Chapter Thirty Two.

"Feeling better?" John Watson asked with very little sympathy in his tone as he watched an ashen faced and very wobbly Sherlock Holmes enter the living room and, using the furniture to keep his balance, stagger across the room to flop down heavily in his chair.

Holmes let out a groan of misery before answering.

"Marginally."

"Serves you right, you know. Bolting down all that food and then getting yourself all worked up like that. It was bound to happen."

"Yes, thank you, doctor," Holmes scowled at his friend, then rubbed at his forehead and ran his hand roughly over his face. "I'd rather not talk about it..."

"No, I'm sure you wouldn't."

"Before I forget, I had an email from Shorecross this morning."

Holmes grabbed the chance to quickly change the subject.

"He has drawn up the document that I requested and he sent me a copy to proof read."

"Shorecross knows how to use email?" Watson smirked, recalling the elderly solicitor.

"Well, obviously, not he, himself. One of his staff," Holmes clarified.

"That was quick. And?"

"I read it, made some small amendments and emailed it back. I got a reply this evening. We can go to his office in the morning to sign the document, and then my good friend, and doctor, my foreseeable future will be in your hands."

"Ok."

Progress at last.

They grew solemn and silent for a moment, and then Watson regarded Holmes a little more sympathetically.

He really did look terrible, pale, haggard, his right hand massaging at his brow absently, trembling slightly, an artefact from his recent vomiting, or perhaps a symptom of the tumour invading his brain, Watson could not be sure, and pain etching deep lines into the corners of his eyes.

He looked older than his years, and it was plain to see that he was suffering.

However, that did not excuse his behaviour this evening, and Watson wasn't prepared to let him off the hook just yet.

"Look, I know you feel rotten, but, you really were well bent out of shape, Sherlock, and, for the record, you were also well out of order. Do you plan on apologizing?"

"Apologize?" Holmes' tone was sarcastic. "Why should I do that?"

"Well, if you don't know, there's no point in my telling you."

Watson let out a deep sigh of exasperation.

"Sherlock, do you like her? Cass?"

A thought had occurred to him, while Sherlock had been out of the room, that might just explain why his friend had suddenly gone off the deep end earlier.

At first he had told himself that it was ridiculous, but after some thought, he was beginning to see that there might actually be something in it.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Holmes regarded his friend with cold eyes and frowned now.

"What does what just happened here have to do with anything? You have to admit, that wasn't normal, even for you, Sherlock," Watson reminded gently. "So? Do you? Like her?" He probed again.

Holmes continued to regard him with a sour look on his face, as if he suddenly had a very bad smell right under his nose.

"I just wondered, that's all. It's ok you know. It's allowed."

"I know it's ok," Holmes looked appalled, then frowned deeply. "What's ok?"

"If you, you know..."

"No. Know what?" Holmes shot back in irritated tones, and Watson began to suspect that he had hit the nail, not quite squarely, but definitely on the head.

Oh Sherlock, you plank ...

"Fancy her, Sherlock."

"Fancy her?"

"Sherlock!" Watson's tone was incredulous now and he rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation.

"God, Sherlock, sometimes, I despair of you! She is quite an attractive woman, a pleasant woman. Surely even you can't have failed to have noticed that, and, she seems to have you pretty much weighed up, yet, she keeps coming back, even though she's seen you at probably your most obnoxious and mercurial."

"I do not fancy her."

There was a grimace on Holmes face that told Watson that he found the very idea disgusting, but Watson was not convinced, for now there was just the teeniest hint of warmth in those normally cold and calculating eyes.

Cupid draw back your bow, and let your arrow flow...

"Could have fooled me."

Granted, it wasn't the conventional way for two people to meet and feel some kind of attraction, but it once again proved that Sherlock Holmes was not made of stone as he would like the world to believe, and it wasn't exactly the best of timing, but then again, these things rarely were.

No wonder he got bend out of shape.

Poor man, he must have felt terribly betrayed, especially after she had actually told him to his face, not once, but twice, that she trusted him.

Again Holmes glared at his friend.

"It's me you're talking to, Sherlock. I know you. I've seen you around Cass, and you're different somehow. Kinder, softer. Gentle, sensitive, even tender, and I don't think it was all an act just to butter her up."

"Tosh!"

Watson continued, disregarding the sour, outraged expression on Holmes' face.

"I've never seen you behave like that before. I was there when Irene, you know, you and she were dancing around each other, and the sexual tension the two of you were generating was actually quite uncomfortable, palpable, and you were never like that with her, and I know she got to you, mate, so don't deny it. But this is different. You're different, with Cass," He observed, his voice gentle, indicating that it was not an admonishment. "You might not have known it, but you've actually been quite restrained with her."

"Rubbish," However, Holmes' response lacked the previous venom, and now there was a thoughtful frown drawing down his brow as he thought back to his dealings with Cassia Ingram.

"I've seen you with Molly too. I've seen the way you treat that poor girl. You know she fancies you, and you use your charms on her to get what you want out of her, in the lab, and then you change your tune. You've been deliberately cruel with her more than once to my knowledge, leading her on, then dropping her like a hot cake."

"I have not..."

"Yes you have, and it's not fair on the poor girl. Put her out of her misery, Sherlock. Stop leading her on, leaving her gagging, and then pouring cold water over her. She deserves better than that. She's a better friend to you than you are to her, so treat her kindly if nothing else, and don't give her false hope."

"Have you quite finished?"

"With you and Molly, yes. But as for Cass... It wouldn't be a bad thing, Sherlock, if you did fancy her, I mean. You're only human..."

"Perish the thought!" Holmes growled sharply.

"What, that you are human, or God forbid, that you could actually fancy an attractive, intelligent, articulate young woman?"

"Look John, you of all people should know my views about love and marriage and romance. You ask if I like Cass? Alright, then I would have to say yes, she is very likeable, and yes, all those things that you just said, but I do not fancy her," He explained in low tones.

"I admire her strength and tenacity and her courage. But, I do not fancy her. In fact, I have no thoughts about it either way. I have more important things on my mind, and I do not want, nor do I have the time for romance."

"I know the timing isn't fantastic ..."

"You are mistaken."

"Suit yourself, you sad git."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, I think the man doth protest too much..."

"Rubbish!"

"Like I said, suit yourself, Spock."

"I wish that you would stop comparing me to a fictional television character."

"Then stop acting like you don't have emotions. It's me, remember. I think I know you as well as anyone can, by now, and I know that it's not that you can't feel. You can, and you do, but for some reason, you choose not to allow yourself to feel. One of these days, it's going to blow up in your face. There's a reason human beings have emotions and needs and drives, Sherlock, and the longer you ignore them, or bury them, the more chance there is, sooner or later, you're going to suffer the consequences."

"Thank you, doctor..."

"You claim to be a high functioning sociopath, high functioning, yes, a high functioning pillock! You are human, flesh and blood, with hormones and emotions, just like the rest of us, and, deny it all you want, you do have needs, physical and emotional, just like the rest of us..."

"Yes, yes, I know. If you prick me do I not bleed?"

"Yes, you do. I've seen it. Not blue, and not exactly claret either, just bog standard red like the rest of us. You are no different to me. Loving someone, even liking them won't spoil your ability to think and reason, it won't mar your deductive reasoning. A little empathy might even help you, Sherlock..."

Now where had he heard that before, only a few hours ago too? Sherlock thought sourly.

"I like her. That should suffice."

That was a start.

"Well, at least you're not denying that you do feel something."

"Do you think she likes me?"

Holmes suddenly asked in a quiet voice, suddenly coy, and Watson was surprised by the question.

Oh boy...

Maybe I wasn't so wide of the mark after all...

If he doesn't feel anything for her, why should it matter to him if she likes him or not?

Maybe he senses something too, and isn't too sure of his interpretation right now.

Well, well, well ...

But what to tell him without making him run a mile, or quash the delicate new feelings that he might actually have for Cassia Ingram?

"How the hell should I know? I barely know what my own wife thinks, much less what is on Cassia's mind, but, I will tell you this, when she was in trouble, when she was at her most vulnerable and most afraid, when she was terrified and at her wits end, it was you she came to, and not because of your ruddy deductive reasoning!" Watson pointed out with the hint of a smile on his lips. "Fancy you? Hell, why not. Miracles are possible I suppose. It's not beyond the realms of possibility my friend. know it or not, you are a good looking fellow, and you have certain charms, when you put your mind to it. "

"Very drool. Where are you going?" Holmes demanded now as Watson slung his jacket around his shoulders and headed for the door.

"To look for Cass. She's been out a bit too long, all alone out there in the big city, and its dark now. I'm worried for her safety. Anything could happen to her..."

He let his voice trail off then, allowing Holmes to infer that if anything bad did happen to Cassia Ingram, it would be his fault for driving her out into the night, whilst also wondering if he would rise to the bait.

If he did like her, he should be just as concerned as Watson himself was, and wouldn't be able to hide it.

"I'll come with you..."

Ah ha!

Cupid's arrow found it's mark, has it?

Is that why you were so upset, so resentful when you found out that she isn't exactly whom she claims to be?

You poor fool.

Welcome to the human race!

Not a machine after all.

Oh God, Sherlock in love...

Well, it would be different!

But if he decided to throw himself in to that like he did everything else, God help them all!

At the very thought that Cassia might be in danger, Holmes made to rise out of his chair, suddenly showing just how concerned he really was about Cassia himself, despite his earlier denials, his own problems forgotten, until he found that his legs were still weak and wobbly and his stomach was still very delicate.

"No you won't." Watson spoke softly now. "You're not up to it, physically. I'll be ok. I can handle myself on the mean streets." He grinned. "And in the meantime, Romeo, you're going to stay here and think of an apology for Cass, and when she gets here, you're going to deliver that apology and make it sound as sincere as you can," Watson told him in no uncertain terms, knowing as he did so that he might as well be talking to the wall behind Sherlock, but perhaps it would be food for thought for his friend, as he walked toward the living room door. "Then, hopefully, we'll all have a chance to get some shut eye before the real fun begins.