It was only when he eventually got home that what had happened the previous night struck him.
At first it was shame. Shame for he had drunk so much that he had almost forgot about himself. Shame for a student of his had seen him in that dreadful state. Shame for the student was no one else but Sherlock Holmes. Shame for the young man had taken care of him. Shame for another boundary had been broken. He had been in his student's flat. At night. Drunk. Where the hell did he have his head?
Then it was repentance. And repentance was worse than shame. He shouldn't have allowed Sherlock to help him at the pub. He shouldn't have allowed the young man to guide him to his flat. He shouldn't have allowed anything of it. And he had. And he had asked Sherlock questions that shouldn't have ever been asked. Not to anyone so lightly. Not to anyone. Mainly not to the man called Sherlock Holmes.
Then it was a sweet sensation. And that was the worst of all. The sensation that Sherlock had helped him, guided him, protected him was almost unbearable. It was making him feel full and empty at the same time, happy and sad, alive and dead.
Plus, Sherlock had voluntarily answered his question, almost spontaneously. Like he was trying to help John forget what it had happened the previous afternoon. Like he knew that John had desperately needed to be distracted. And thanks to Sherlock's willingness to answer those question, John had completely forgotten his torment. Had the young man done it on purpose? That was surely a question that would have never had an answer.
John shook his head: he felt like he had the whole world on his shoulders. Yet the thought of him arm in arm with Sherlock made him smile once again. He tried to remember his scent but, to his extreme disappointment, he couldn't. He was sure it was a bittersweet one, like the man himself. Highly inappropriate thought, but, after all, he had a hangover. He could blame himself later for it.
And he did. When the afternoon came, he mentally spanked himself for having thought such things, for having indulged in them, for having sent that goddamn message. Alcohol. He promised himself that he would have never ever drunk that much again.
He stormed off his flat at three o'clock, needing some time to clear his thoughts. He aimed directly to Hyde Park and strolled for a while along the Serpentine. It was a cloudy Sunday, it didn't rain but it was as windy as the night before. Memories of his drunk conversation with Sherlock slipping out every few steps. His first questions had been coherent, normal ones. But the last ones. John would've never forgiven himself for that. Rehab. Every time that word came to his mind, he couldn't quite believe that it had been Sherlock who had pronounced it. He sighed. He felt so sorry for having asked those questions, even if the young man hadn't minded, John did. Stupid, stupid, stupid John. Maybe, now, Sherlock was feeling bad, for it wasn't really a subject he had wanted to talk about. By now John was finally sure that the young man had answered them to keep John's head occupied, to keep him distant from the thoughts that had led him to drink that much.
Lost in his thoughts, he stumbled upon a man.
"I'm sorry!", he apologised.
"John!", the man answered in surprise "Why do we always have to meet here?"
It was DI Lestrade. John smiled.
"You are right, Greg! But I swear it's completely accidental!"
He raised his hands to the sky and they both laughed.
"How are you?", asked John politely.
"I've just had a very hard week at Scotland Yard, but I'm fine.", said the policeman "But, you know, my job is always like that. I can't complain that much. And you, how are you?"
John wondered whether telling Lestrade what had happened or not. At first he thought it would've been madness explaining him everything, then he remembered that the DI had known Sherlock for a long time. He would have listened, probably understood and, maybe, answered some of his doubts. He exhaled.
"I don't know.", John said "I sincerely don't know."
Lestrade gave him a curious look.
"What happened?"
"I don't even know where to start…"
"Want to sit down?"
"Yes. Better."
They sat on a bench and John gathered his thoughts, before finally starting his narration of the events.
"Yesterday I met my ex-wife. A person that I really didn't want to see and with whom I have no connection anymore. She…well, she isn't part of my life and I don't want her to be. I have…awful memories of her and I needed to clear my mind, so…"
"So you went for a drink.", interrupted Lestrade.
John nodded.
"Yes. I needed to forget. So I drank until my body couldn't feel the pain anymore. Then, while I was wasted in a pub, Sherlock arrived.", John sighed.
"What?", came the more than surprised answer of the DI.
"He sat beside me and helped me to get up. He guided me outside the place. He even paid for my drinks!"
"That is…", Lestrade tried to say, unable to find a proper word "…strange."
John looked at the man beside him.
"He doesn't usually do that, does he?"
"He never does that.", the DI mumbled.
John went on.
"Then he brought me home. Not my place. His."
The look on Lestrade's face said it all.
"I get that he has never done such a thing before either, right?"
Greg nodded, but said nothing, as if he was waiting to collect more data before expressing his idea.
"Then I asked him some questions about his own life and he answered me."
At this last piece of information, Lestrade literally gulped.
"I don't know what to say.", the DI eventually spoke "It looks like he took care of you."
"My exact thought."
"But…he's Sherlock. He doesn't do such things. He even refuses the slightest help, even when he needs it badly."
"Like with the shoulder."
Lestrade obviously knew what John was talking about.
"Yes, yes. I tried to persuade him back then. 'Go to the hospital, Sherlock', I said. And he refused over and over again. After ten minutes of quarrelling he asked to be brought to you, and gave me your address. I had to give up."
John listened in silence.
"And he doesn't like people. He doesn't want them around. But with you he's…different. Since he had let you come to the crime scene, I thought about it. Then there was the aforementioned 'shoulder affair'. Now this. He acts differently with you."
"Why?"
"God help me if I knew, John. Sherlock is a mystery. He just does things. I suppose there's a reason nonetheless. Just: we can't find it out, am I right?"
John nodded. The two men stayed in silence for a while, each of them lost in his own thoughts. Then John spoke again:
"He told me about the rehab."
"Did he?", the DI gawked.
"Yes. It came out because I was fool. I asked him how old was he and this came out. I didn't want…I didn't know…"
"Now you do.", and Lestrade looked at him "You can't quite believe it, uh?"
John shook his head.
"Has he told you anything else about it?"
"No. I saw it was an uncomfortable thought for him. I'm so sorry for having brought it out. He had been so kind and I…"
"Don't worry.", smiled Lestrade "He let you in his life more than anyone else before. I guess he doesn't bother him that much having told you that."
John felt a bit relieved by those words.
"It's all so wrong, Greg. Everything."
"Nothing with Sherlock it's right or wrong. It just happens. Don't brood over it too much. It's Sherlock. And you have to accept it or refuse it. And I have rather the idea that you're accepting it.", Lestrade smiled.
John thought he was right. So right. Even if everything was so wrong, it was so right at the same time. And he had to accept it. And he was ready to accept it. He thanked the DI, Greg decided to give John his phone number in case of emergency and they parted. Just, no matter how many efforts, John couldn't just shut his thoughts, nor he could let all his questions go.
The next Friday evening he was getting dressed for another date with Laura. They had gone out other two times after the meeting at Regent's Park and John was sure they were starting to build a serious relationship. She was everything John needed. She was smart, clever, cheerful, beautiful and John liked her very much. Their relationship, in John's opinion, had all the premises to be a lasting one.
The week had also passed quietly, without any problems of any sort. Sherlock had still attended the lessons and John had been rather relieved of that, because it was the sign that the young man didn't really mind that much about what had happened. He hadn't send messages to John either. Neither he had wanted to talk with John. So everything was back to normality. Good. In addition, no one knew about John's 'accident' among his colleagues, meaning that Sherlock hadn't said a word as he had promised. Yet John had felt quite uncomfortable at first, but the sensation had slowly faded away and finally disappeared.
And now he had another date with Laura. He put on his new trousers, new shirt and new jacket he had bought to impress her and went out. The had previously decided to go to Cecconi's, near Regent Street, because Laura had read an article about it and wanted to try it out. John had gladly consented and now they were about to meet in front of it.
Luckily enough the weather was good one more time. It was surely cold, it being almost mid-November, but the sky hadn't got any clouds and there was no chilly wind. At eight o'clock John was waiting for her.
She arrived three minutes later. Laura had always been impeccable in her clothes, but that evening she was beyond incredible and, although John had bought purposely new clothes to not cut a poor figure by her side, he felt so little compared to her beauty. She was wearing a tight-length white knitted dress that fitted her perfectly. She was so simple and yet so elegant that John found his mouth to have gone cotton dry at the sight.
He complimented her during the whole path to their table and kept on complimenting her until the menu arrived. They both ordered Tagliolini, clams & bottarga and Grilled cod & sarmoriglio with a glass of Conte della Vipera, an Italian white wine.
They talked about what was happening at the university, about London's news, about themselves. As the first course arrived, John felt his mobile buzz in his trousers. He ignored it. Whatever or whoever it was it could wait. Five minutes later it buzzed again. So it did ten minutes later. Thirty minutes later they had almost finished eating their main course and were talking about which dessert to choose, when someone approached their table. It took John two seconds to understand who he was and he almost choked on the morsel he was biting. Sherlock. Damn.
When the young man finally reached the table, John didn't know whether to run away or to bury himself under the floor. He panicked, but stayed still, like nothing strange was happening. Laura saw the student only when he arrived beside her.
"Mr. Holmes?", was her more than puzzled expression.
"Good evening, professor… Collins.", he said kindly, before turning to John "John."
John was about to die. He was sure of that. His heart had stopped. It had stopped for certain.
"You didn't answer my messages. I need you."
"Mr. Holmes,", he tried to say, sounding less than convincing "what are you doing here?"
Sherlock huffed.
"I need your help on a case, John. I sent you five messages and you didn't answer me, so I came here looking for you."
How Sherlock could know where he was having dinner was, beyond any doubt, an useless question. But he was calling him 'John' in front of Laura, like it was normal. He felt his cheeks turn red.
"I'm on a date, Sherlock!", he found himself answering, forgetting the 'I'm the professor, I shouldn't call him by his first name, especially in front of a colleague' part.
"Obviously you are on a date! I can see it by the location you've chosen, by the fact that your clothes say 'I want this to end in bed'…"
John become instantly redder than ever. Sherlock went on.
"…by the fact that professor Collins is here with you, by the fact that you two are enjoying each other's company, by the fact that she's also in a 'I want this to end in bed' dress, although she's still not completely over her ex-boyfriend."
"What?", Laura gawked, astonished.
But Sherlock didn't listen to her.
"As you may note, I know you are on a date."
"And doesn't it say anything to you?", John tentatively asked, already sensing defeat.
"It tells me that is very rude indeed to not answer my messages. We've got a case."
At those words, John's body thrilled in response, like Sherlock had pressed some unknown button.
"I'm on a date!", he shouted, sounding less and less convincing.
"And I need you for a case. Lestrade texted me forty minutes ago and it seems rather interesting. I need your help."
John looked at Laura, who was just sitting there, mouth open in a complete daze. Then looked back at Sherlock.
"I'll be waiting for you outside. Could be dangerous, though.", Sherlock concluded walking towards the exit.
It was all John needed. He noticed he had already started to grab his coat. Laura was looking at him now, bewildered and furious.
"What is happening, John?", she asked angrily "Aren't you going with him, are you?"
John would've loved to say he was sorry, but his vocal cords didn't cooperate with his brain. And, actually, he didn't even know what to say. He stayed silent as he put on his coat, still looking at the woman.
"John!", she yelled at him "He's a student! Whatever is happening, he is a student!"
The whole restaurant was looking at them, but John didn't care. John knew he was a student. He knew that too well. He had repeated it to himself not once, not twice, but a dozen billion of times. Yet the idea of a case, the well-known smell of danger was stronger than everything else.
"People will talk, John!", she continued "You might even lose your job!"
True that too. Somewhere in his brain, there was still a part functioning correctly, unaffected by the 'dangerous' word, and he stopped for a second, hesitant. Laura seemed already to taste victory, because she was starting to smile again. But John caught a glimpse of Sherlock's silhouette through the restaurant's window and the adrenaline definitively obfuscated every reasonable thought. He needed it. He needed it badly.
"Sorry, Laura.", he finally managed to mutter "I have to go."
And he put on his scarf.
"John!", she shouted one last time.
But John didn't almost hear that as he was already outside the place, by Sherlock's side.
"What have we got?", he asked the young man impatiently.
"Lestrade will give us all the details as soon as we reach him. Anyway it's a double murder.", he replied.
John's body completely filled with adrenaline in less than a second.
"I knew it.", said Sherlock out of the blue.
"Knew what?"
"The danger, John. It's always the danger.", and he smirked subtly at him.
John giggled. It was so true. Sherlock hailed a taxi and they got into it.
During the ride, John thought about the restaurant and realised he hadn't paid the bill.
"Don't worry."
John stared at Sherlock.
"I've paid it. You owe me a nice sum of money now.", and grinned.
"What did you mean by saying she is not over her ex-boyfriend?", John inquired, perplexed all of a sudden by Sherlock's previous affirmation.
"I meant what I meant. She's interested in you, but she's still keeping the necklace he gave to her. Does it bother you?"
And it should've bothered John. But, as always, a stronger impulse answered:
"Not at all. Not at all."
And they smiled at each other as the taxi moved to their final destination.