Thank you so much! I love writing for you! keep those responses coming!
"So, did you both talk about how you were doing?" Asked Sarah. It had been another week since John had moved out. It was Saturday. Harry was out of town and John still couldn't make himself to go out for a drink with someone. Sarah called herself and now they were sitting in her living room with coffee. John was denying himself alcohol for reasons he didn't know. Maybe he feared that in this state of mind if he started he won't be able to stop. He had to stop himself from becoming Harry, who was doing fine by now and another person for whom he worried constantly now. Sherlock Holmes. He had too much responsibility, he just couldn't do something irresponsible like that even if he wanted to.
"Yeah we talked…we did…we…" John started speaking only to break into an outburst of emotions.
"Jesus! Sarah! We both know that Sherlock and I are not normal people, I didn't move out under normal circumstances, our relationship was always complex and now this situation is beyond my grasp. You can't just imagine us blabbering about what we're doing without each other and brush each other's hair! Of course we didn't talk about anything like that! We didn't mostly talk at all!"
Sarah was a bit startled at first. She sees people having outbursts almost every day. That's her job, she handles them, most of the time She helps them to have such outbursts. But John Watson was one of the most patience and controlled man she knew. It took her by surprise at first, then she was okay.
"Oh god…I'm so sorry Sarah." John said covering his face with his hands.
Sarah got up and went behind John. She put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly.
"It's completely alright John. I'm glad it happened in front of me." She said softly.
John nodded regaining his composure and moved his hands of his face. Sarah bent a little and gave a understanding smile. John smiled back.
Across the road peering into the window behind which Sarah and John were visible stood Sherlock. John has moved on.
Sherlock took out his phone and texted.
I want to be out of London. Immediately. S.H.
"John, You said this situation is beyond your grasp. What did you mean?" Asked Sarah.
"Sarah…for the last two weeks I've been thinking. I'm confused whether moving away from Sherlock was a good, well timed decision or not."
"After what he said and did?"
"Yes. I know how it sounds. Trust me it didn't make sense to me at first either. But since my last visit to Sherlock I'm …uh…what can I say…having second thoughts."
"Tell me all about your last visit. Don't leave anything out."
John did.
"So this is what is bothering you. You think he's like that because of you."
"Yes. That seems to be the only logical conclusion." John said looking at his hands, a bit apologetic.
"This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about." Said Sarah with a questioning look.
"That is exactly where my problem lies. I don't know for sure."
"Then you'll have to make sure first." Said Sarah with a smile.
"How?"
"Try talking to him first."
"Why do you always need everything right now?!" Asked Mycroft angrily.
"Because I'm sure you need me on some job." Sherlock replied coldly.
"What if I say I don't?"
"Oh please." Said Sherlock sarcastically.
"It's about John. Isn't it?"
Sherlock was sitting on his chair. Eyes fixed on the fire. Violin in hands.
"No. it's about me."
After a few moments Mycroft's footsteps left the room and violin music filled its all corners.
Sherlock had been following John around since his last visit. He wanted to see how John was doing without him. John looked sad, confused and there were times when Sherlock wanted to show himself and try to sort things out. But he couldn't. He had seen him with Harry, a few people from the workplace and frequently with Sarah. Sarah was single, she liked John, John liked women, and she was helping John. The rest of the things will take care of themselves. I just need to go out of the way. As I fade in John's memory he will be able to find peace, find life as it should be. Keep moving on…keep moving away John. You deserve the best of everything. The best of life. Sherlock again had that nauseating feeling, that feeling that made his throat and forehead ache and made his chest heavy. He still didn't know what it was. But he knew for who it was.
John was walking back from Sarah's house. There had been a lot less exercise since he left his former flatmate. He was feeling old and rusty already. Walking helped him think also and right now he really needed to. Arms around himself as John started walking he tried sorting the things on his mind.
If I go back to Sherlock now, everything will look so trivial. My emotions, my hurt, the whole situation. Sherlock will never take me seriously again. No I need to sort things out before I think of going back. But I can't sort things out on my own. I'll have to talk to Sherlock. I know how hard it's going to be but I don't have any other choice. Would he talk to me? well, if what I saw was for me then…but Sherlock never talks about emotions. The first and last time we did talk about it was a complete and utter disaster. No. I'm not going back there. Then how? How?
Think Doc think.
Then suddenly out of nowhere he was reminded of Sherlock's arms around him when they were kissing. That git. He didn't even think of hugging. Went straight to kissing a person he had never touched except for handshakes and shoving here and there out of danger. That was your mistake Mr knows it all.
But the peace he had felt in his embrace was nowhere else to be found. Here in this extremely agitated state of mind John needed that embrace, that feeling, that peace from that man only who was the reason for his present unrest. The song "In the arms of the angel" played in his mind. Sherlock was his angle. Will always be.
I can't solve this alone Sherlock. I need you.
"Make you own deductions John, like I would have." The baritone spoke in his mind.
Why were you wearing that shirt?
"Why John?"
I don't know. You had been wearing it for some time, you never do that.
"No John."
Is it because you missed me?
"Is it John?"
No, this is just wishful thinking.
"What else have you noticed John?"
You didn't communicate. Even now you don't.
"Why John?"
I don't know. But if you were still playing games and trying to trick me being back with you, you would most definitely communicate. You would text, call and even come over. But you were rather silent since I left. Why Sherlock?
"Why John?"
You didn't even say something when I went to meet you. Why are you so silent? You were so expressive both verbally and non-verbally before I left the house. You did all sorts of things to get my attention, your silence now is incomprehensible. What has changed? Have you given up? Have you realised?
"Have I?"
If you had given up then why were you wearing that shirt? Why don't you go out? Why don't you take cases? What has happened to you Sherlock?
John stopped walking realizing he was standing in front of his flat. Resolving to go and talk to Sherlock face to face he entered his building. He stood startled for a moment when he found the door to his flat unlocked. He was not carrying his gun, he was at a disadvantage yet his heart glowed at the possibility of danger. He prepared himself, stealthily he opened the door expecting someone to jump on him. He was ready, a fist clenched, then he heard a familiar voice.
"Good evening John, a nice cup of tea will be very good."
Mycroft.
The adrenalin flow that had increased for a moment at the prospect of danger decreased considerably. Instead it gave way to a very uneasy thought.
"Mycroft! Everything okay with Sherlock?" John said, concern in his voice.
Mycroft sighed, looking sympathetically at the good doctor. How lucky you are Sherlock and what a fool.
"Oh! He's fine. Just came over for a chat. Hope you don't mind?" He gave John a questioning look.
Mycroft Holmes came here just for a chat? Sounds fishy. With a sense of foreboding John said, "I don't mind, make yourself comfortable, I'll get some tea."
Mycroft gave him a very business-like smile and sat.
John went to the kitchen and started to make tea. Once you are associated with the Holmes brothers you can't walk out on them totally. You'll keep bumping into one or another. Yeah, that comes with the package. There were advantages of living without Sherlock, no doubt about that. There were biscuits always. Otherwise Sherlock would always eat the biscuits whenever he felt like and never would bother to refill the stock. John couldn't say anything to this. Sherlock after all indulged in food rarely and it would be very rude to interrupt this little snack. Then there was Mrs Hudson, always ready to help. John smiled at the fond memories as he poured tea into the cups. Why is Mycroft here? Does he want to talk me back to Baker Street? Why now? He was being quite supportive of this before, what now? Is it Sherlock?
He sat facing Mycroft and handed him the tea, who thanked him and concentrated on the tea for a moment. Then he spoke casually, like he's just chatting about the weather.
"Sherlock was a shy child. Difficult, different, destructive."
John sighed, tell me something I don't know about him.
"He was also very quiet and adorable." Mycroft continued with a bit of affection.
John felt uncomfortable for some reason.
"An introvert. Mum loved him most for these qualities". He cleared his voice uncomfortably and said "and some others still do."
John dropped his gaze to the cup in his hand. He had understood.
"The problem is, he is still very much like that." Mycroft said contemplating.
"He never shows what he really is. A person who wants to know has to seek fine signs, has to go great lengths to find out. I'm sure you've noticed John, he is very good with camouflaging. But have you noticed when he does it most? When his feelings are real. He sees through people, he knows what they want. He can impress and captivate them by that knowledge. He can make people like him, but he doesn't. "
John was gazing fixedly at Mycroft. Listening intently.
"He is very showy only when the emotions are not real."
John's eyes widened, realisation slowly dawning.
"Anyway" Mycroft said putting the cup away "he is going to South Africa for some time."
On your job. Thought John.
"When?" John's voice shaky.
"This week."
"Probably no guarantee when he would return?" John asked frowning, looking away.
"Probably no guarantee that he would return at all." Mycroft said slowly with emphasis.
John blinked and swallowed and looked at Mycroft.
"Why are you sending him?"
"He asked me to." Mycroft's eyes were piercing John. Please understand John.
"Why?"
"He doesn't want to return."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Sherlock Holmes is the greatest mystery of all. Solve it John. Thanks for the tea." With that Mycroft was gone.
John remained silent. Too dazed to speak. Too many thoughts crossing his mind, everything incomprehensible.
John stared at the cups on the table. None of them had taken a sip. He hadn't come for a chat after all.