"John?" Sherlock asked from his chair. His hands were poised under his chin, and dear God was he nervous. He'd been nervous for days. Ever since he realized he'd revealed his affections for John, by accident, damn alcohol, Sherlock hadn't been able to act normally around John. He was fairly sure John wouldn't notice, since the shorter man had a habit of seeing but not observing. Sherlock never thought he would be grateful for it.
John looked to see the detective sitting with his eyes closed. He wondered if Sherlock remembered what he'd said: he was in love with John. John wasn't uncomfortable with this because Sherlock was male; actually, he was uncomfortable because he didn't want to walk on eggshells with the genius. He wanted them to have a functioning relationship, however it had started, without the elephant in the room. It was beyond frustrating.
"Yes, darling?" John smiled softly, coming around the chair to face Sherlock.
Sherlock could feel his eyes begin to twitch, even though they were closed. Did that occur often? "Can you...er...kiss me?" Damn, Sherlock didn't mean to say that! But he couldn't take it back.
"Darling, you don't have to ask." John leaned forward and pressed his lips to the detective's, pulling away soon after. He didn't want Sherlock to feel like John was trying to push him. If Sherlock couldn't admit his feelings, then John wouldn't do anything to make him. "How's that?"
"Better," Sherlock replied, opening his eyes. He stood up; there was an experiment that he needed to conduct. "I need to go to the police station."
John looked at him, slightly alarmed. Why did John care so much? Sherlock was beyond thinking about that now, however. "Was something stolen?"
"Of a sort." Sherlock was avoiding the question. John sighed.
"Alright. Do you need me to come with you?"
"No, thank you, John. I'll be back soon." Sherlock rushed out the door of 221B, shutting it loudly behind him. John had no idea what all of this was about, so he went downstairs to see the landlady.
Sherlock huffed, very annoyed. This cabbie was absolutely incompetent! He'd been going in circles around the New Scotland Yard headquarters for over ten minutes, and Sherlock's time could not be wasted at this juncture!
"Stop here, please," he said, handing a bill to the cabbie and getting out of the cab before it had fully stopped. Sherlock turned his coat collar up and walked briskly into the wind. Stupid, infernally boring people. They all were missing something vital. All of them, even John. Especially John.
He strode into the Yard, swiping a key card he'd stolen a long time ago. No one had noticed it was gone. People's short-sightedness was remarkable, and currently the bane of Sherlock Holmes' existence. "Sir, can I help you?" a young man asked, walking out of his cubicle.
"I'm looking for a Detective Inspector Lestrade. Seen him around?"
The man shook his head. "Mr. Lestrade isn't a DI anymore. Got demoted after he let someone escape, someone who'd been in the files. The boss was furious."
"How long have you worked here?" Sherlock asked.
"Around a year. Why?"
Sherlock almost laughed. It all came back to that time, didn't it? "Where can I find him?"
"His office is on the other side of the building. He's a Sergeant, but he's not let on many cases. I can show you, if you like." The young man gestured down the hallway.
"That would be unnecessary, I know the building. Anything else I should know?"
The man thought for a moment. "The real DI now is Sally. If you have a real problem, you should go talk to her instead."
Sherlock glared at him before going down the hall. Donovan, of course she got all the credit. And perhaps Anderson won the lottery or a high-paying job opened up! Why did the idiots get everything? They knew nothing! He muttered under his breath as he went through the building, scaring more than a few interns with the deductions he began spitting. When he reached Lestrade's new office, there were a trail of loudly talking complainers behind him.
"What is all the ruckus about?" a rough man's voice asked, its owner peeking his head out the door.
Sherlock looked the man up and down. "Oh, Lestrade. Your wife finally left you for the PE teacher, didn't she?"
Lestrade stared at him. "Alright, Holmes, how the hell do you know that?"
"Doesn't matter. You're going to answer my questions."
"Why would I do that?"
"You're curious."
Lestrade stared at him for a minute before swearing and letting Sherlock in.
John knocked on the door of 221A. It smelled very good in there, like biscuits. A kind-looking older woman in an apron greeted him. "Hello, dear. John, was it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Oh," she laughed a little. "No reason to call me that."
"Alright, Mrs. Hudson."
She motioned to her kitchen. "Would you like to come in? I've just made chocolate biscuits."
"That would be lovely." John walked in, remembering suddenly that the first time he'd come in here, he'd relied on his cane to move anywhere. He didn't even know where his cane was anymore. Sherlock had probably stolen and used it for an experiment. The genius loved experiments, John had discovered over the couple of weeks they'd been...fake boyfriends? Real boyfriends? Rebounders? He shook his head, trying to clear it. He had questions.
"So, how long have you known Sherlock?" he asked. Mrs. Hudson had put a plate of biscuits on the kitchen and was nibbling on one when he sat down.
She smiled. "He got me out of a tough spot about three years ago. My husband was on trial for murder, and was going to be put in prison for life."
"Did he prevent it?"
"No, he ensured it." Mrs. Hudson shook her head disapprovingly. "My husband was not a good man. Lovely when we were younger, but I figured out he'd been running a drug cartel behind my back the whole time. Nasty business."
John took a biscuit from the plate. "When did Sherlock come looking for a flat here?"
"Not very long ago. Earlier, when he'd solved my husband's problem, he'd been looking at your flat, 221B. But he went..." She furrowed her brow. "Well, I don't know where he went. He practically disappeared for two years. I was rather worried. Sherlock showed up here abruptly after that, though. Nearly gave me a heart attack, he did. He said he'd take any flat I had, any one of them in this building, he didn't care which. He was so specific before, but when I told him it was taken, he looked happy."
John thought about that. His flat, why had Sherlock wanted his flat? And then when it was taken, he was glad? It didn't make much sense, but John knew everything Sherlock did had a reason. Unless he was bored. Then, nothing had a reason.
"Where do you think he went?" John asked, taking a serious bite of the biscuit.
"Your guess is as good as mine, dear. Sherlock's always been a sort of mystery man. Always alone, always solving murders. If he had someone, just one person, I wouldn't worry about him so much."
"Well..." John wasn't sure how to explain this to the older woman. "We're sharing my flat right now. Apparently, he hurt his best friend, and then his friend left him, and now he's staying with me because he wants to move on. I hope he'll be okay soon. I'm worried about him too, you know. That's why I'm asking you about him." He fell silent. "Nothing creepy or anything like that."
Mrs. Hudson gave him a knowing look. "Oh, that's alright, dear. I understand perfectly." She leaned in conspiratorially. "You know, if you want some company, the woman next door, Mrs. Turner, has got married ones."
John stared at her for a second before getting what she was saying and blushing. "No, we're not like that. I mean, he's just conducting an experiment with me. Nothing major. Just, er, kissing and holding hands and things. We're not together in real life."
Mrs. Hudson must have seen something in the look on his face, because she said, "You want to be?"
"I don't know. He's the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, and the only reason he's with me is to rebound from a bad relationship. He loved his best friend, and now his best friend is gone, so he saw me and noticed similarities, and now we're dating, sort of, to see if he can get over him. There's no reason why this should get any farther, so I'm going to leave it. If he's better, that's all I care about."
She hummed under her breath. "Dear, you might want to tell Sherlock this. He doesn't get emotions as well as most people." Mrs. Hudson placed a hand over John's hands, which were clasped on the table. "You're very special, John, even if you don't believe it. Sherlock shared a part of himself with you when that man is as cagey as a bird in a pet shop. You mean a lot to him."
Sherlock drummed his fingers on the Sergeant Lestrade's desk. He didn't bother trying to remember the man's first name anymore, he had more important things to do. "Let's start with a bit of information from me. I've been working on cases with you for years before you got demoted. Remember that? And yet, the year before this one is a blur, isn't it? You don't remember how you got demoted nor why."
Lestrade shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I made a mistake sometime during that year, and obviously Sally didn't. End of story. Next question, where were you during the last two years?"
Sherlock huffed. "I was only gone one of those years. Recently. Mycroft gave me a job. Involved destroying a very dangerous criminal organization. But during the year no one seems to remember, I was here the whole time. That cannot be a coincidence. The universe is rarely so lazy."
"That can't be right, Sherlock. Plenty of people remember the last two years."
"It isn't the last two years." Sherlock sighed, exasperated. Why did he interact with normal people, again? "It's the year before this one."
"Well, that year was probably unimportant then."
"UUUUGGHHHHH." Sherlock pressed two fingers to either temple. "Hm. Question. Do you remember the serial suicides case? Four victims, all took the same pill."
Lestrade stared at him like he was crazy. The looks got a bit irritating after a while. "There were only three."
Sherlock sat up immediately. "Say that again."
"There were only three 'serial suicides'. That knighted guy, the young man, and the blonde woman."
Sherlock deduced Lestrade for a moment, trying to make sure he was telling the truth. "Lestrade, are you certain? This changes everything."
"Yes, I'm certain. It was November." Wait, November? When Sherlock met...him.
"I need to speak to a woman about a letter," he said, standing quickly and opening Lestrade's office door. "Your help has been invaluable."
Lestrade watched the consulting detective stalk away, shaking his head. That man's mind moved far too fast for him to process. How had Sherlock gotten from serial suicides to a woman's letter? He turned back to his door and sat back at his desk, trying to reorganize the mess on top of it.
Sherlock walked back through the NSY building, barely containing his excitement. The mystery was unraveling, and soon he would understand. Certain didn't remember just one year, starting with the serial suicides, and ending with Moriarty's death. What connected the victims to the time period? Oh, he loved puzzles! "It's Christmas!" he shouted, skipping through the double doors.
Gay marriage is legal in the US! That is beyond cool! And a week after the proposal in MIW. :) Read and review, please!