The House, pt 2
In which there is still fear, a house, and a pregnancy test.
John slammed the trunk shut and heaved his bag onto his shoulder. He wasn't entirely sure what he had grabbed in his haste, but the weight gave him the idea he had packed enough to last the week at least. Out of habit, he felt his pockets for his phone, wallet, and pistol; the three things he absolutely could not live without.
Sherlock jumped out of the Land Rover, his coat collar turned up in his usual attempt to look cool. With his phone in hand, he slammed the door shut and headed up toward the house, sending a stream of spiteful text messages as he went. John rolled his eyes; Sherlock had been moody for the entire drive, refusing to voice any information as to why they were even here in the first place, and other than a storm of texts from both Lestrade and Mycroft, he still had no idea what had caused Sherlock to drop everything and drive them out to the middle of nowhere.
His phone buzzed again, and John pulled it out with a sigh, staring at the tiny screen
Tell him he's going to be arrested if he doesn't apologize.
MH
Yet another cryptic message. John hit delete with a groan.
"What are we supposed to do now?" asked Lana as she clambered out of the backseat. Staring after Sherlock's retreating form with a bemused expression, she pulled her long brown hair back into its usual ponytail.
"Y'know, to be honest, I don't know myself. I'm starting to think we might be arrested for harboring a wanted fugitive."
Lana smiled grimly. "I think if they really wanted to have him arrested, they would have found us by now."
"You've got a point," John replied, pulling Lana's duffel bag out of the seat and handing it to its owner, "Come on. Let's get inside before he breaks something."
...
Their footsteps echoed off of everything as they entered. The house was much as it had been when they had last been here; lonely, open and deadly quiet. All in all, it was much too big for just one person. At least, that's what John thought as he took a few steps into the foyer and dropped the bags of clothes with a muffled thump. He stared appreciatively up at the high ceiling, dotted with light. Even though their visit here was far from homey, John felt a wave of comfort in the sight of the light dancing on the wall, reflected a thousand times in the windows above.
"Get in here, you two, we haven't get all day," Sherlock called from the direction of the kitchen. Lana rolled her eyes as she and John wandered out of the foyer and into the hallway toward the kitchen.
Sherlock was seated at the table, staring out at the woods beyond the glass door. Despite the fact that she was completely pissed off at him, Lana had to appreciate his profile against the muted light; his curly hair, long nose, and overall handsome features were thrown in and out of focus as the light filtered in through the trees.
And then she blinked, and Sherlock was sitting in front of them; her boyfriend (she cringed at the word) who drove her absolutely insane and had thrown her and their good friend into a black Land rover and driven them to a house in the middle of nowhere to escape potential arrest for vandalism.
Now was no time to admire his looks.
Lana fixed him with a glare as she and John advanced.
"Anything you'd like to share with us, Sherlock?" John asked, drumming his hands on the polished wood of the table.
"Mmm…" his friend replied, still not looking at him but taking a sudden interest in the branches waving outside. "…no."
"We're not letting you get off that easy," Lana added, stepping forward as well. "Will you stop acting like a child?"
Sherlock finally had the grace to turn from the window and survey their set faces. "Really, you two. You're overreacting. It's not as though we're going to get arrested or anything-"
"oh no?" asked John, holding out his phone as yet another angry text from Mycroft flashed across the screen.
"Let my brother blow off his steam, and for now we can stay somewhere secluded. It's not my fault he's acting like a hateful walrus."
There's no way to win with this guy Lana thought in defeat. Since she could do nothing but admit Sherlock was right (again) she eased herself into a nearby chair and faced him with a spiteful look that told him he wasn't forgiven yet.
"You see? It's much nicer to just trust me and admit I know what I'm doing." Sherlock said snidely as he turned back to the window.
She couldn't stand it. Sitting in the middle of a stranger's kitchen, with one man who was driving her crazy and another who was standing there like an idiot. The chair creaked as she stood and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, looking surprised.
"Out." She said curtly. "I need some space to myself."
Through the hall way, into the foyer, and Lana stepped out onto the driveway in a flurry of blue jacket. The wind had died down, and everything was still as she skirted the outside of the house and headed for the woods.
She had barely been walking for fifteen seconds when she heard him coming after her.
"I don't want to see you," she called back to him.
"I'm not having you get lost in the woods. Your sense of direction is dreadful," Sherlock replied as he adjusted his scarf and fell into step beside her.
"I don't want to see you, you're being immature. Can't you just apologize?"
"I'm the one who's immature?"
Their banter carried them into the trees and out of view of the house. Lana only vaguely noticed the trees getting thicker around them as they moved deeper into the woods; the argument propelled her along without conscious thought of where they might be headed.
Suddenly, Sherlock sank into silence and stopped. Lana looked up, surprised, and surveyed their surroundings.
They were standing at the edge of the clearing, wrapped in mist and greenery everywhere. In front of them was a gaping cavern cut into the hillside; a huge cave that led into blackness. The whole place was full of an eerie silence and left her with a feeling of…something… in the pit of her stomach; not powerful enough to be dread, but not something she could brush off either.
"What is this place?" she asked softly.
"Dewer's Hollow." Sherlock stepped over a fallen log and stood in the center of the clearing. Lana stayed just behind him, afraid of what might come next.
"Why here?" she prompted.
"To address fear, we have to go back to the source," he replied, not turning, not bothering to look at anything at all.
"Fear? What would you have to fear from this place?"
"I know you can feel it, Lana. That sense of rising panic, the feeling of fear building inside."
"How…could you know-"
"This place was made to tamper with our darkest fears. Neurotoxins in the air, made by some Americans scientists as a hallucinogen that triggers the fear center of our brain to go into overdrive. John and I solved the case a while ago, but there are still some traces of it left here."
He sighed. "If I'm going to face fear, I might as well conquer it in its most terrifying form."
"I don't follow."
"You're hopeless."
"No, you're just being vague. Are you going to explain or continue acting like I'm supposed to know everything you do? I'm not you, and I never will be. Nor will I be any closer to understanding you until you start talking." Lana was surprised by the sharpness of her own voice.
"It's none of your concern. Go back to the house." Sherlock replied, still not looking at her.
"I didn't ask you to bring me here!" Lana shouted at his back.
"Then go back to the house and leave me alone."
"Make me," she growled, daring him to look at her.
Finally, he turned around, and the silence was heavy as they glared at each other.
Lana knew there was no way to win. She couldn't understand what was going through Sherlock's head, but clearly this was getting her nowhere. So she turned on her heel, stepped over the fallen log again, and strode out of the hollow.
Once out of sight, Lana started to run.
….
Dinner was quiet and slightly strained. Lana ate little and said less, prompting John into an uneasy silence. He watched her from across the table as she pushed the pork across her plate.
"Hey," he said.
She looked up. "Mm? Sorry, what?"
John could tell she was a million miles away, but he needed to make a fast decision, so he pushed forward. "Where is he?"
"Upstairs, I think. He got back a little after I did." Lana looked down at her food again.
It was odd; Lana clearly had something on her mind, something she didn't want to talk about. John hoped they weren't fighting; he had no idea what would happen if those two came to blows. And if he was really honest with himself, he didn't want to get in the middle of it.
Out of tact more than anything, John made his choice. "Right, I'm going into town."
"What? What for?" she seemed surprised.
"I just thought, well… I'd give you two some, you know," he swallowed, searching for the right word, "space."
Lana stared at him. "Whatever you say. Pick up some milk, then, we'll need it tomorrow."
John nodded and left the room. Lana heard him wrestle with his jacket and the door open and shut.
She took longer than she needed to on the dishes, boxed the leftovers, and then headed upstairs. Two doors down, pausing only to grab a change of clothes, and then into the bathroom. She didn't dare look in the mirror; the sight of herself would bring on a panic attack for sure. So before she could lose her nerve, Lana started the hot water and stepped into the shower.
Her thought process took longer than she thought, and by the time she got out, her hands were pruned and the water was bordering on cold. Grabbing a towel, she dried off, then changed into her usual t-shirt and holed sweat pants. Her damp hair was in its usual ponytail. Everything seemed normal on the outside; but inside Lana's mind was in freefall as she headed back down the hall and opened the door to her bedroom.
She looked up to see Sherlock was standing on the balcony, staring out at the night, and her heart seemed to fail.
Lana wasn't sure what to do. She cared about this man. Really cared about this man. And regardless of whatever anyone else said, she wanted to be around him. The problem was, she didn't know how to do it. He wouldn't let her in, at least not all the way, and she was left with flashes of humanity that faded away before she had time to process it. It left her feeling helpless; she didn't like only being of use to him on occasion, whether it was photographing his crime scene or offering a quick, fevered kiss before an investigation. She didn't want to demand anything form him- not attention, not sex, not a normal relationship.
But as Lana walked forward, she felt her courage grow inside her, fueling each step as she padded across the carpet.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Stargazing."
"I never thought you would enjoy something like that."
"Pointless appreciation."
"Poetic. And is there any particular reason you're in my room?"
"I needed to speak with you."
"About?"
"Your fears."
"What fears?" she scoffed.
"The fears you have in general. In particular, your fears in relation to me."
Lana paled. "That's none of your concern."
"Of course it is. Wouldn't anyone be concerned if their girlfriend was afraid of sleeping with him?"
Her heart stopped. Sherlock turned to face her, staring questioningly as she searched for something to say.
She tried to brush it off "You're an idiot. What makes you think that?"
His eyes flashed. "You've been interested in me since we met, and despite being unique from most female's I've met you're still human. And like every human, you're easy to read. Whether it's your motor ticks or your constant contradiction of everything I say, it's showing me you have something on your mind. And now, standing here, I can tell your pulse is up ten clicks, your eyes are getting wider and the pupils are dilating, and you're shaking. So, what sort of thing could trigger this kind of emotion out of you? Anger, obviously, but that's only because you know I'm right and it irritates you. Certainly not resentment, or you would have left by now. Which leaves us with fear. And considering your general sex drive and apparent lack of interest in any sort of sexual relationship, I would say my conclusions are solid."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Lana said, stepping backward. "Why on earth would you think I'm not interested? Or afraid? I'm an adult, I know what I'm doing."
Sherlock looked bemused. "...No you don't"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." Lana faltered, then pressed on. "Look, you're emotionally detached, I get that. But it also means that, well...I don't know how to tell you things. You've developed such a relationship with my mind that I didn't want to expect more."
He took a step closer, looking surprised. "Your mind? You think I've fallen for your mind?"
Closer. "Lana, I don't know how to express things, but I admit I've noticed similar symptoms," he paused, as if afraid of her reaction. "In myself. My heart rate is increasing, my palms are starting to shake and I'm having trouble focusing on anything but what's right in front of me. And I assure you, I'm not focusing on your mind right now."
Closer.
"Conclusion."
They were practically nose to nose now.
"You have piqued my curiosity in every way possible, I'm having a hard time knowing-"
"Shut up."
He stared.
"What?"
"I said, shut up." Lana said, stronger now, starting directly at him. "Sherlock Holmes, let me get this straight. The reason I've been sitting here feeling awkward and concerned and sexually frustrated for the past few weeks is because you were waiting for me to be blunter?"
He cocked his head. "Well, when you put it like that-"
"No. Stop." Lana raised a hand and laid a finger against his lips. "If this is how it's going to be, then I might as well be blunt. Does that work with you?"
He still looked confused. "Bluntness would be appreciated."
"Good." She replied, letting a smile slide onto her face. "In that case, Sherlock."
"Yes?" He said expectantly.
"You. Me. Bed. Sex. Now."
Nothing could have prepared her for the feeling of Sherlock's mouth on hers, or his arms as her lifted her up and brought her back into the room. The feeling of relief radiating out of him was palpable. There wasn't fear any more. It was something else altogether; something that had eclipsed her rising panic and sealed it away.
Because as Sherlock slid her shirt off, leaving a trail of goose bumps across her skin, the one thing Lana could wonder was why it had taken them so long to get here in the first place.
….
John took another drink and glanced around the inn. It was much the same as before, locals chatting it up in the corner and the barman eyeballing him as he ordered another glass.
"Whots with you, mate?" he asked, and large beefy man with little neck and a lot of beard. "Girl trouble?"
"No," John admitted, "my flat mates got a girl over."
The barman laughed. "New girlfriend?"
"No, they've been together about a month or so."
"Moves slowly he does."
John chuckled. "He's never been one to move very fast."
But as John took another swig, he realized that was just about the biggest lie in the world.
….
It was the cold that woke Lana up. She opened her eyes and was hit by another cool breeze from the still open door. Blinking in the light, she raised herself up on one arm and looked around. Light was filtering in through the trees, playing with the dust in the air, and everything was quiet. Lana felt a sense of calm as she turned around.
Her clothes were in a pile at the foot of the bed, and Sherlock's arm was still stretched across her stomach. Even in sleep, he had refused to let go of her hips. Lana smiled down it him; he seemed so innocent lying there. She never would have guessed he was the bane of her existence. Softly, she reached over and brushed some stray curls from his face.
Another breeze blew through the room and she shivered. She would have gladly stayed in that moment, playing with Sherlock's lovely hair and just drinking in the general sight of him, but there was also the fact that the window was still wide open from last night and she was absolutely freezing. Lana carefully lifted Sherlock's arm back onto the bed, and slipped out onto the floor. She pulled on her sweats, then her shirt, and headed downstairs.
And then she opened the door and saw John sitting at the kitchen table.
Lana tried to put on a poker face and reached for a coffee mug before sitting down opposite John at the table. Neither of them met each other's eyes as they tried to think of the most tactful way to address the elephant in the room. All Lana knew was that her own thought process must have been changed by last night, because her thoughts were flying around in a formation similar to:
He knows. He must. How could we have been so- We're screwed. Just, breath, normally. I suppose be direct, or something. How should I know what to say to my flat mate about sex with my other flat mate? I guess I should have seen this coming, I'm such an idiot; He's an idiot. Great, now I even sound like him.
John cleared his throat. "So, um, are you ok?"
It was actually a better way to start the conversation then Lana could have bargained for, but being so lost in her thoughts, she let the opportunity slip by and simply chose to be blunt as a spoon.
Holding her expression perfectly, Lana looked up. "I've got a hickey the size of a plum on my collarbone."
John spit coffee so far across the table that drips fell onto the tile floor.
Lana started laughing. The awkwardness of the room faded slightly as John joined in. For a moment, everything was perfect.
And then the door opened behind her and Sherlock walked in.
Sit back for a moment, if you would, and take in the sheer beauty of the moment. Imagine you're sitting at the table and talking to your close friend about the sex you so recently had. Already this is uncomfortable material, when in walks the person known for making things awkward. Adding onto this, it's also the same person you just had sex with and the topic of the current conversation.
Usually this leads to a few fervent glances and an abrupt change of subject. There are occasions when the awkward friend has the capacity to keep quiet, but come on, this is Sherlock we're talking about.
For Lana, it wouldn't have been quite so bad if it weren't for a couple of things.
A) The obvious.
B) John had been there (for obvious reasons) and
C) Sherlock was completely naked besides the large white sheet he had wrapped around himself like a make shift bathrobe.
Look, it wasn't like Lana was uncomfortable with the fact Sherlock was wearing a sheet- he had done it before and she had already seen him naked- but the fact that he was both wrapped in the sheet and walking in on her conversation with their friend about last night's events kind of drove the point home that any hope for them keeping this out of John's life was nonexistent.
Anyway, Sherlock was still wrapped in a bed sheet and blinking sleep out of his eyes and rudely walking in on their conversation. He skidded to a halt, however, when he saw John and Lana together at the table. Quickly, Sherlock looked from Lana, then to John, and you could almost see the data running through his head, sifting through pros and cons before he turned and walked quickly out of the room.
John snickered softly as the door swung shut.
"Sherlock, you know there's no reason to be embarrassed about sex, right?" Lana yelled, not bothering to get up.
"Piss off," floated down the stairs.
Lana grinned and took another sip of coffee.
...
The phone was vibrating loudly beside her head. Groaning loudly, Lana pulled the bedsheets closer to her and reached over.
All things considered, it had been a pretty good weekend. Despite hiding out from Mycroft in this big, empty house, things were going rather well. She had gleefully taken advantage of her newfound freedom, much to John's dismay, and hadn't spent much time outside of her bedroom besides showering and looking for books.
Sorry, not her room. Their room.
Lana glanced over at her bedmates sleeping form as she looked down at her phone.
ONE NEW MESSAGE.
With a sigh, she flipped it open, prepared to tell her editor to hold the deadline, or let her mom she was still coming for Christmas.
Her eyes grew wide.
MARCH 13TH, 4:30, SCOTT'S CAFE. WE NEED TO HAVE A TALK.
XO JIM MORIARTY
Up next- Heartlock
In which there are dealings, a dinner party, and a curtain rod duel.
...
wow, this chapter was a long time coming. So much happened so fast, and now it's been nearly two months since my last update.
Hey guys!
I hope you liked the chapter. Crisis averted, Sherlock acting normal(ish), everything back to the way it should be, right?
Wrong.
I couldn't keep him dead. I'm sorry, the idea of not bring lovely Andrew Scott's wonderful psychopath into The Flatmates was unbearable.
So he's back. From the dead? Maybe. Maybe not. We won't know until Season 3, I guess.
Which needs to hurry up and AIR ALREADY!
Anyway, the school year is over for me, and now I can move on with life and enjoy summer. My good friend Alex is writing his own fansieries actually, so I'll keep you guys posted on that. Otherwise, enjoy summer!
I believe in Sherlock Holmes.
Jay.