Eight: I'm Beginning to See the Light (Ella Fitzgerald)

Used to ramble through the park

Shadowboxing in the dark

'til you came and caused a spark

That's a four-alarm fire now

"Sherlock, where are we going?" John asked. The scarf around his eyes was beginning to itch.

"Well it wouldn't be a surprise if you knew, now would it?"

John harrumphed but kept silent. He would never admit it out loud, but he was actually a little concerned. Sherlock Holmes was about as romantic as the bloody skull that he kept on the mantle. He was affectionate, sure, and gods he knew how to…um…be intimate, but romantic? John had come to believe that Sherlock's equivalency to romance was taking the bag of fingers out of the cupboard before John had a coronary. In fact, Sherlock probably thought examining a corpse or studying body parts was perfectly romantic. There had better not be a corpse at the end of this taxi ride…

"John, there won't be any body parts, don't fret." Sherlock's voice broke into his musings, seemingly giving sound to his thoughts. John jumped and swung his head to where he guessed Sherlock's face was.

"Sherlock, how in god's name…"

"Please, John. You have a very emotive face, even if I can't see your eyes. And I happen to be very familiar with the different shapes of your lips…" He trailed off and gave a small nip at the facial feature in question with his own lips, eliciting a small gasp from the other man. Sherlock gave a low chuckle as the cab came to a stop. Sherlock tossed the cabbie some bills, grabbed the item he had brought with them, and helped a blindfolded John get out of the car.

As Sherlock led him around, John tried to tap into his Sherlock-sense to deduce where they were. He heard the wind…sounded like it was rustling through some greenery. He felt uneven ground under his feet, but it was springy and crisp…grass then. He thought perhaps off in the distance he heard children playing and a faint…splashing sound.

"Sherlock, why are we at the park?" John asked. He felt confident that's where they were at.

Sherlock chuckled. "Very good, John. You're learning."

"Kind of an occupational hazard when one works and lives with you," John teased. He felt a hand on his chest as Sherlock stopped him. He stood still, lacing his fingers behind him as he waited for Sherlock to drop the other boot. He felt his partner come up behind him and place his cool fingers on either side of his head. The taller man pressed a chaste kiss to the top of John's head and removed the blindfold in one smooth motion.

John blinked at the sudden brightness and at the scene that was laid before him. They were indeed in the park, and in a more private area by a graceful circle of beech trees. The afternoon sun was filtering down between the leaves, speckling the green grass with shades of yellow and green light. On the ground before his feet, there was a blue tartan blanket spread out and a wicker picnic basket placed in the corner.

"Sherlock Holmes," John said, a slow smile creeping onto his face, "did you bring me on a picnic in the park?"

Sherlock blinked back at him. "I fail to see what other conclusion you would have drawn, seeing as how…"

The man's words were cut off as John threw his arms around the taller man, laughing loudly and pulling the detective's face down for a smooth, passionate kiss.

"This is wonderful, Sherlock, really," John said as he came up for air. He gave his companion a huge smile and pulled away so that he could sit down on the blanket.

Sherlock's face lit up in a delicate pink and he sat down too. "Mrs. Hudson helped me pack the basket," he said.

The world's only consulting detective and his faithful blogger enjoyed their meal under the shade of the beech trees. Sherlock dutifully ate everything that John handed him and he didn't complain once. They had finished and were sitting in companionable silence for some time when Sherlock spoke again.

"I used to come to this spot when I was a younger man," he reflected. "There's something about these beech trees…"

"Hmmm…" John agreed. Sherlock was leaning back against one of the aforementioned trees and John was leaning into Sherlock.

Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "I used to come here and use cocaine.'' He felt John's body stiffen and heard his breath catch in his throat. His drug use was no secret to John, but he'd never talked about it outright.

"Why?" John asked.

"Well…there's just something about these beech trees…" Sherlock replied.

"No, I meant…why did you use cocaine?" John clarified. He shifted slightly so that he could look up into Sherlock's clear blue-grey gaze.

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "Our brains are like biochemical computers. They say we only use ten percent of our brains on a daily basis, but this is simply not true. We use a great deal more than that, and some of us are wired to think in more complex settings than others. If normal people operate on the level of your average laptop computer, I operate at the level of a Cray supercomputer. My mind sees connections that others miss. I crave the details that others can't be bothered with. Most people are either big-picture people or detail oriented. I see it all. I can observe the small details—say, your military haircut, your tan lines, your posture—and I can connect it to the bigger picture—your military service. I can then also make inductions about where you were and what you did from those deductions."

He paused for a moment to take a sip of water from the bottle by his side. "As such, the world becomes both my playground and my prison. A mind like mine cannot simply be idle…it doesn't know how to do that. Perhaps this is a natural instinct, perhaps it is a learned behavior. I am not sure. But I do know that my mind craves constant input. I always need something to think about so that I don't…go mad. When there is nothing to occupy my mind, I become overstimulated by all of the information rattling around up there. Everything that I know…which is quite a vast amount of information…begins to attack at my sensory input. It gets so loud sometimes, John…so very loud."

He paused again, tilting his head back to look at the canopy of leaves above him. He felt John press a little closer to his body, gently urging him on. "The cocaine gave my mind something to focus on. The morphine used to slow it down, but the cocaine was so much more…stimulating. My brain would focus on the effects of the drug and everything would be sated. I would come to this place and just lie here for hours. There's something about these beech trees, I'm telling you." He fell silent and watched the sunlight play with the colors in John's hair.

"So why did you bring me to this place?" John asked, gesturing at the area. "Don't get me wrong, this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me, but…why here?"

Sherlock considered his words. "I used to come here because the cocaine was the only thing that gave my mind the things it craved and this was the place I liked to be. But now I am coming here because I have far better things with which to occupy my mind. I have the work, which has given me a chance to solve crimes and exercise my skills in a…healthy manner. More importantly, I have you now, my faithful blogger and partner. I have not felt the need to turn to cocaine or morphine once since you came into my life all those years ago. This is my way of…saying thank you." Sherlock fell silent and huffed a huge breath. He still wasn't used to sharing all these…feelings.

After a few moments, Sherlock leaned over so that he could look at John. He was startled to find quiet tears pouring from the man's sapphire eyes. He shuffled the man's body around so he could look at him properly.

"John! What's wrong?"

John laughed and put his hands up. "I'm fine! I'm fine, really, I just…" The smile on his face could have illuminated the entirety of London. "That was the sappiest and most beautiful thing I have ever heard in my entire life, and it came from the lips of Sherlock Holmes! What is the world coming to?!" He leaned forward to kiss his partner's beautiful face, reveling in the feeling of the man's smile under his lips.

They both released and settled back into their original positions. Sherlock felt all the tension in his body drain away and seep into the ground below him.

"I love you, John," Sherlock said as he watched the breeze play with the leaves of the tree.

"I love you too, Sherlock," John replied as he felt the beat of his partner's heart in his ear.