What I Did For Love-Part 3
After our Christmas evening together, things were indeed different between Sherlock and I. He would make it part of his daily routine to meet me after work and walk me home; we don't talk much, but his hand always holds tightly onto my own. On my days off, I would gladly join him and John at the lab or at Baker Street. Our friendship obviously grew and I'm over the moon that we have the same feelings for each other. However, something is tugging at my heartstrings, a sort of uncertain feeling. Yes it's only been a week since we became…whatever we are, but I can't help but think that a relationship with me isn't what Sherlock wants.
To be honest, Sherlock's been acting rather depressed since Christmas. He's not his normal, jumpy, always thinking self, but rather very closed off and cold. Every time I come over to Baker Street, he is either playing sad music on his violin or fiddling with that camera phone I saw in his bedroom on Christmas.
That seems to be his new hobby, playing with that phone. He has it with him at all times and he just stares at the lock screen like it's the most mind boggling thing he's ever dealt with.
New Years Eve has arrived and, like most people that consider them in a partnership with someone, I plan on spending it with my boyfriend, or partner, er…I don't know what to call him really. Sherlock never says that I'm his girlfriend or anything like that. He hasn't even told John about us although I'm pretty certain John knows what's going on. When John will ask about it, Sherlock quickly changes the subject and ignores him completely or he becomes very stand offish and defensive. Is he embarrassed by it? Does he think it's wrong that we're together? I really don't know what is going on in that brain of his, but on this topic, I really need to know.
At about mid-morning, I take a cab to Baker Street and head up the stairs to see Sherlock. The whole flat is filled with the somber sound of his violin. He's playing a song I've never heard before: an original, perhaps? Well, whatever it is it's very sad and lament-ish. I reach the top of the stairs and remain in the archway to the living for a moment, just listening to the music. Sherlock is standing at his normal playing spot in front of the windows, back to me, wearing his blue dressing gown over his regular clothes. Despite the obviously sad song, he plays so beautifully that it's mesmerizing to watch. Suddenly, he stops mid-stroke and stands completely still like a statue.
"How did you get in?" he asks, without even turning around.
"Mrs. Hudson opened the door for me," I reply, entering the room fully, "I figured I'd stop by before work and see what you were up to. See what your plans were for this evening.
"You could've sent me a text." he says, coldly, "The museum is in the opposite direction of Baker Street from your flat. A simple text might have saved you a decent cab fare as well as the five minutes past your normal start time that you'll be late for."
"Well, maybe I wanted to see you." I say, taken back by his icy tone, "Is that so wrong?"
"No…just a waste of time on your part." He then starts to play again as if to dismiss me from his presence. I roll my eyes and go to his side. I'm use to his blunt rudeness, but this is extra cold. Something must be up. Gently, I set a hand on his shoulder, not occupied by the instrument, and he stops playing. He turns his head to face me: "Need something?" he asks.
"Yes." I reply. I lean up on my tiptoes and place a small kiss on his lips. He returns the gesture, but not for long.
"Why do want to know my plans for this evening?" he asks, setting his violin down in its case.
"Well, it's New Years Eve," I explain, "I'm off early and I wanted to know if you wanted to ring in the new year together. Maybe grab a late lunch/early dinner, have a glass of wine: you know, just have a nice evening alone."
"Dull." He replies very monotone like.
"Dull?" I ask, gulping down my disappointment and hurt.
"Yes, I see no point in it." He goes on, tossing off his dressing gown and sitting at his desk, "New Years Eve is like any other day of the year so why make a big deal out of it? It's stupid, really and quite an inconvenience to me. Why must we make an evening alone out of it?"
"Because that's what people in a relationship do on New Years," I reply, trying my best to hide my annoyance in my voice, "that is, of course, if you even view us in a relationship."
"Of course I do," he says, opening his laptop. He obviously isn't paying any attention to me right now and normally I'd be okay with that, because that's who he is. Right now, however, this is the last straw. He's been to stand offish about this and he can't toy with my feelings like this. I need a clear answer.
"You sure don't act like it," I say, folding my arms across my chest; my voice cold and straightforward, "Please, Sherlock, if this…thing between us is a waste of your time let me know. I don't want to be a nuisance to you and if your heart isn't in this, I want to know. I need to know."
Sherlock sighs and finally looks me directly in the eyes: "You're upset with me." He says, leaning back coolly in his chair.
"Oh? You think?" I sarcastically scoff.
"I told you before that I'm not good with relationships, Elfie," he says with clear agitation, "If you were expecting perfection from me, then it was in vain. I told you how I felt about you and you said that you felt the same. Have your feelings changed or is there just something I'm missing?"
"Sherlock, my feelings haven't changed," I say, "It's just that, you've been acting really off ever since Christmas and…and I just need to know that what you said to me wasn't just out of some sort of angst about Irene Adler."
I immediately regret saying those words as soon as they leave my mouth; I knew her death affected Sherlock deeply and, out of respect for him, I vowed to never bring her up. Sherlock just looks at me, completely emotionless, as he takes in a sharp breath. He's upset, truly, now: I can just tell.
"You know that's not true," he says.
"But, honestly, I don't." I reply, "Sherlock, I know you felt something for her and that's okay, I don't mind. But she's gone. I don't mean to sound cold, but that's the truth. If you aren't over whatever feelings you had for her, then maybe we shouldn't do…this."
"You're implying that my feelings for you are false," he says, suddenly becoming very stern, "that I invented them out of some sort of depression I felt over that woman's death. You couldn't be more wrong, Elfie Stegerson, I can assure you. I felt nothing for her. She was…nothing to me."
"Why won't you call her by her name?" I say, "Go on. Say it: Irene Adler."
"Don't taunt me." He hisses, picking up that camera phone from his desk, "I don't appreciate being treated like a child."
"Then stop acting like one and just admit that you had a crush on her," I snap back, "Look, I don't care, but as I told you before, I don't like being toyed with. If you don't want to be in a relationship with me, just say so. I would rather you be honest with me, then lead me on like this. I know that Irene had some affect on you mentally; enough for you to even doubt your skills. You won't admit it, but I know it's true. Ever since her death, you've been acting depressed, cold and, dare I say it, heartbroken. I know a broken heart when I see one, Sherlock, and you are clearly suffering from one. Look, I'm not trying to put you down. I just want to know your intentions. Do you want to be with me or not?"
Sherlock doesn't reply or give any sign that he was listening to me just now. His attention is fully fixed on that stupid camera phone again. Suddenly, something clicks in my brain: "Oh my god," I say, shaking my head in disbelief, "I can't believe it."
"What?" he asks, still not looking at me, "Glad to get that little rant out of your system?"
"That's her phone, isn't it?" I ask.
Sherlock glares at me and tosses the phone back onto the desk; "And if it is?" he says, "What do you care?"
"What do I…Seriously, did not listen to a single word I just said?" I shout, finally loosing it, "I don't like being toyed with Sherlock, I told you that! I especially don't appreciate being taken advantage of."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" he snaps, rising from his chair and hovering over me, "That I'm taking advantage of your feelings for me? You think that I'm that shallow?"
"No, I think you're that naïve about your own god damn feelings." I snap back, "You put on this emotionless, machine like façade and act like nobody in the world matters to you. Then along comes one woman and she makes your precious walls fall down. But instead of accepting those feelings like a normal person, you keep them locked inside and settle for something else just so you can go on living your life. Well, let me tell you something, Sherlock Holmes; I am not your consolation prize. If what you said to me on Christmas was the truth, then confirm it now. Tell me right now that I'm not just some silver medal to Irene Adler. Tell me that you really do care for me. If you can't…then I don't know if I can keep seeing you, friend or otherwise."
"You have no right to say that," he hisses, "you…you said that you cared for me, so why are you being so cold now? I have opened up to you in ways that I never thought I could with anyone and now your accusing me of being false? I hold you in very high regard, Elfie, and consider you one of my dearest of friends."
"One of your dearest friends or your only friend, because I can clearly see now why you don't have any. You care for no one, do you? You're just a cold, emotionless, heartless…freak."
My eyes grow wide with shock and I quickly bite my lower lip; I didn't mean to say that. I didn't mean a word of that. That was a clear case of emotions taking over and me not thinking. Sherlock's gaze quickly turns from angry to hurt…deeply hurt. He blinks a few times then runs a hand through his curls as he goes back to stand by the windows. Oh God, what have I done?
"Sherlock." I whisper, looking down at the floor, "I'm…I'm sorry, I didn't-"
"Get out." He says, not even daring to look at me, "Please…just go."
"Wait, Sherlock, let me explain."
"I said go."
"But…"
"Go."
Not wanting to make matters worse than I already have, I take in a deep breath and quickly leave. As I descend the stairs, I pass by Mrs. Hudson who gives me a concerned, motherly, look:
"Everything alright, dear?" she asks, "Were you able to get Sherlock to tell you anything? He's been real down in the dumps lately, but I'm sure he was glad to see you. You always seem to bring out the best of moods in him."
"I, um, I…I gotta go." I quickly say, passing by her and sprinting outside. I don't stop sprinting until I reach the tube station and am seated on my train on the way to work. Letting my emotions finally settle, I rest my elbows on my knees and hold my head in my hands. 'What did I just do?' I ask myself, feeling tears fill up my eyes, 'What the hell did I just do?'
Relationships are the oddest of things. When they begin, it feels like everything is meant to be and life is lived on Cloud Nine. Then time goes by and the so-called honeymoon period fades away; reality sets in and the question of 'is this really worth the time and effort' sets in.
In the case of Sherlock Holmes and I, there was no honeymoon period. Reality had stuck us from the get go and now, I fear, our friendship will never recover from it. In fact, I don't think we can ever be friends again. I've hurt him, the man that I love and I don't think he will ever forgive me.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o0
Weeks go by and I've heard nothing from Sherlock. John, on occasion, texts me just see how I am and if I'd like to grab a drink with him (strictly as friends, he assures me), but I politely decline; it just doesn't feel right. I did, however, tell him that I've kept up with his blog. Apparently, Irene Adler is alive and I'm not going to lie and say that I'm not affected by that piece of news. Sherlock must be happy…or relieved…I don't know. I asked John about how Sherlock reacted to the news, but he just said that he was 'same ol' Sherlock'. I want to ask Sherlock myself, but I just can't.
The weeks became months and I've come to terms with my life being back to the way it was pre-Sherlock. I told my roommate that I'll always have feelings for Sherlock and that I will always regret not making it work with him, and that in all honesty I'm okay. I'm lying of course, but I have to move on. I realize now that there is a fine line between being together and not; Sherlock and I were never together and I was stupid enough to let it all go to my head. And now, I've lost probably my best friend, never to speak with him again. I don't want to text Sherlock or call or anything because it really isn't my place. After all, I'm the one that brought on the argument and called him a freak. God, I can't believe I said that.
One night, as I pack up my satchel with some extra work that I need to take home, my phone buzzes in my right coat pocket. Curious, I dig it out and stare in shock at the message on the screen:
'Meet me at the steps. It's urgent-SH'
He texted me: Sherlock hasn't spoken to me in months but now just texted me saying that he needs to meet with me. My heart skips a beat and one tear escapes my left eye. I grab my things, turn out the light and rush out of the museum.
I can't think straight because I'm so excited. I thought I'd never hear from him again. It could just be nothing-a simple 'can I burrow this book' or something along those lines-but I don't care. For the first times in months, I feel like I whole again. Sherlock is back in my life, even if it's just for a moment.
I reach the steps and there, sitting at the bottom like he use to, is Sherlock Holmes. I take in a deep breath and walk over to him: My heart is racing and my stomach is full of butterflies. Slowly, I take in a deep breath and speak:
"Hello, Sherlock." I say when I'm directly behind him. Sherlock stands up, dusts off his trousers and turns to face me. God, is it possible that he's gotten more handsome during the time we've been apart?
"Hello," he says, giving me that half mouth smirk I've missed so much, "pleasure to see you again."
"Is it?" I ask, sheepishly. Sherlock chuckles slightly and hold his hand out to me. I gladly take it and we shake just like we use too. Our eyes lock for a moment and I can't help but tear up.
"You're crying," he says, sounding worried, "Is something the matter?"
"No, no, I'm fine." I reply, drying my eyes on my sleeve, "I, um…Look, Sherlock, I'm sorry for what I said to you. I didn't-"
To my surprise, Sherlock lets go of my hand and gently puts a finger to my lips: "Don't." he says in a soft tone, "You…you were right. I wasn't being honest with you and I thought I was ready for...Actually, I'm not even sure what I thought I was ready for. I made a mistake, a huge mistake. I fell for that woman's tricks and…yes; I feel something for her even though it was all in vein. But that is no excuse for what I did to you, Elfie and for that I am deeply sorry." He then looks into my eyes and takes both my hands into his own: "I hate to do this, but I must ask for your help in ending this whole affair for good." He goes on, becoming very stern, "I need you, Elfie, and after this I promise you, I will never bother you with Irene Adler ever again."
"What do you need me for?" I ask, "John told me that she's gone; no one knows where she went."
"No one but me." Sherlock admits, looking down at our hands in shame, "I…I've been tracking her via her phone. I'm not proud of that, Elfie, I assure you, but I needed to know her whereabouts. That phone of hers held too much information that someone like her can't just be allowed to roam freely. She had too many connections to too many dangerous people and now she's in trouble. I have to help her, Elfie you must understand that."
I take in a deep breath and slip my hands away from his as if to subconsciously tell him that I don't understand nor do I wish to. Sherlock sighs heavily and nods, understandingly; he always could read my mind.
"I know that I have no right in the world to ask it of you," he says, "but I need your help. She's in Karachi, Pakistan; home to a terrorist cell that she somehow obtained information on. I have reason to believe that she has be captured by this group and I...I need to save her. The problem is I don't know the culture as well as I should and I would have extreme difficulties in the process of saving her; possibly even bring myself to fatal dangers. Elfie, I know that you know the culture. I helped you write that lecture on the Middle East remember? I could use your knowledge in this instance and I promise you, your name won't be connected to any of my plans. I'll keep you safe. Please, if you could assist me in this I will forever be in your debt. In fact…if you wish it, I will out of your life and never bother you with such things ever again."
I bite my lower lip and look away; he's right. He has no right to ask this off me. What does he think; that he can just bat his beautiful, sea foam eyes at me and I'll crumble to my knees to help him? This is insane! How the hell is I suppose to help Sherlock save his crush from a terrorist group? I'm a historian-which, according to him is the thing he needs.
I look back at him and gently cup his head in my hands. He closes his eyes as we nuzzle our foreheads together, our lips mere inches away from each other. Oh, how I just want to kiss him right now and tell him that he doesn't need Irene Adler and that he can have me. But that's not what he wants. He wants…the woman. If that will make him happy, then so be it. I am not ashamed to admit that I'm only helping him because I love him. He has my heart and he always will.
"Come in my office," I whisper, "let me see what I can do."
Sherlock lets out a heavy sigh and opens his eyes again: "Thank you." He says, "Truly, thank you."
I gave him every bit of information I knew on Middle Eastern cultures and he filled me in on his plan. With this information, Sherlock was able to perfect his disguise and his manner of attack. He was going to disguise himself and sneak into the terrorist cell to save Irene Adler. It would be dangerous, but I'm not worried; Sherlock may do crazy, ridiculous things, but never without a plan. Sherlock informed me that he would be leaving tonight for Pakistan and asked if I would be willing to meet him on his arrival back to London in two days time. John was out of town as well and since I was the only person who knew of his plan, it would make the most sense for me to be there. I agreed and waited anxiously for the day to come.
Two days passed at a snails pace, but I arrived at Heathrow Airport at 2:47am just as Sherlock's flight was landing. I wait patiently at baggage claim, checking the face of every person that walked by just in case I had missed him. After about 5 minutes of waiting, I spot Sherlock, wearing jeans and black t-shirt and carrying a tan backpack over his left shoulder, looking very much 'not himself'. I'm surprised that he's alone; I was under the assumption that Irene would be coming back with him, but apparently not. I wave to him and he immediately spots me. To my surprise, but not displeasure, Sherlock runs toward me, pushing past a few weary travelers, and wraps his arms around me in a tight embrace. I happily return the gesture.
"Is it wrong of me to say that I've missed you?" he whispers into my ear.
"No, it's not wrong at all," I say with a small chuckle, rubbing my hands up and down his back, "I've…I've miss you too. God, I really did miss you." I close my eyes and nuzzle my head onto his shoulder. Sherlock tightens his hold on me and we remain like this for countless moments.
"Are you okay?" I ask when we finally part and head out of the airport to our waiting cab, "You're not hurt or anything, right?"
"I'm fine," he replies, taking my hand into his, "I'm…I'm just glad its over."
"Is she...alive?" I ask, cautiously.
"Yes," Sherlock sighs, giving my hand a tight squeeze, "And, Elfie?"
"Yes?"
"I promise you, I will never speak of this ever again." Sherlock pulls me off to the side and gently cups my face in his hands: "You have been good to me, Elfie Stegerson, far too good to me." He goes on, rubbing his thumbs across my cheeks, "I…I told you before that if you wish me too, I would stay out of your life. I have put you through so much recently that it would be logical for you to end this friendship now, before I could ever hurt you again."
"Sherlock, don't be stupid." I say, gazing into those eyes of his, "I…I could never have you out of my life."
He furrows his brow in confusion: "Even after all that I've put you through?" he asks, "Even after I…I mean, we…we were a…relationship?"
"Even after that," I say with a laugh, taking his hands into my own, "Sherlock, you mean so much to me that…that I can't imagine my life without you. You're my best friend, truly and I'm not going to leave you, ever."
Sherlock smiles and looks down at our intertwined hands: "Will you…will you then consider something for me?" he asks.
"What is it?"
"Will you consider…taking me back?" Sherlock looks back up at me with hopeful eyes and my heart skips a beat; "I never lied to you," he goes on, "You have affected my heart in ways that no one ever could and no one ever will. This case, all of it, has shown me that caring for someone is much different than actually falling…in love. I have come to the conclusion that love, although a major distraction toward the important things in life, can never be fully experience unless with someone who genuinely returns the affection." I open my mouth to speak, but he quickly puts his fingers to my lips to stop me. Gazing into my eyes, he goes on: "I want to share that affection with you, Elfie Stegerson and it has taken me far to long to realize it. I'm…scared by this feeling I'll admit it. However, I would be more than happy to share it with you…if you are willing to let me try. All I ask is for you to be patient with me; I hurt you before, and I will do everything in my power to not make that mistake again. I…I love you."
"Sherlock," I breathe out, trying to wrap my head around what he has just told me, "I…I don't know what to say. That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me and…and…and…" I look into those gorgeous eyes of his and contently sigh. Without another word, I cup his face in my hands and place a deep kiss on his lips. Sherlock wraps his arms around me and returns the gesture, even dipping me slightly. I have never felt so happy and so alive in all my life. This man, who simply waltzed into my office one day, has stolen my heart and dragged me on an emotional coaster, but it's all been worth it.
He loves me. Sherlock Holmes loves me.
Our lips finally part and Sherlock stands me back upright; "We should, um, get a cab." He says, sound a tad embarrassed, "The cabbie is probably annoyed." I let out a small laugh and take Sherlock's hand into my own. We walk across the street and get inside our patient cab. I give him Sherlock's address and we are on our way in seconds.
"So, can I call you my boyfriend now?" I ask, wrapping my arms around Sherlock's waist.
"You can call me whatever you'd like, darling." he chuckles, placing an arm around my shoulders and pulling me in close so that I can rest my head on his shoulder, "Is that alright with you? Darling, I mean."
"It's perfect." I say, kissing his cheek. Sherlock turns his head slightly so that my lips land on the corner of his mouth. I nuzzle my head back between his neck and shoulder and smile: "I love you, Sherlock."
"I love you," he says, kissing the top of my head, "my darling, darling girl."
Phew! Done!
This is a long one, but I really wanted to get this story arch done. My next one will be Baskerville but that will be a one shot. If you have any suggestions of what you want to read please let me know.
Thanks as always!
I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.
Much love and many thanks.