Chapter 5: The past, the present and the future walk into a bar...


They find the twelfth victim in the same storage unit facility where they found the first victim, only in a different unit, one with a fading number 37 next to the door – the initial crime scene, the top of the clock again, midnight to midnight, back at 12. The body is once again positioned to mimic the hands of a clock striking 12, only this time there isn't a pile of iron shavings place above the contorted limbs. This time, the killer leaves a jar filled with bits of natrium. Sherlock snatches the jar as soon as Lestrade isn't looking, with a frantic glint in his eye. He seems enthralled by this new development, and hurries back to Baker Street to try and work out what it means.

When John walks into the kitchen, having fallen behind Sherlock on the way up, seeing as he had to pay the cab, reassure Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock will not damage the table this time (an unfortunate incident with the liquid nitrogen found on the fifth victim) and then stomp up the stairs, Sherlock is already slicing the sodium and placing a small bit on a microscope slide. He is buzzing with frenzied energy, and starts talking, more to himself than to John, as soon as the image under the instrument comes into focus.

"Twelve...he's finished the circle now, and yet he still left a clue on the last crime scene...Why? Maybe he's planning on another round. Oh! I wonder what he will use in this one...Elements again? Or something new...I'd hate for it to be elements again, it would get boring the second time around, really –"

"Sherlock, listen to yourself!"

Sherlock falters in his frantic movements and angles his body so to look at John, confusion clear on his face. John is standing, tense and rigid, on the border between the kitchen and the living room, eyes trained steadily on Sherlock. The 'for now' is over, as the last remnants of that once-steady happiness dissipate, highly reactive and unstable at room temperature, which seems like a boiling and a freezing point, all at the same time.

"You are bloody well hoping for another bout of serial murders. Of actual, living people, Sherlock!"

Sherlock can feel the long-delayed confrontation rolling in like a storm. The pangs that he has managed to keep suppressed, now spread like an itch to the tips of his fingers, his mind and his tongue.

"No, John, I am not hoping for it. I am simply considering it as an option, seeing as all the signs present seem to indicate future activity of the killer, and seeing as this one has proven himself to be a man of pattern; I am simply hypothesising about what he could use to form his next one."

"You are hypothesising with a rather great enthusiasm."

"I don't see how my manner of hypothesising is relevant. It will neither encourage nor prevent the killer from doing whatever he has planned, so why are you so upset? Yes, I am thrilled that there is someone out there who isn't a half-wit. The fact that they chose to employ their intellect for less-than-noble purposes is unfortunate, but I cannot do anything about it, except solve the crimes. I don't see how my pretending not to enjoy solving them will contribute to the investigation."

Twisting his body and rising from the chair, Sherlock erases the distance, between the kitchen table and where John stands, in three steps, as he fires off words faster than seconds on the clock manage to tick. John seems unfazed by Sherlock's actions, and stands his ground, unflinching.

"No, it's the fact that you keep on forgetting that these thrilling events include people being murdered. Or, let me correct myself, you don't keep on forgetting – you simply don't care!"

"Again, John, I fail to see how my caring is relevant, as it will in no way contribute to the investigation. You know me well enough to know I am not of the sort to be better motivated by sentiment, seeing as I always use my abilities to their utmost, so whether I care or not is inconsequential. I will work as hard either way, and solve the crimes, either way. It is for that reason, although not solely that one, that I prefer to not burden myself with the unnecessary complications that come with involving sentiment in the process. The source of all the emotions, they say, is loss of control, which is a rebellion in the mind as a whole against right reason"

"You'd say that, wouldn't you?"

"Actually, Cicero said that, and rightfully so. Emotions would in no way be of use to me in my Work, if anything they would be a dangerous impediment. Tell me, John, do you think the families of the victims would rather that I stagger around, crushed by sadness over the deaths of their loved ones, or would they rather have me solving their murders?"

Well, this is probably the closest Sherlock Holmes has ever come to being wilfully obtuse (as he would say), or simply playing dumb (as John would say). If he weren't as bothered as he is, John would have found this sight enormously amusing. This way, it simply irks him further.

"You know very well that's not what I want to say. There is no need for you to stagger around, but it wouldn't kill you to show compassion, or just consider, for a moment, how other people feel. I don't know, Sherlock, caring simply makes a difference, even if the end result stays the same."

"But how? Tell me, John, if a man ran into a burning building and rescued three people, would it matter whether he did it because he cared or because he simply got off on the danger of it?"

"I guess it wouldn't, if you look only at the final outcome. But it does matter, though. I can't explain it, but motivation does matter, caring does matter, if only for the sake of what it means in the broader context. There is no logical explanation for it, it's really just a matter of..."

"Sentiment." Sherlock cuts in, treating the words as if it were vermin.

"Yes, sentiment! It might not matter to those you deliver the solution to, what your motivation was, but it matters, to others, to people around you. To people who care for more than just the solution, who care about you."

"But why? Why is this such a problem?"

"Because I don't want people to think you are heartless! I don't want them to overlook the person I know you are, because of the fact that you cannot rain yourself in, just for a moment, and show that you care!"

There is a shift in Sherlock's air, and John can sense the flood of words that is about to be released.

"I don't care, John! Don't you understand? I do not care about the people who died, since I didn't know them while they were alive, and whether I care or not has no power of resurrecting them, so there is really no point in caring for them. I leave that to their families, friends and whatever it is people have to make them feel socially accepted. That does not mean I am glad they are dead, or that I would wish them to be so, but I see no point in putting myself through a distressing experience of caring for a person who has been brutally murdered, simply because they have been brutally murdered. I may lack empathy in that regard, but that doesn't make me cruel. Caring whether someone is dead or not is of no use to them, nor me.

So, no, I do not care for the victims, and neither do you, despite liking to think so. You feel sorry for them, for the future they lost, for the ones they left behind, but don't mistake pity for caring, John. You may feel for the grieving family, empathise with them, but caring, truly caring, would break any man. If you were to truly care for each person whose murder we solve, the way you do for those close to you, where would that lead? It would be highly unproductive, seeing as you would constantly be burdened by grief. So, do not call me callous when I am simply being pragmatic. My skills are much better employed if I am clear of distractions, and in the end, that's why people consult me – to solve cases, not to weep over the bodies.

As for the living, I may disregard feelings of others on most occasions, but whether or not they allow my words and actions to harm them is completely up to them. I am not responsible for their feelings. I simply state the truth, and if they are hurt by it, then their denial is entirely theirs to deal with. Honesty and truth are not the same as malice. It is simply that people like to maintain a certain image of themselves in their heads, and once that image is shattered, they do not enjoy what they find instead of it. And I am equally not responsible for the fact that you are disappointed in me for not living up to the heroic image you have made of me in your head.

To address your last reason – what people might think of me. If they cannot see the right features by which they should be impressed and if their admiration can only be earned by presenting them with an expected sentimental display, then their admiration is unwanted. Witless admiration is never a compliment. Only a fool is flattered by foolishness of others. There aren't many people whose opinion I care to think of as valuable, and I found that to be greatly practical."

Have you ever heard that pun about the past, the present and the future? It goes something like this: the past, the present and the future walked into a bar – it was tense. Well, no matter what your stand on puns is, this one fails at being funny in this case because, as Sherlock finishes his speech, eyes never leaving John's, it proves to be so dismally true. All that has accumulated in the past 24 days (and longer), accrues into the present moment, making the future questionable and uncertain, and it most certainly makes the atmosphere tense, even if not the sort of 'tense' the pun refers to (thank heavens for homonyms).

"Are you done?" John asks, voice no longer loud, but ever more strained.

"Why? Do you require any further explanations?" If voices had teeth, Sherlock's would be carnivorous, biting and tearing flesh from bone.

"No...No, I think I've heard enough. "

There is a buzzing tension filling the room, not letting it fall truly silent. After the not-so-silent silence stretches out for several moments, John moves away, into the living room, stepping onto the opposite side of the boundary he toed during their discussion. After a few more beats, Sherlock moves back to the table, lowering his head down to the microscope once again. When John speaks again, his voice is an amalgam of strain and fatigue.

"Lestarde says he needs your report on the last victim. Have you written it up?"

Sherlock doesn't bother looking up, his tone neutral and aloof, as if all that has transpired just minutes before was just a rehearsal for a dramatic piece.

"Yes, it is in the case file. He can pick it up when he brings the coroner's report."

"No, I'll take it up to the Yard." John turns and starts leafing through the mess of papers on the sofa, searching for the right file.

"Why? You have no business in the city, and Lestrade doesn't need the report right this instant."

"I said, I'll take it, Sherlock."

"Is this sort of convoluted way of telling me you 'need some air'? Because if it is, you are simply confirming my standpoint on sentiment."

"And how am I doing that?"

"You are upset by our discussion, and rather unnecessarily so, if I may note, thus requiring time to get a hold of your emotions – time that could be considerably better spent by assisting me, may the need arise. So, tell me John, how are you helping anyone by caring, in this instant?"

"You are unbelievable."

"Yes, you have said so repeatedly over the time of our acquaintance."

"I don't mean it as a compliment, this time."

"Should I feel insulted by it, then?" There is cold condescension in Sherlock's voice.

"I don't know, feel whatever the bloody way you want. Or don't. I'm taking the file to Lestrade. I'm going to walk, so I don't know when I'll be back. Try not to wake Mrs. Hudson."

"Fine. I'll text you if I need you." Sherlock doesn't look up from his microscope, and John finds his blatant pretence of indifference (and God, he hopes it's just pretence) enraging, so he spits Sherlock's own words back at the man, with a clenched fist and a clipped tone.

"Why would you need me..."

With that, John is gone, and Sherlock is left with a jar of highly reactive chemicals in front of him, and bitter words coating his tongue like sickness, ready to be spoken.


What were the words? Sherlock never says them, so it would be all too easy for you to never find out. However, luckily for you, I do not depend of vocalisation of thoughts in order to be able to hear them, so I know precisely what Sherlock starts to reply, when he realises there is no one to hear his retort.

Don't worry, I'll tell you the words, just not right now. Now is time for a bit of silence, after all the words that were spoken. I will tell you, in just a bit, but for now, let there be some silence, filled with ticking of the kitchen clock and the soft splashing sounds of sodium being dropped back into the jar.


Ok, so this chapter is a product of several things, which I would like to point out.

First is the fact that I think the whole matter of caring which is discussed in here, has potential as a topic which can be further explored. It is not black and white, and I personally think both John and Sherlock have some valid arguments (I'm not a sociopath, I promise, I just like to consider several POVs). The second things is a conversation I had shortly before I started watching the series, with my best friend, who is sort of the Sherlock to my John when it comes to such things, which had a very similar thought at its centre, and allowed me to debate this topic in real life. And lastly, the third thing is a class I took, dealing with human interaction and communication, which is where parts of Sherlock's rhetoric come from.

I didn't want this whole discussion to come down to some sort of "If he doesn't care for others, does that mean he doesn't care for me" line of thinking, because that would defy the point of the whole chapter. I don't think John minds Sherlock's behaviour because he is insecure about what he means to Sherlock. I honestly think the reason why he minds so much is because he cares for Sherlock and wants Sherlock to be the best he can, the man John sees when he looks at him. It's not about changing Sherlock, but simply about developing those aspects of him which Sherlock himself considers irrelevant.

Well, now that I've finished my rant - thank you for reading :) See you Thursday!