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Chapter eleven

John was relieved when Friday arrived and they were boarding the train. After their walk in the park they had been holding hands repeatedly. Sherlock always had chosen moments which made it impossible for John to duck out of it. Since neither of them was speaking about it, the matter remained unsolved. They kept dancing. John had to admit that he was getting used to it, slowly. Holding hands wasn't so bad, he told himself. It was weird for friends to do so but it didn't necessarily have to mean anything, at all. Sadly, he couldn't ignore the fact that his heart never failed to start spluttering when they were touching. He could only look Sherlock in the eye without blushing as long as the detective wasn't exploring the flirting area with him. Meanwhile, John was still enmeshed in an inner struggle. He took turns telling the voice in his head to shut up and looking for a dialog with it. The kitchen incident however hadn't repeated itself so far.

They've had the carriage to themselves save for an immense litter of papers which Sherlock had brought with him. Among these he rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until they were past Weybridge. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.

John looked at him, frowning.

"What?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"Making yourself at home?"

"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been looking through all the recent papers."

John left the subject for what it was. Resistance was futile.

"I'm glad you came with me. Local aid is either worthless or biased." Sherlock changed his seat and sat down next to John.

Oh God.

"Not comfortable over there?" John tried to sound normal, not panic-stricken. Even to himself his voice sounded strained.

"I have to think."

"And that's not possible there?"

"I beg you won't speak to me for the next thirty minutes." Sherlock ignored John's wide eyes and curled himself up next to him, resting his head on John's shoulder and closing his eyes.

His pulse quickened.

John sighed and looked out of the window, trying to ignore the warmth that spread from Sherlock's body and the scent that reached his nostrils which made him automatically inhale more deeply. He just hoped that Sherlock wouldn't notice any of that. Deep inside, he knew it was an idle hope. Sherlock Homes always saw everything and never missed any detail …ever…at all.

"Stop it, John."

"What? I am not doing anything."

"You are thinking. It is distracting."

John shook his head in disbelief. "I am not gracing that with an answer."

Sherlock smiled faintly. His eyes remained closed.

They spent the rest of the ride in silence.

A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for them upon the platform. In spite of the light brown coat and light jeans, John had no difficulty in recognizing the man as a member of the police. Probably DI Davies, since Lestrade informed him of their arrival.

"Look, who we have here. Holmes, the meddler and his side kick."

Sherlock smiled.

"Holmes, the busybody."

His smile broadened.

"The Lestrade Jack-in-office!"

Sherlock chuckled heartily. "Your conversation is most entertaining."

"You have, no doubt, already formed your conclusions from the newspapers," he replied. "The case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse the Trevor gentleman. He has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I repeatedly told him that there was nothing which you could do which I had not already done."

"I am afraid he doesn't share your opinion," Sherlock responded. "Neither do I."

"No idea why Lestrade sent you. The culprit is already arrested."

"What's your motive?"

"Money of course. The blackmailing is pretty obvious."

Sherlock smiled Davies answer away. "David Jones is a man with a good income. He is neither a rich man nor is he stupid. He wouldn't be so daft as to kill someone in his own Clinic. No, no, no. Love is a much stronger motivator."

"You think he had an affair?" Davies asked dumb founded.

"No. This whole case has absolutely nothing to do with him. He is not the man you're looking for", Sherlock exclaimed, being irritated.

"You are wrong! You're wasting your time, Holmes."

"No, you're wasting yours. I have given you the chance. You work your own method, and I shall work mine." Sherlock nodded his head curtly and left the fuming detective behind. John hurried to follow him with the luggage.

"He's the greatest idiot of all. He makes Macdonald look like a genius," Sherlock ridiculed when he hailed a cab to the Aldershot Clinic. Fortunately, there were a few of them in front of the station.

"I will destroy his theory by means which he is obviously incapable of employing, or even of understanding. He is an absolute imbecile. His only one positive virtue is that he is as brave as a bulldog and as tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Unfortunately, he has gotten his claws upon the wrong man." His expression darkened. "I will chew him up."

"I'm sure you will," John replied and climbed into the taxi after Sherlock.

"You're not telling me off," Sherlock stated, smirking.

John shrugged his shoulders. "No, you're quite right. He's an imbecile," he replied dryly. "I had to fight the urge to chin him."

"Why's that?" Sherlock teased him.

"He insulted you."

"And you don't like me to be insulted."

"You know I don't like that." It didn't hurt John to admit that since it wasn't exactly a secret. He had chinned the chief superintendent before for insulting Sherlock as a weirdo. "He's as thick as two short planks," he made sport of the detective inspector.

They couldn't stop laughing for several minutes, blowing off steam. The cabbie observed them suspiciously, apparently having his own thoughts of the matter.

When they arrived at the location of the marriage education workshop, they were received by an over conscientious reception lady who was smiling an artificial smile. Sherlock decided to treat the paperwork alone and told John to wait for him in the hall. The Clinic was huge and Victor Trevor apparently had forgotten to tell them that it was meant to be for the rich and famous because there was luxury in everything. It was situated in a Georgian villa with extensive grounds. Inside, the floor and the staircase were made of white marble. The expensive interior was from the original period – at least it looked it – and was rather delicate. It was too much for John's taste. He liked it simple and homelike. Baker Street-like.

John could see from the distance that Sherlock became agitated and got involved in an argument at the reception desk. He obviously had gotten irritated and deduced a thing or two about her. John remained calm and only shook his head.

"He's your boyfriend?"

John turned around to see a young woman in her thirties, reaching out a hand to him.

"I'm Anne."

He shook hands with her. "John. No, he is my fiancé actually." Yeah, because I am mad.

She stared at him in disbelief.

"Yeah, I know. Charming isn't he?"

"I'm not one to judge you. I am here because I have my own problems." She smiled apologetically. "You're taking the Smiths' place."

"Yes we do. I heard what happened. Must have been awful," John answered.

"Yes, terrible. No one heard anything that night and the next morning the staff told us they were killed." She was still agitated by the events.

"Sounds horrible," John replied sympathetically.

"Yes, it was. Good that the murder was solved so quickly. It gives me a safe feeling being around here again," she explained. "You're here to solve this problem?" Anne continued, nodding in Sherlock's direction.

At first John was afraid that she meant the case but her face told him that she was talking about Sherlock's behavior.

"No, not really," John said hesitatingly.

She was curious. "Why did you come here, then?"

"It's…complicated."

"It always is," she agreed. "My husband is complicated, too. I mean I have my share in this too, of course." She pointed a finger at a tall, blond man struggling with the luggage.

"Do you find it hard to love him?" she asked after a while, watching her own husband.

John watched Sherlock thoughtfully. "No, it's quite easy, actually." It was. He loved the man, no doubt. The question remained what kind of love he actually felt for him.

By now, she was probably convinced that he was mentally handicapped because she uttered an inaudible excuse under her breath and disappeared quickly. On the other hand, she had been nice. John hoped that she had just decided to rush to her husband's help and did not label him as crazy.

When Sherlock returned, John could tell that he was slightly irritated by the intellectual abilities of the receptionist.

"Introduced yourself?" John mocked him.

"I will definitely not survive this weekend," Sherlock stated, heavily sighing.

John chuckled. Sherlock could be such a drama queen sometimes. "Yeah you will. Think of the nice serial killer you will be able to chase. And afterwards you can take the piss out of Davies."

"I don't know if it's worth all of this," Sherlock explained with a wide hand gesture, rolling his eyes. He didn't trouble to hide his disgust. "Well, we better hurry."

"Why? We're going to start today?"

"We are apparently taking part in a massage workshop that starts over half an hour." Sherlock's face was unreadable again.

John wasn't able to say anything.

The docent of the massage workshop started with explaining and showing several massage techniques. It took approximately twenty minutes and Sherlock already had a bored face. They had spent the first ten minutes with introducing themselves to each other and Sherlock had sneered once or twice by the remarks of the participants.

"Sherlock," John hissed as quietly as possible.

"Bored," Sherlock replied impassively, watching a spot on the wall in front of them.

"Sherlock, please. The people are here to save their relationships. Don't spoil it."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Sherlock shook his head, smiling knowingly. "Anne and Ben are really trying to make something out of it, I suppose, as for the rest….Cameron is only trying to save his company and not his marriage. He's also having an affair with his secretary and is currently interested in Emily. His wife Diana is too busy with fund raising to recognize any of that. Maybe she doesn't want to see as long as the bank account is fine. Emily and Frank are only here to be able to say that they've tried everything before getting a divorce and starting a fight about their children. So Emily might start an affair with Cameron after all. While I believe Grace is really desperate to prevent a divorce to keep up appearances, her husband Howard is actually gay." He paused a moment. " I have to warn you, John, he obviously has developed an eager interest in you. Iris and Jack are deeply unhappy in their marriage but have come here under the pressure of their church." He turned his head to look at John. "That leaves you and me. Honestly John, if there is a relationship that is going to be alright, it's ours."

John's eyes flickered to Howard who was watching him intensely indeed. Unintentionally his hand moved towards Sherlock's. "Do you always have to deduce everything and everyone?" Stupid question.

John realized that Sherlock as well as Howard were smiling about his movement.

Bugger!

John made a mental note to keep close to Sherlock which would of course result in fuelling the debate between his mind and his heart. However, John decided that was the lesser of the two evils.

"Of course, John. Therapy is boring, social gatherings are boring, life is boring. I have to make the best of it."

"That's absolutely awful. I don't want to know all of that about these people. Now I have to think about it when speaking to them. And one of them is our killer…."

"Yes, one of them is our man."

"Are you sure about it?" Stupid question.

Sherlock frowned at him.

"Oh, dear."

"Don't worry. I'm by your side," Sherlock replied smiling, squeezing John's hand.

John blushed a bit and tried to distract Sherlock from this very obvious fact. "I've brought my revolver. I only worry about keeping you safe since you tend to forget about your own safety as soon as you have a case."

Sherlock chuckled. "Yes, I am a little bit forgetful about these things."

That was the understatement of the year.

Meanwhile, it was their turn to bring the techniques into practice.

"I will start," Sherlock exclaimed generously. "You can close your eyes and forget about Howard." Sherlock smiled knowingly.

"You are so good to me."

"About time that you realize that."

John didn't reply, but went to lie prone.

The massage was … awesome. It wasn't really a surprise, of course. If Sherlock took the effort to pay particular attention to something he usually knew his stuff well. His hands were skimming over John's skin effortlessly. The massage oil smelled like lavender and something else, that John couldn't remember. He liked it. It was the first time that Sherlock touched him with his bare hands – not counting holding hands of course. His touch was neither too gentle nor too hard, just right.

John heaved a sigh. "You really are great, you know that?"

"Forgot about your adorer?" Sherlock asked, playfully. "You haven't told me in quite some time."

"Forgot about you boredom?" John countered, smiling, eyes closed.

"No, don't stop," John objected, sighing when Sherlock removed his hands.

"I am sorry, John, but the instructor apparently wants us to discuss it, now."

John slowly sat up and recognized that Sherlock's eyes lingered a fraction of a second longer on his bare skin than absolutely necessary. He smiled despite himself and put on his shirt again.

Unfortunately, Howard's eyes rested on him, too. If that wasn't about to stop, John would have to take severe actions. He was not yet sure what that would be but time would tell him. John made sure that Howard was looking his way when he gave Sherlock the most affectionate look he could come up with. The detective didn't flinch.

"So Emily, tell me how you liked Frank's massage."

"He didn't do it right. He is always kneading way too hard to enjoy it. I always tell him but he never listens. He never listens to me."

"I'm sure you are not complaining when Fernando is giving you his treatment."

"Frank!"

The group spent another ten minutes listening to the story of Fernando the Spanish masseur who had or had not an affair with Emily. Sherlock rolled his eyes, John chuckled.

The docent looked around. "Anne?"

"I think I liked it." Anne was shy.

Ben didn't look up. Apparently Ben was shy, too.

Sherlock coughed. John could tell he had to bite his tongue.

"What about you, Grace?" the instructor asked.

"I'm not sure. I believe I like it harder," Grace complained. "Howard's always so soft."

We didn't want to know that, thank you very much, John thought disbelievingly.

Howard looked at John. "I'm easily distracted," he explained. There was an open invitation in his smile.

Iris and Jack still looked extremely unhappy. Jack continued to make apologies for not being able to do it right and Iris explained near to tears that it didn't matter and that she didn't know why she was so unhappy.

"They are ill-matched. They should get a divorce and get over it," Sherlock muttered under his breath, impatiently. "For the benefit of us all!"

"Sherlock," John hissed. "Behave!"

"Oh, please. I'm dying."

"Shhht."

The instructor turned to Cameron and Diana. Cameron had only eyes for Emily. His wife, Diana, pretended that she didn't see it and said that Cameron improved every time.

"John, what about you?"

All eyes were turned towards him. From the corner of his eye, John realized that Howard never averted his gaze from John. He undressed him with his eyes. How his wife couldn't realize that was beyond him.

Sherlock watched him with curiosity.

This time, John looked squarely into Sherlock's eyes on purpose. He knew what would happen and that the reaction of his body would show. He couldn't help it. Maybe that would cool Howard down. He examined Sherlock's eyes. They were sparkling and bright and maybe even soft. Not as austere as they were usually, John realized. Subconsciously, he registered his increased heart rate and the familiar swelling in his stomach.

Sherlock carefully took hold of his wrist. John didn't bother to cast off Sherlock's hand.

John swallowed hard. "You never cease to amaze me," John said with a firm voice. He was glad his nervousness didn't show. What he said was true and he had told him before. "In every possible way", considering to Sherlock.

"Never?" Sherlock wanted to know.

John couldn't tell whether he was teasing him or not.

John took a deep breath. "Never. Ever. At all."

Sherlock's lips turned into a smile. He broke their eye contact and his gaze flickered towards Howard who was shifting nervously in his seat and seemed uncomfortable with the sudden electricity in the room.

John, too, was aware of the changed atmosphere which was a silent witness of the chemistry between them. He wasn't prepared for Sherlock, quickly leaning forwards and turning him into an embrace. However he automatically hugged him back and rested his chin on Sherlock's shoulder. His muscles slackened off. He gave in. His subconscious sang a song of gladness. He decided to ignore it and to just close his eyes, nestling his face into Sherlock's neck. He was pretty sure that he was going to have an identity crisis by the end of this.

In the background, he heard someone weeping freely. It sounded like Anne who cried 'how sweet' through tears.