Sherlock had plotted and pondered all day as John went out for their errands, paying bills, milk and such. And for once, he was glad of John's absence, if only because it kept the other man from noticing Sherlock noticing him. His mind was stuck in a circular pattern, coming around always to begin right back with the same question. What is it that is so off about the doctor? He couldn't quite pin down any one specific thing. And the more he tried to define it, the more elusive it became, dissipating like fog in sunlight. The way John walked just a few inches off of his usual predictable path from the bedroom to the kitchen in the morning. The way he set he his cup with the handle an inch more to the left. The way he now started down the stairs with his left foot instead of the right. The way he crossed and uncrossed his legs more often than he ever had before. What was it?! Sherlock groaned aloud and relaxed into his armchair, head thrown back to stare unseeing at the ceiling, eventually closing his eyes. He lost himself in the thoroughfares of his mind palace within moments and the inner sanctity it possessed, staying that way for an hour or more before returning to the waking world.
Then an idea came to him, and if his eyes had been open, they would have squinted in thought. Perhaps he should write down all of these little differences he was coming up with and look at them all together on one page. That could be useful for finding some sort of correlation between the oddities. Right, let's do that. "John. Pen." he said to the empty room, palm upraised. His eye cracked open and rolled sideways to scan the living area. Oh yes. Milk. Tesco. Boring. His head came back up and forward, and he saw the pen and paper lying across the way on the coffee table by the couch. He sighed, Too far. So much for that idea.
Then he saw John's laptop sitting right across from him on the other man's chair. Perfect! He quickly had it open and was ready to research…something. But what? Damn. He sunk back into the chair as he thought. All this time evaluating a problem and getting nowhere can mean only one thing to me. Then he made a face as he thought, Emotions. Of course! The sure way to confound the world's only consulting detective would be to involve some sort of deeply seated emotional connection with the issue. Feelings were so alien and intrusive to Sherlock; he couldn't fathom them. Not because he never felt anything, but because he was so quick to grind them out and redirect them that he never actually allowed himself to experience them . They were merely rechanneled to another venue of his. Or maybe they became confined within a small storage space that grew ever more narrow as the years went by?... He shrugged half-heartedly. Who cares?
So, emotions it is then. Need expert consultation. He popped up the search bar. Hmmm. How to word this? Help with an emotional person? No. He's not just another person. My friend is emotional? No. He's not just a "friend," he's THE friend. Those don't fit. It needs to be specific to our particular relationship for it to hold any value. He is my friend, my best friend, my colleague, my equal… Perhaps…ah! Partner. John is my partner! In crime, in detective work, in adventure, and also as a flatmate. There we go! He typed: "I don't understand my partner's emotional state." Several results popped up, and the detective began to scan them all for what he was looking for. And after several minutes scrolling around, his eyes fell upon what he sought. The title line read: "Emotional issues with your partner? Let us help! Chat with our experts in emotional affairs." Perfect! He opened a chat box and started to answer the basic questions that would direct him to the appropriate chat host.
Your sex: Male. I guess they do need to know that. Length of current relationship: 2 years. I suppose that's what they mean, he thought as he typed the number in, how long we've been friends. Marriage status: Not. What an odd question for an emotional assistance site. Select the best answer: Is this in regard to Sex, Communication, Career, Infidelity, Trust Issues, Finances, or Emotional Distancing? The detective pursed his lips and leaned forward. Well, I suppose it could be under "career" due to us working together on cases. But then he moved the mouse pointer away from that selection as he rethought, Or maybe it should be "emotional distancing?" He thought for a split second. Yes. I'm positive. Because if my emotions weren't so distanced from myself, then I would be able to resolve this issue on my own. He clicked the final question's box and submitted his answers.
Within 20 seconds, a line of text within a chat box appeared on his screen, saying, "Hi, I'm Cyndy! How can I help you through your relationship issue today?" Sherlock made a slight bemused smirk. Must be an American site; they word their questions so oddly. Relationship issues. Do they say "relationship" in regard to all of their friendships? Foolish. He typed:
My partner has been acting rather strangely lately. Nothing specific, just off.
Are they often angry or depressed?
No. Simply apathetic it seems.
Oh. I see you've been with each other for 2 years. Probably needs some special attention.
Special attention. Like what?
Surprises are always nice.
I tried a surprise and it backfired. Badly. Got thwacked with a newspaper.
Oh! Goodness! What did you try?
I dropped from the ceiling and asked a question.
Oh. Well, I meant like buying little gifts or something. You know, to show appreciation.
Oh. People do that sort of thing for their partners?
Yes. All the time. The key is to find what the other person really loves, admires, and likes. Then, try to create small ways of working them into your routine to let them know that you pay attention to these kinds of details. Makes people feel special.
Hmm. Well, I shall give it a try.
And with that, he snapped the laptop shut, leaving Cyndy hanging on the other end. Things about John. Things that he likes. He snickered to himself. Jumpers and boring women. No need for more of those, though. He knew some of the crap telly shows the doctor watched, but that hardly seemed inspiring. And the older man's favored brand of tea didn't spark any ideas for him either. Something he loves; something that I can use to show him I notice things about him. This shouldn't be so hard. He was in the business of noticing things about people, whether they wanted it or not. He bent forward, roughing up his dark curls as if he could shake ideas from them. He then raked his hands down his face, ending with them steepled beneath his chin. How brain-blastingly tepid his mind seemed at this moment. He needed something. Something big. Something John wouldn't expect. And then…Yes! That's it! He leaped to his feet, laptop falling to the rug. Christmas!
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
John returned to the flat in the late afternoon with bags of shopping filling his arms. Sherlock, of course, was nowhere to be seen, and not about to trot down the stairs to help anyway. He sighed as he made his slow and careful way up to the flat, stopping by Mrs. Hudson's door first to place the bread he had picked up for her outside of it. He struggled at the last two steps, getting his feet twisted about each other, but finally pushed into the hall and kitchen without spilling everything onto the floor.
Odd how quiet it was. But he pushed the thought away. Sherlock must have gone out. At least he'd be able to relax for a small bit, maybe have some tea and a bit of crap telly before dinner. Happy with that course of events, he finished putting things up and was about to start thinking of dinner plans for later when a blinking caught his eye. Eh? And he turned to the living area, where the door had been slid mostly shut, obstructing the view. There were strange lights, like that of a police car, flashing through the room it seemed. Wonder what the police are doing on our street? And then a small chill went through him as he considered what he had just thought. He quickly walked to the door and slid it aside, full of trepidation, and stepped into something totally unexpected.
He stared in shock, in awe, in surprise, in complete flabbergastedness at…at….Christmas. What the hell? There, all over their living area, was just about every type of Christmas decoration one person could conceivably purchase and cram into one room. There were stockings on the fireplace, tinsel running the length of the room and ringing the windows, colored lights EVERYWHERE (even the furniture), a big plastic glowing Santa in between the armchairs, an inflatable snowman at the door, glittering confetti scattered about the entire floor, silver glowing stars suspended from the ceiling, and dozens upon dozens of other decorations piled into the space. The center of the room held a tree of ten feet, sprayed with fake snow and shining with white lights. What. Is. This!?
"Happy Christmas!" cried Sherlock, suddenly bursting from behind the tree, complete with a red Santa hat and a jingling bell held within one hand. He was smiling one of those indescribable smiles that led one to think one of two things had happened: 1) he had finally gone insane. 2) he had killed someone and was trying to distract attention away from it. Either way, no good. John looked him over, his initial surprise dwindling as he solidly remembered just how strange his flatmate could be. He leveled his gaze at the beaming detective.
"Sherlock."
"Yes, John?"
"What is this?" the doctor asked slowly, and with a small, but curt, gesture of his hand.
"Christmas, John."
"Mmhmm." Frowning, eyes closed, head down, fist clenched as he thought of the mess.
"Don't you like it?"
"I don't understand it," slipped through clenched teeth.
"It's Christmas!"
"Sherlock. It's July."
"….?"
"You really don't…nevermind."
John turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock to stand there wondering what had just happened. Where was the happy exclamation that his favorite holiday had come to visit in the middle of the year? Where was the thank you, Sherlock, you've really made my day? I'm so happy that you did this? I'm all better now, so we can continue on like nothing was ever wrong in the first place? His shoulders slumped. Where had he gone wrong? John loved Christmas. He thought for a bit, then decided that maybe this just hadn't been part of the problem. That's why it hadn't worked. Normally, John would have surely been overjoyed. But since John was Odd-John now, he reacted differently. So, it wasn't that John just needed a happy little surprise to fix the issue. Well then. What next? He glanced at the kitchen, where John was bashing pots around ferociously, then his eyes flicked to the laptop. Better ask Cyndy what her next bit of advice is. Don't worry, John, I'll fix this. Fix you.