"So what did you manage to do this time?" John asked when he walked into the flat as soon as he had seen Scarlett walking down Baker Street. The blonde had blatantly pushed past him and he could tell she was annoyed as a hand was placed under her nose and she was sniffing loudly as she ignored his calls for concern.
"What?" Sherlock snapped at John. "I could swear that girl is completely crazy anyway!"
"Oh God," John complained. "I can sense this is the moment when I put the kettle on."
"Well a cup of tea wouldn't go amiss," Sherlock said through gritted teeth. "Even though I would be impartial to an actual stiff drink."
"What happened to Sherlock Holmes?" John wondered as he stood in the kitchen and Sherlock laid on his sofa;
"Scarlett bloody Jenson," Sherlock muttered. "That's what happened to Sherlock Holmes."
"So go on," John urged his friend when he sat down on the armchair, dragging it to face Sherlock's sofa. "What did you say to her?"
"I said nothing," Sherlock defended his actions, sitting up and drinking the hot liquid quickly and then making an 'ah' noise. "I come back, with the full intention to clear the air, find she's still in a mood with me and she then acts completely unreasonable...telling me how she doesn't feel anything stronger than friendship for this James person."
"That's good then," John interjected. "At least now you know that she doesn't fancy him."
"I didn't care if she did or not," Sherlock set his cup down and folded his arms quickly. "Who she fancies is not something I can control."
"You know," John said. "When it comes to social issues you are completely and utterly stupid. The girl fancies you! She likes you Sherlock...and I know you like her back...why don't you just tell her? And that still doesn't explain why she ran out of here in tears."
"Because I didn't answer her question," Sherlock muttered.
"Which was?" John urged him.
"She wanted to know what we were...she thought we were some form...well...some form of item," Sherlock struggled to say it on his lips.
"And then you acting like you don't care if she goes out with this James bloke just makes her wonder if you are a couple...if you don't want to be with her..." John mused and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes;
"Why the hell does she have to make this so difficult? It isn't like I have said anything to her to make her think that I don't like her! I even kissed the bloody girl!" Sherlock stood up and began pacing up and down the living room and John's eyes went wide.
"You?" he stammered. "You mean...you...kissed her...you?"
"Yes," Sherlock muttered. "Why is that so hard to understand? Do people not understand that I am a male? Do I not have permission to be attracted to someone just because I'm some form of sociopath?"
"No," John said quickly. "It's fine...good...but the question is...what do you want to be to her?"
"Hell," Sherlock spoke in frustration. "I don't know..."
"Because the only logical thing for you to keep her from not going off to another man is to well...ask her...you know..." John murmured and Sherlock stopped his pacing, looking at the doctor, his eyes wide;
"Marry me?" Sherlock said and John began to shake his head quickly;
"No Sherlock," he said. "I doubt she'd even say yes at this moment in time anyway. I meant that you should ask her to go steady with you..."
"Why can't she just live with what we have?" Sherlock asked. "Why can't she just be happy to leave it how it is?"
"Because the girl doesn't want a life like that Sherlock...she wants something to happen..."
"Does my opinion not count?" Sherlock wondered and John shrugged;
"Just don't lose her over something so trivial as you not being able to put your pride aside," John warned him.
...
Sherlock stood in the living room at ten in the evening that Saturday, his Blackberry had constantly been attached to his hand as he called Scarlett's number over and over again, until the point had come where he had worn out a patch of the carpet due to his pacing and gone through seven nicotine patches. All he kept getting was her voicemail. And he had left tonnes of messages, saying he was sorry for his behaviour to her and they needed to talk urgently. He had come to realise that although he didn't know if he could handle a relationship with her, he still wanted her.
"What if he's got to her?" Sherlock worried, but before John even had a chance to answer Sherlock answered his own question. "No...Moriarty would have let me know...he can't have done," and then he began to call her again;
"Scarlett," he said into her voicemail. "Could you for once, just listen to me and come back to the flat. We need to talk...I'm sorry again."
"I don't think I've ever heard you apologise so much," John muttered and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John;
"Now is not the time for your smart arse comments...and don't even think about blogging any of this," Sherlock pointed a finger at him in warning.
"I wasn't," John replied, flipping through TV channels.
"Scarlett," Sherlock suddenly whispered, standing next to the window where he managed to peer onto the street and he saw a young woman tumble from the cab, but behind her there was a man. Sherlock watched on as she stumbled around on heels. She had changed from earlier, but Sherlock didn't recognise where she had gotten the purple dress from as it had never been in his wardrobe. Clearly she had been shopping. Sherlock placed his phone into his pocket as he saw her laughing loudly, her hands gripping onto his arms as he bent over and laughed with her too. She then raised a hand before searching for her keys to unlock the door, and that was when the man made his move. Sherlock watched as he placed his hands onto her waist, holding her firmly whilst she shook her head at something he was saying and tried to push him away. Sherlock took no time in reacting and he quickly ran down to the steps, running down them as fast as possible, flinging the door open.
"No," Scarlett complained. "James...I don't want to..."
"I know you want me Scarlett," he slurred as Sherlock stepped onto the street.
"And what," he drawled. "Is going on here?" he asked as he pulled Scarlett from James' grasp, his own arm wrapping her protectively beside him as she rested a hand onto his stomach to steady herself as he continued glaring at James.
"Sherlock," he heard Scarlett whisper. "I...don't...well..."
"She wants me," James stated and Sherlock rolled his eyes, noticing the boy was completely out of it with intoxication.
"I think you should just go home," Sherlock said. "She doesn't want you...and you're drunk...so go home."
"Not without Scarlett," James demanded, moving forward, his arm grasping onto Scarlett and pulling her to him, but Sherlock wasn't letting her go off and he grasped onto her arm and placed her behind his body, standing basically chest to chest with James.
"Get out my way," James demanded.
"Not a chance," Sherlock said threateningly.
"James," Scarlett said. "Just go home...it's been a misunderstanding," she had begun to sober up whilst Sherlock still continued glaring at James.
"Fine," James raised his hands in surrender, and began to turn around, but before Sherlock could move, the young solicitor raised his hand and made a fist, flinging it at Sherlock who managed to get hit on the cheek.
"Sherlock!" Scarlett cried, grabbing onto the consulting detective as he doubled over, grasping onto his cheek. Sherlock shook her off and stood tall, looking at James before he himself flung his own fist at the man, causing him to step back, the look in his eyes showing hatred.
"You really want to go?" James snapped and Sherlock stood tall again;
"I don't think you could handle it," Sherlock said. "Now just go home."
"Don't even think about walking away from me," James said, grabbing Sherlock's arm and pushing him slightly before moving forward to him. Both men grabbed onto each other's shoulders and began tousling in the street whilst Scarlett complained at them. Sherlock managed to awkwardly kick James, throwing himself off balance in the midst of it. But before James could even think of doing anything, Scarlett took her move, breaking them up and grabbing onto James' shoulders, raising her knee until she made harsh contact with his crotch and he bent over, falling onto the pavement before hailing a cab which was coming down.
"You asked for that James," she said slowly and deadly as she hauled him into the cab with Sherlock's help.
"Thanks," she said, looking at Sherlock once she had sent the cab on its way and Sherlock just shrugged;
"It was the least I could do," he said and then coughed. "But you seemed to have it under control anyway."
"I don't know," Scarlett said. "He was beginning to creep me out."
"Seems a creepy bloke," Sherlock said. "Anyway...we should probably go in...standing out here too long could attract stares and wondering minds...mainly from Mrs Hudson."
The two of them moved into the flat, walking back up to the living room where John entered;
"Where did you go? And Scarlett...you're back," he said and Sherlock shook his head whilst Scarlett nodded and grabbed an ice pack from the fridge, placing it into a tea towel before she walked back over to Sherlock who was sat on his sofa. She sat beside him and rested the ice pack onto his puffy cheek.
"Can you leave us John?" Sherlock asked and John shook his head;
"Don't you plan to answer my question?" John asked.
"Not tonight John," Sherlock replied.
Once John had left, Scarlett and Sherlock remained seated in silence for a few moments. Neither one of them knowing what to say to each other.
"I tried calling you," Sherlock informed Scarlett.
"My phone was in my bag...I...bumped into James during shopping in River Island...and he asked if I wanted to get a drink," Scarlett said. "I didn't want to come back...but I knew I should."
"I was getting worried Scarlett," Sherlock informed her. "I didn't know if Moriarty had gotten to you or not."
"I didn't think about him," Scarlett bit her lip. "I was just...so annoyed with you...and I..."
"You don't need to explain. I realised I may not have been the most...well...compassionate person to speak with," Sherlock said. "And I apologise for the things which I said to you."
Scarlett remained silent. Holding the ice pack onto his cheek, she pressed on it some more and he winced slightly;
"Sorry," she said.
"It's fine," he replied. "And as for the question which you asked me earlier...well...if I am to be deadly honest with you then I don't know what I want for us at this moment in time. I care for you Scarlett and I do like you. I realise I may not have said that enough to make you believe it and I understand it may appear I take you for granted."
"No...I knew when I first met you that you...well...that you're brash," Scarlett said. "But I still like you Sherlock...and I want you to know...that...well...if you're not ready...for a relationship of any kind...then I'll wait."
"I'm married to my work Scarlett," he said dangerously. "But...I have also found that I have time for you."
"I get that," Scarlett replied.
"And a relationship is not something I am familiar with...but if it allows me to continue with my work at the same degree of excellence then it is something I could consider...possibly...but you need to know that my work is important Scarlett. It is as important as you...you may edge past it slightly...but I need cases to keep me sane."
"I know Sherlock," Scarlett sighed. "I know."
"Anyway," Sherlock shook off their awkward conversation, "did he hurt you?"
"No," she said quickly." No...I'm fine...thanks to you anyway."
"I thought you managed to deal with the situation rather well," he complimented her, his face moving closer to hers. "And as soon as you got out of the cab with him I could tell that he was certainly not your type."
"Oh yes?" Scarlett asked, finding herself lost in his eyes again. "How did you know that?"
"Because he wasn't me," Sherlock said cockily and Scarlett snorted;
"You're completely full of your own self importance," she told him.
"Aren't I just?" he took her wrist and lowered her hand from his face along with the icepack. "There was another thing as well."
"Hmm?" she wondered.
"You're far too good for him," and then Sherlock Holmes once again kissed Scarlett.