"Hey, there," John's voice called cheerily, "Remember me?"
Sherlock looked up and smirked.
"Of course I remember you," Beth's voice rang out, "How could I forget you?"
John blushed and rolled his eyes.
"May I sit?" John asked, gesturing towards the other side of the booth.
Sherlock smiled widely at him.
"Of course," he answered.
Sherlock internally sighed with relief. He'd been waiting for John for an hour now and had begun to wonder if he'd gone to a different pub. When John said he was going out "for some air", Sherlock had waited ten minutes (enough time for John to remember if he'd forgotten something) and hurriedly pulled out the Beth costume. He'd become quite adept at turning himself into a woman. It was a fact that might scare a normal man, but Sherlock wasn't normal, was he?
"Looking for a date again?" John prompted, lifting his glass to his lips.
"I suppose," Sherlock answered, shrugging, "More like passing time really. Getting away from everything and all that."
John smiled and nodded.
"I understand," he said in reply, looking sadly down at his drink.
Sherlock felt the knife twisting feeling again.
"You alright there, John?" Sherlock asked.
John looked up and gave a weak smile.
"Of course I am," John responded, "Just a bit tired is all."
Sherlock gave him the I'm-not-buying-your-crap look. John chuckled lightly, his face lightening.
"Alright, alright," John caved, "I'm just a bit upset with my flatmate. Again."
"Oh?" Sherlock prompted.
"Yeah…" John trailed off for a moment, looking at his hands, "He just doesn't seem to care about me very much. I mean, I know deep down somewhere in his cold, distant body there's a bit of him that cares about me. Really, he's died for me…well, not exactly…that's complicated. Anyway, he's done big things that show that he cares whether I live or die, but on a daily basis he's very cold…"
John pressed a hand to his eyes and sighed loudly.
"It's stupid, I know," John muttered, "But I just wish he could show me he cares so I don't feel so much like a pet that he uses for whatever purposes he requires. Does that make any sense?"
John moved his hand and looked at Beth. Meanwhile, Sherlock was having some interesting thoughts on the word "pet".
"Not like that, Beth!" John exclaimed, laughing slightly, "Sherlock doesn't do sexual stuff."
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but quickly remembered that he was Beth. He grinned and winked, but then turned serious.
"Maybe he just shows it in ways that you don't realize," Sherlock suggested, "Maybe you just don't realize because you didn't know him before he knew you."
John looked thoughtful for a moment.
"I guess you're right," John admitted, "I mean, I don't know what he was like before we were flatmates, so maybe there is something he does differently. Not that I'd ever be observant enough to know."
He let out a huff at the end of the last sentence and took a gulp of his drink.
"Maybe you should ask someone what he was like before," Sherlock offered, "That would give you a clue, yeah?"
John wrinkled his nose.
"But then I'd have to talk to Mycroft," he whined in apparent disgust.
Sherlock couldn't help but laugh in triumph over their mutual distaste of his brother.
"Who's Mycroft then?" Sherlock asked, still laughing slightly, "You seem not so fond of him."
"Oh, he's Sherlock's brother," John said, waving his hand dismissively, "He holds a "minor role" in the government. Anyway, he thinks it's a good reason to watch his little brother constantly. It's pretty unnerving actually, because it means he watches me too."
"Sounds like a creep," Sherlock said, wrinkling his own noise.
John chuckled and shrugged.
"I dunno," he said, his face getting serious again, "I don't think Sherlock would like me poking around his past anyway. He does deserve a bit of privacy, even though he invades everyone else's."
Sherlock smirked slightly.
"This Sherlock guy," Sherlock said, laying his legs out on his half of the booth, "He seems difficult to live with."
John smiled widely, his eyes twinkling.
"He sure is," he said in a quiet voice, "He does these awful experiments and leaves them all over the table. He puts body parts in the fridge-don't worry, he had permission to take them-and doesn't bother telling me what's going to be in there. He drives me up the wall when he's bored, reading over my shoulder and harassing me to find him something to do. He insults me and almost everything I do. He always calls me stupid or dull. He plays the violin at all hours of the night. I have to yell at him to get him to clean or eat or sleep. Sometimes he even shoots the walls with my gun."
Sherlock internally frowned.
"So why do you stay with him then?" he questioned.
John's smile got impossibly wider and he leaned across the table.
"Can you keep a secret?" John whispered.
Sherlock smirked and leaned across the table so his and John's faces were mere inches apart.
"Yeah," he answered, grinning brightly.
"Those experiments fascinate me," John whispered, "I love guessing what's going to be in the fridge next. I love when he clings to me when his bored. Him insulting me just helps me try to be better. I am stupid and dull compared to him, so I don't mind him saying so. I love that annoying violin and the beautiful music he plays on it. I don't sleep well anyway, so him playing doesn't make any difference, except to relax me when I've had nightmares. I like looking after him and reminding him to eat and sleep. And seeing him so riled up and firing a gun is…"
John trailed off, his eyes becoming unfocused and dilating slightly. He blushed slightly and focused back on Beth. Sherlock felt his heartbeat drumming faster in his chest as John opened his mouth to finish his "secret".
"Let's just say, I enjoy it," John said lightly, "The point is, everyone keeps telling me he's so unbearable, but all the things they say are unbearable are just things that make Sherlock who he is. And I can't change that. I don't even want to change that. Because I like him how he is: crazy, eccentric genius. And I don't ever want him to change to accommodate anyone, least of all me."
Sherlock felt a lump in his throat and he swallowed thickly. He remembered to be Beth and simply smiled.
"Sounds like you really care about him," Sherlock said quietly.
"I do," John confessed, "I really do. I wish I could tell him that."
Sherlock shook his head.
"I think you already have," he replied, "All these things you do for him. I think he knows that you do them because you care. I think you've shown him that you care."
"You're very insightful, Beth," John said in answer, "But Sherlock doesn't understand emotions the same way normal people do. Mostly because he doesn't want to; as I've said before, he thinks it's a weakness."
John leaned back into his seat and looked sadly back into his cup, as though he hoped the answers to his life were in there. Sherlock felt the knife twisting feeling again.
"Maybe…" Sherlock trailed off and cleared his throat, "Maybe he understands more than he lets on."
John shrugged and nodded.
"Probably," John conceded, "But he doesn't want to, so it doesn't matter whether he does or not; he's just going to ignore them."
Sherlock leaned back in his own seat, defeated. There was no way to convince John that Sherlock cared, so he just had to convince John that Beth cared.
"Well, you have a sad relationship with your flatmate, John," Sherlock said, "But I'm sure it'll all work out. I mean, you care about him deeply and I think he really does care about you, so it'll work. That's how things are."
John smiled warmly at Beth.
"You're sweet;" John said kindly, "Remind me why it is that you hang around such a place when you're way too kind for it."
Sherlock looked away sheepishly.
"Nothing is ever quite as it seems," he answered softly.
John smiled at him reassuringly. Then he looked down at his watch and groaned.
"Ugh," he muttered, "I should be going home. Sherlock's got a case he wants me up early for tomorrow morning. Besides, I already went to a different pub and had enough to drink there. I think I'll be heading out. Would you like to share a cab?"
"John, are you propositioning me?" Sherlock said, grinning widely.
John blushed and rolled his eyes.
"No, but if you need a place to stay," John said, "You're welcome to stay with me."
Sherlock had a brief moment of panic before he quickly reminded himself he could simply say no.
"I'll be alright," Sherlock assured John, "Thank you though. You're a very kind man and I know there's no way that that flatmate of yours doesn't care about you."
John smiled half-heartedly and turned. Sherlock watched him walk from the place and briefly wondered how long he should wait before going home. He slid into his mind palace and played the conversation over again. And again. And again. His lovely photographic memory allowed him to see things he hadn't seen the first time around. He saw how John's eyes would occasionally flick to his legs or hands or neck and his eyebrows would furrow as though he was confused about something. Sherlock realized this meant that John knew.
On some level of his subconscious, John knew that Beth was Sherlock. Sherlock wondered how it was that John knew his legs, hands and neck so much. Had they really been that familiar that John noticed these things without Sherlock realizing it? Sherlock rubbed at his temples, fighting back the imminent headache. Why couldn't anything ever be simple? Oh yes, that's right, because Sherlock hated simple.