. Connections don't really matter. It's just, Mycroft seems a bit like a twat," John sighed, looking out the window.
"I see." Good. Good.
"So what have you found out about case from what Greg told us?" John steered the conversation in a different direction.
"Well, Rachel is connected to the phone, which I believe is planted on the murder," John nodded, telling me to continue. "I believe Rachel is a password of sorts, but to what?"
"No idea, we'll figure I. out," John shrugged. "So what are we going to do?"
"Well, Dr. Watson, we're going to text this murder and see if he responses."
And with that, I fired off a text to our mysterious friend.
So… What do you think of Sherlock's mind? I would love feedback, because I'm never sure how to write Sherlock. He's hard… ;)
'Til next time, my sweeties!