I have four legs, but I do not breathe,
Check me on the underneath.
John stared in confusion at the note in his hands. It was a tiny square piece of paper that Sherlock had placed in his hands before grinning wickedly and disappearing out of the flat. John squinted at the words. Is this a riddle? That's a table, right? John thought sluggishly. He shuffled into the kitchen and peeked under the table. Nothing was there. He frowned slightly. He knelt and stuck his head under the table to look at the table itself. In the middle was a small note, similar to the one he'd already been given. He pulled it off gently and stood back up to read it.
A million things that could be said,
A million times I've lost my head,
A million times that you have paid,
And a million times that you have stayed.
John,
It would be my greatest pleasure,
To see you across from me,
John sucked in a gasping breath.
At dinner tomorrow evening.
8 o'clock sharp once again.
Dress nice.
-Sherlock Holmes
John clutched at his heart.
"Holy shit," he whispered.
"Not exactly what I was looking for…" came a stoic voice from the doorway.
John jumped, almost losing his grip on the precious notes in his hands.
"Sh-Sherlock!" John exclaimed, "You startled me! I thought you'd gone somewhere."
"I estimated the amount of time it would take you to solve the riddle and read the note. I wished to see your reaction and have your answer. But I didn't want to bother you in your quest to find the note. At first I had a series of notes and clues. However, after twenty-eight I thought that perhaps it wasn't the best idea."
Sherlock's face was cool and impassive, but John could tell it meant a lot to him.
"Well, I say yes," John said calmly, smiling lightly.
Sherlock smiled lightly back at him. John chuckled slightly.
"Though, I have to admit," He laughed, "When you said "Across from me" I almost thought you were asking me to marry you. Almost had a heart attack."
He smiled, still chuckling, up at Sherlock, but when he saw the man's face it died off. The man looked partially confused and partially something that John couldn't read.
"Er, you ok there?" John asked hesitantly.
"Fine, John," Sherlock said softly.
With that he turned on his heel and stalked into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. John looked down at the notes clutched tightly in his hands. He couldn't help but wonder why Sherlock was trying to be so romantic and why a comment about marriage would upset him. He sighed loudly; why did he even try to understand that man?
"John."
"Sherlock."
John suppressed a giggle as he looked at Sherlock who was looking rather serious and formal in his suit, framed by the open doorway and the night sky. Sherlock frowned at him as though he knew that he was suppressing a girlish giggle. He pulled his hands from behind his back to reveal that he was holding a gift. John immediately focused his attention on the package. It was wrapped in silver paper with black string. It was roughly the size of a book. John briefly wondered if it was a book.
Sherlock held it out to him and he gingerly took it, running his fingers over the wrapping before gently tearing into it. He found that it was indeed a book. It was hard cover with no title. It was plain black except for a pink bow on the front cover. John couldn't help but feel like the color was familiar. He flipped the front cover open and then lifted the very first page that was plain black like the cover. The next page which was normally dedicated to the title had two simple words printed in the center:
For John
John glanced up at Sherlock curiously before returning to the book and flipping the next page. He gasped in shock as he found himself eye to eye with a mirror. He blinked and leaned forward, squinting. The mirror didn't lean forward and squint at him. He frowned, but the mirror didn't. He looked up at Sherlock with a "Wtf?" look and Sherlock smirked slightly. He looked back down at the book.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "It's a picture! Ok. Freaked me out a bit when the mirror didn't move."
He laughed nervously and leaned in for a better look. It was a close up of his face. He looked serious and sad. John recognized the background as St. Bart's. This was the room Sherlock was in most of the time. When could this picture of been taken? Sherlock never took photos that John knew of. John searched the picture for some clue as to when it was taken. He placed his fingertips on the photo and gasped again.
"This isn't a picture!" John cried, "I mean-well, it's-it's not a photo! Sherlock! This is amazing! Who drew this?!"
"I did, obviously," Sherlock scoffed.
John gaped at him.
"You drew this, Sherlock?!" John squealed (yes, squealed), "You're so amazing! You're so bloody brilliant, Sherlock!"
Sherlock looked confused.
"Artistic talent makes me brilliant?" Sherlock questioned.
"Yes, you crazy git!" John laughed, "I thought this was a photo Sherlock! It's a drawing, too! That's crazy! A painting I could see, but a drawing! Jesus! This is…it's amazing!"
Sherlock still looked rather confused, but he smiled anyway.
"I don't know when this is though…" John said, scowling, "It feels familiar, but I can't quite grasp it."
He sighed heavily and turned the page. The next page had a black and white sketch of a hand holding out a phone. John recognized it as his phone and then he realized it was his hand. This must be one of the many times that Sherlock requested he give his phone to him for some unknown reason. He flipped the page again and there was a full body sketch of John holding his cane and looking straight forward at presumably Sherlock. The next drawing was of John's body from the waist up. He had a polite smile and his hand was extended, grasping another hand. Then was a drawing of John crouched looking up with wonder clear on his face.
The next was a drawing of John smiling, framed by the large window at the front of Angelo's, his head leaning down. Then there was one of him running, a concentrated, determined look on his face. This one seemed more hastily drawn with slightly fewer details, not that it was any less amazing. The next was a view of John almost from above, as though Sherlock had snapped a photo with his eyes. John's eyes were bright and he was grinning, laughing. The next one was John's head and shoulders, a surprised and disbelieving look shining brightly on his face.
There were several more, ending with a profile drawing of John, looking slightly serious, but with a happy twinkle in his eye and his lips were slightly turned up. There was no background in this one; just the plain white of the paper it was drawn on. John's fingertips came to rest on the white space next to the drawing of himself.
"Sherlock," John whispered, "This is…"
But he couldn't finish, because he had no words left.
