The Conversation and the Kiss

In which John is surprised, Sherlock must lie and Lana makes dinner for her new flat mates

John heaved the bags up the stairs with some difficulty; they were both a lot heavier than he thought they would be. Sherlock's bag was worse though; John struggled with the weight balanced on his shoulder as he worked his way up the narrow steps, still dragging the woman's suitcase behind him. It jarred up the stairs, sending vibrations up and down his arm. John swore; he could understand that Sherlock needed his bag, but the fact that he had to go on a suitcase hunt through the hotel had been madness. John couldn't see why he couldn't have stopped at the nearest store, picked some random clothes off the shelf and brought them back to Baker Street. (Well, that's not entirely true. John had indeed considered stopping at a nearby department store, but after looking at the prices, he decided against it.) The nagging doubts in John's head had returned, and as he struggled up the stairs still dragging the case, he began to wonder why Sherlock had wanted him to bring back the entire case unless… no, that was ridiculous. There was no way she was going to stay here. After all, why would Sherlock want a girl staying here anyway? It was all very confusing, so John tightened his grip on Lana's plain black case and kept heaving his load up the stairs, cursing them with every step he took. Once he got upstairs, he could ask Sherlock what their next move would be, and could make sure the girl was all right. Finally, after much effort and a stubbed toe, along with a strange vibrating in his left arm, John reached the landing. He fumbled for his keys, then shoved the rusty thing into the lock and turned. Using his good shoulder, he heaved the door open, pushed his way into the room, and that's how he found Sherlock Holmes and Lana Heart making out on the sofa.

….

Two minutes earlier

Lana and Sherlock sat for a moment, listening to John struggling his way up the stairs. From the sound of it, it seems like he had dropped one of the bags and it was sliding back down the steps.

Sherlock turned to face her. "I don't suppose you had anything breakable in there?"

She grimaced. "Three laptops, two good cameras and a Ming vase. You?"

"Blood samples. Lots and lots of blood samples."

She laughed. John kept banging up the steps and Sherlock threw her a glance. "You said you had a plan."

"Oh, right, do you trust me?"
Sherlock gaped at her. "Of course not."

"Good. I don't trust you either, and this is probably going to make you want to kick me out, but I know you want the information more than an ally, so please, for the love of God, just go with it."

Sherlock paused at the end of this little speech, almost afraid to respond because he knew to do so would mean that he was playing right into her hands. The strangest sense of déjà-vu swept over him as he searched her face for an inkling of what Lana was planning. It was the edge of the unknown, and Sherlock was poised on the edge, looking down into the blackness of swirling possibility.

Outside, John had nearly reached the landing.

So Sherlock leapt.

"What did you have in mind?"

Lana grinned, and then pulled him down on top of her, pressing her lips against his.

It was Sherlock's first kiss in at least ten years, and so he reacted as any emotionally twelve-year-old boy would; he retracted.

"What was that about?" he hissed, pushing himself off her.

"I said I had plan," she replied. "I never said it was a good one."

"So THIS was your great idea? Putting your mouth all over me?"

She shrugged. "It was either that or have it seem like you were keeping me as a hostage of some kind. I'm sorry I didn't have time to come up with something better. I didn't hear YOU coming up with any ideas."

Sherlock sighed exasperatedly. "I see where you're going with this. Well, it's a plan, but just so you know, I think this is ridiculous. And you're not my type anyway." And as the door opened, he got onto the couch and put his mouth back on hers.

….

There was a moment when it seemed like everything in the world had frozen, as John Watson walked into his flat and found his friend kissing a girl. He simply stood there, in a daze, and they stayed where they were, as though they had gone deaf and hadn't heard him enter the room. Slowly, John took it all in, blinking furiously to make sure he wasn't imagining it. Sherlock was on top of her, carefully holding his weight above her so as not to crush her beneath his long, lanky form. Lana had him by the shoulders, but suddenly she opened her eyes and saw a very shocked and confused John Watson standing in the doorway. Immediately, she released Sherlock and sat up. He, too, snapped upward and came face to face with his good friend, who had dropped both bags with hard thumps onto the floor. Sherlock immediately leapt forward and grabbed his bag from the floor. He at once began to rifle through it until he came across a large case deep within the bag. After inspecting it, he straightened up and addressed John.

"Really, John, I told you I had the blood samples in here. Did you have to try and break them? Thank goodness you failed though; without them all of my research up until this point would have been pointless."

"But, Sherlock-"

"Ah, I see you retrieved Miss Heart's belongings. Lana, if you'd like to change, there's a bathroom up the stairs."

Lana, who was startled at being brought into the conversation, nodded curtly and reached into her own bag, from which she pulled out a clean shirt and a pair of black pants. With these under her arm, she walked past John as though he wasn't there and disappeared up the steps. As her footsteps fell away into silence, Sherlock moved toward his room, dragging his bag behind him. "Sorry, I couldn't make a start on the kitchen. It seemed to involve manual labor, and I got bored fairly quickly, so I-"

"So you what?" John snapped, shutting the door behind him with a bang, "decided to start snogging her? Sherlock, who the hell IS she? What's going on? And why did you want her to stay here?"

Sherlock, who was still in his room, shouted from down the hall. "Hungry? We can get take away, or I can make something."

"Are you even listening to me?" John started toward his friend's room, but Sherlock beat him to it, stepping out of the room and closing the door with a snap. He found himself staring down into his friends set face. Even though John was several inches shorter, he held his ground against Sherlock, glaring up into his face.

Sherlock looked exhausted. "What do you want, John? I need to put the blood in the fridge or it's going to spoil."

"I want an answer!" John cried, turning away and walking back to stand in the living room. "Look, it may not seem like that big a deal to you, but I live here, too. And if you're going to start having complete strangers staying here-"

"I invited you to stay here." Sherlock pointed out, as he headed for the blood stained kitchen.

"yes, because you needed someone to pay the bills. This is different; what aren't you telling me here? You come home with a complete stranger that you seem to have no past with at all, and then I leave for an hour and come back to find you on top of her!"

"In all fairness, it was her idea," Sherlock pointed out, which wasn't a complete lie but he wasn't going to tell John the rest of the story yet.

John gaped at him. "Wait, what? Who is she? At least tell me that."

"She's Lana Heart. She's an American in her twenties who's in Europe on a job. What's the cause for all the fuss, John? You're overreacting, and it's really very unflattering and annoying."

Oh, shut up, Sherlock!" John yelled. "are you expecting me believe that you just found a girl tonight, and within a space of two hours, fell hopelessly in love with her?"
"Stranger things have happened," Sherlock pointed out as he stuck his head in the freezer.

John took a calming breath, trying to refrain from jumping over the couch and strangling his friend. In the end, there was only one answer he needed right now, the one that would explain what was really going on.

"Sherlock," he asked, "is she your girlfriend?"

Sherlock, his head still in the freezer, didn't reply immediately. The detective was resting his head on the set of blood samples he had just finished placing, wishing with all his might that he didn't have to deliver his next answer. To anyone else, he would have delivered it without flinching. But this wasn't anyone else; it was John. The quiet, nagging doubts in his head were back, the ones that took on the voice of his mother, his brother and even Missus Hudson. Angrily, he pushed them away and retracted from the freezing icebox. He gave himself the time it took to close the door to compose himself before speaking. John stared expectantly.

"Yes, John, she's my girlfriend. I didn't want to say anything, but after tonight, I suppose I don't have any choice." Sherlock hated the taste of the lie; it was like bitter pecans on his tongue.

"Oh," said John, clearly caught by surprise. "Well… yeah… this is new. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because," said Sherlock. "I didn't think it was something to bother you with. Besides, you, along with plenty of other people don't think I have a heart, so I figured I would bring it around bit by bit, but when I found out she was being attacked, I stepped in. There are some very dangerous people after her, and so I moved her here merely as precaution. Don't worry, it's not like she's going to stay in the flat forever. She can take the basement flat once she talks to Missus Hudson. And don't look at me like that!" Sherlock seized John by the shoulders, his face full of (fake) pleading. "Please, John! It's only temporary, and then this will all be over."

John stared into Sherlock's earnest expression. He had never seen him act like this; it was odd, but Sherlock clearly cared about this more than he could explain, unless Sherlock was lying through his teeth. On the other hand, John couldn't really see if there was anything Sherlock had to gain, and so, despite his doubts, John once again let his friend take charge.

"How long will she be staying here?"

"Just until the danger passes, and then she can find her own flat somewhere. Like I said, it's only a precaution. Whoever committed that murder in Nice has some sort of connection to her and they want her dead."

"How do you know that?"

"Those two men who attacked her in the alley are hired assassins known as Les Assassiners. They both posses great strength and brutality, their primary form of attack is by beating their victims to death with their bare hands and specially made brass knuckles. Very messy and not always effective, but these men are specialists; it's almost impossible to trace. I've been keeping an eye on them for years."
"But why go after an American journalist who happened to be in London?"

"She was charged with taking the case," said Sherlock, pulling out his phone and beginning to text. "I lied; she's been here longer than two weeks. She hasn't told me for sure how long she'll be here, but I know she's been here around a month and a half."

"And that's how long you've known her?" asked John, heading back into the living room to retrieve the mop.

"Yes," said Sherlock, praying that John couldn't see his pupils dilating as he spat out the lies.

John still looked slightly suspicious as he began to fill a bucket in the sink. "How did you meet her?"
Sherlock's mind raced wildly; he didn't have any idea how most couples met. So he chose to go with what he knew. "She was investigating a potential murder victim at the morgue when I was there and she seemed…nice."

Even to Sherlock the answer sounded lame. The failure of the lie made him turn pink. Secretly, he hoped that John would see right through him and throw Lana out, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. He would just have to power through it-at least until the case was over- because he could tell John was being either too stupid or too ignorant see through the lie. Sherlock looked over at John, who had put the bucket on the floor and was proceeding to wipe away the stains all over the kitchen table left over from the makeshift surgery. Sherlock half hoped John would give him the look that meant he knew Sherlock was lying, but instead, John was staring at him with a look of surprise and…almost pleasure.

Sherlock knew he had bought it.

"Well," said John, "I'm surprised, and honestly, I'm happy for you. I guess you just…caught me off guard a little. Just…if you were going to bring her over anyway, I wish you would have let me know first so I don't, you know, interrupt you or anything…" he looked almost ashamed. Sherlock was shocked.

"What? No! I mean its fine. Just drop it, John. Don't worry about it. Do you still want dinner? I can order something in."

"I can cook something."

Both men turned, slightly surprised, as Lana stepped into the room, wearing a pair of fresh clothes. Her hair was shiny and pulled back with a clasp, and she was smiling with the look of someone who had walked in on something private.

John was first to speak. "Oh, no, that's not necessary, Miss Heart."

"Please, call me Lana. And it's no trouble at all. What do you want to eat? I can make some pasta if you've got any." Without pausing for an answer, she began to go through the pantry, rifling through the meager items within. Suddenly she retracted, her face turning from one of bemused focus to absolute shock. Lana turned back to John, who had returned to mopping her blood off the floors.

"What's wrong?" he asked, staring at her panicked expression.
Sherlock, who had been texting throughout this entire little episode, looked up. Lana took a deep breath and finally found words to explain whatever it was that had sent her reeling.

"There's a LEG in there. A human leg! What-what is this?"

"It's an experiment," John and Sherlock both replied.

Lana blinked several times, and looked like she was going to faint again, but she held her ground. These two men clearly knew something she didn't, and so she responded with a calm, if not forced, "Sherlock, can you get the pasta from the shelf? I'm a little short to reach them."

Sherlock sent her a glowering look from behind John's back, then forced a smile and stepped toward her, heading for the pantry. Lana stood aside and allowed him to grab the box of sad-looking pasta from its place in the corner. "I'm seriously considering just throwing you out now," he growled under his breath.

"You wouldn't dare," she hissed back. "You need me too badly."
Sherlock fixed her with his nastiest glare as he pulled out a pot and began to fill it in the sink. "All right, it's official. I hate you."

"Love you too, sweetheart," Lana replied, as she reached into the fridge and pulled out the tomatoes.

Up next- Dishes

In which there is laundry, Lana takes a fall and John makes a strange discovery.