Of course I should've known that Sherlock would not wait till morning.
I'm woken by the rather insistent poking and prodding, executed by my annoying flatmate.
"Wha-" I mumble, trying to comprehend what's going on, and squint at the alarm clock on my bedside table.
3 A.M. Great. I hadn't even got two hours of a decent sleep.
"Move over," Sherlock murmurs, and I obediently roll away, still not awake enough to start questioning him. A moment later I feel my bed dip slightly as my friend sits down, cross-legged. "I need to speak with you, John."
"Can it wait till morning?" I grumble, still clinging to the tendrils of sleep and hoping against hope that Sherlock will take the hint and kindly bugger off.
"No," he says firmly, and I give up, reaching to switch the bedside lamp on. Sherlock shields his eyes with his hand for a moment, and then fixes me with the penetrating gaze. "We hadn't finished our evening conversation, John."
I prop myself up and match his gaze with my own. "You stated your opinion quite clearly. There was no point to continue that conversation."
"I took the liberty to re-read those articles, John," Sherlock says as if he hadn't heard me. "And I can tell you exactly why it's not going to work."
Oh, here we go, another round of humiliation is looming on a horizon. "Yeah? Do enlighten me, please," the words come out harsher that I'd intended, and Sherlock frowns slightly.
"Is there a reason for you to be so hostile to me, John?" he enquires calmly. "I'm only trying to explain…"
"You'd already done that earlier. Why bother now?" I retort, gradually becoming irritated. I need my sleep, I've got to go to work in the morning; why wouldn't he leave me alone, damn it!
"I think that you don't completely understand why I refused your offer, John. Truth is..," he pauses, glancing down at his hands, and takes his time to study his fingernails, clearly debating in his mind what he should say next. Finally, he makes a decision and his eyes lock onto mine again. "I'm sorry, John, but I'm not attracted to you. Not like that. And therefore…"
WHAT? What the hell is he talking about?
"… Seeing as that type of relationship requires an intimate component, I don't think we should venture into such an agreement," he finishes boldly, and waits for my reaction.
Well, he'll probably need to wait longer, because right now I'm too busy getting my mind around the idea of him thinking…
My God, that's ridiculous.
Had he REALLY thought that I, of all people…
Chuckle bubbles its way up my throat, and I can't help but let it finally escape, covering my mouth with my hand. I'm positive that right now I'm blushing, but that's just so…
He frowns slightly, obviously not understanding what tipped me off. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," I answer quickly, trying to regain my composure, and absolutely failing to do so, judging by Sherlock's deepening frown.
"Well?" he enquires, raising his eyebrow.
I finally manage to take myself under control and look at him incredulously. "Sherlock, during all the time that we're living together, had I ever mentioned that I want to pursue a physical relationship with you? I'm not taking into account our conversation at Angelo's, of course – that had been a pure misunderstanding on both our parts."
My friend takes a moment to think my question over, then shakes his head. "I don't think you did, John."
"Then what makes you think that I had become interested in that all of a sudden?"
"And you aren't?" Sherlock asks, his expression guarded.
"Of course not!" I exclaim with obvious relief. So that's what he was worried about? Good God! "What on earth gave you that idea?"
"Mostly your reading materials," Sherlock starts to relax, but there's something in his eyes… A shadow of emotion that I can't quite comprehend; but it disappears almost instantly, so I decide not to dwell on that subject. Meanwhile, he continues. "They were quite clear on that subject."
"For such a bright guy you can be incredibly obtuse sometimes, Sherlock," I say fondly. "Have you ever bothered to think above the obvious? I mean, you're the genius here…"
Sherlock cuts me off, obviously irritated. "What's your point, John?"
Okay, time for some truth. "The point is, my dear friend, that as much as I admire and love you..," that gets me a set of raised eyebrows. "Yes, Sherlock. LOVE, but not the kind that you're obviously thinking about. Anyway, as I was saying, as much as I admire and love you, I have absolutely no intention of shagging you, if that's what you're so worried about."
My friend's face remains impassive. "That's good to hear. But unfortunately, that fact brings forth another question: what's in it for you, then?"
"Let's just say that the whole concept – aside from the physical part, of course – sounds quite interesting. Not the domination and submission per se, but some aspects that living in such a relationship requires. Absolute trust, honesty, caring about your partner…"
"Are you implying that we don't have those… aspects, as you put it, in our relationship?" Sherlock asks in a low voice, his eyes flashing dangerously.
"Of course not, Sherlock," I reply calmly. If he expected to frighten me, he clearly miscalculated. "We do have them, but it's in human nature to always want more, you know… Oh, and thank you for acknowledging that we have a relationship, by the way."
Sherlock narrows his eyes and studies me intently for a few moments, then pushes himself off the bed and straightens up to a full height. "I think I should let you rest, John," he announces with determination. "We can continue this conversation later, if that's okay with you."
So Sherlock-like. I should've expected that. "Of course, no problem. May I suggest for you to do the same? Rest, I mean."
"I can't promise for sure, John, but I'll try," he replies, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Have a nice sleep, my friend."
With that, he disappears from the room, and I reach out to turn off the light, glancing at the alarm clock. 3.30 A.M. Well, at least I have two hours and a half before I need to get up. Better not waste the time, then.
I turn on my side and, to my utter amazement, fall asleep almost instantly…
Two hours and a half pass too quickly, and I'm woken again – this time by the alarm clock. Taking a shower to chase the sleep away, I get dressed and go downstairs to have a breakfast before leaving for work.
The flat is quiet and dark; it seems like Sherlock finally decided to take my advice and get some rest. Which is obviously a good thing, because the ongoing case was draining his strength considerably, which started to worry me. Granted, he always has been overenthusiastic while on the case and totally apathetic for some time afterwards; but some cases place more strain on him than others and the ongoing one is a complete nightmare. Especially because I have loads of work at the clinic, and can seldom accompany my friend. And, adding the fact that I have dumped my idea-fix on him – you can imagine how guilty I feel. I even decide to whisk him out of London when the case will be closed, so he can rest properly. Not to mention that it will present the perfect opportunity to sort things out between us.
But my assumptions and plans shatter the moment when I finally get into the kitchen. There's an envelope on the kitchen table; and when I pick it up, I recognise Sherlock's elegant handwriting immediately. Opening the flap, I pull the letter out, unfold it and start to read.
'John,
I'm sorry, but I must leave London. The case is closed, and I have already warned Lestrade not to bother you until my return. I will be unavailable during the entire week, so don't try to contact me. In case of emergency call Mycroft. I'll explain everything when I return.
SH'
I carefully fold the letter and place it back into the envelope, then put it into my jacket pocket. I really have no time for guessing right now, so I decide to think it over in the evening. Glancing at the watch on my wrist, I discover that I have less than ten minutes for breakfast; and that obviously means a simple cup of tea and a toast. For now, it should suffice; hopefully, if I'm lucky, I will be able to find a moment for a snack at the clinic…
Of course, life makes its own corrections, changing my plans; and, despite my intentions, I'm not able to pay attention to Sherlock's letter over the next three days, simply because there isn't even a single moment for me to spare. The clinic's shifts are draining me completely and I barely have the strength to get back to the flat afterwards. And that's strange, actually, because it's the same amount of work as always. So why is it so damn hard for me to handle it all of a sudden?
The answer to that question reveals itself only when I see Mycroft's black sedan, which is parked near the clinic's entrance. It happens on the evening of the third day, and the sudden realisation hits me with full force – I'm missing him, and that's the crux of my problem. I'm missing Sherlock.
The rear door of the car opens and Mycroft leans out, beckoning me towards him. I quickly cross the distance, and the older Holmes moves back inside the car, gracefully sliding over and patting the seat beside him. "Allow me to give you a lift home, John," Mycroft says politely, and I accept his offer, getting into the car with obvious relief. I'm really tired, and a lift home means that I have an opportunity to rest a little and maybe even get some information about Sherlock's whereabouts.
Mycroft, however, makes it clear that he's not going to reveal any information straight from the beginning. "No questions, John," he warns firmly. "Because I'm not at liberty to tell you anything, unfortunately. I'm sorry, John, but that's how it is going to be."
"Understood," I reply shortly, relaxing back into the seat. "Thanks for the lift, though. Oh, and I've got to warn you that I may fall asleep in the process, so feel free to give me a nudge when we get to Baker Street."
The politician smiles slightly. "Certainly, John. Get some rest."
"Thank you," I close my eyes. "Consider yourself invited for a cup of tea, by the way."
"Invitation accepted, John," Mycroft answers, and that's the last thing I hear before sliding into the world of dreams…
True to his word, Mycroft proceeds to gently nudge me awake, calling out my name quietly. The car's stopped, so it's the end of our journey, I guess. I open my eyes and meet Mycroft's cold blue gaze, which softens a little while he studies my face intently.
"You're still tired, John," he says softly, leaning over me to open the door of the car. "I think it would be wise for you to retire to your bedroom immediately."
"What about the cup of tea then?" I ask; my brain working too slowly to catch the full meaning of Mycroft's words.
"Your wellbeing is more important now that the social pleasantries, John. So maybe some other time," the older Holmes declines my offer politely, and motions for me to get out of the car. "Good night, John. Have a nice sleep. And don't be too hard on yourself, because I don't think that Sherlock will appreciate your less than perfect condition when he gets back."
My brain latches onto Mycroft's words immediately, and I open my mouth to ask a question, but Mycroft shakes his head.
"No questions, John, remember? Now get going."
Nodding silently, I climb out of the car and slowly make my way to the front door of our flat, turning around on the doorstep.
"Good night, Mycroft," I call out, fishing my keys out of my coat's pocket.
"Good night, John," Mycroft answers, closing the door, and the seconds after that the black car pulls away into the traffic line, disappearing out of my sight.
Shaking my head, I open the front door, walk up the stairs into the living room and stop in my tracks, seeing the painfully familiar figure stretched out comfortably on the sofa.
Sherlock raises his head and gives me the thorough once-over. He's obviously not pleased with the results of his observation, because he frowns slightly, pushing himself into the sitting position.
"Off to bed, John," he declares without preamble. "We will talk in the morning."
"And a good evening to you too, Sherlock," I reply, not moving from my spot in the doorway. "Since when you have started to decide what I should do and when I should do it, by the way?"
"That was merely a suggestion," my flatmate says calmly, not at all put out by my obvious resentment. "You really look tired, John; you should rest," his face softens. "I promised to explain everything to you upon returning, and I'm going to keep my word. But not while you're in such a condition. There are a lot of things that we ought to discuss, so it's necessary for you to be completely rested."
To tell the truth, I have neither strength nor desire to argue with my friend, so I turn away and start to ascend the stairs to my bedroom. "Good night, Sherlock," I call back over my shoulder. "I hope to see you in the morning."
"You will, John. You will," Sherlock answers, and then the enchanting melody of his violin starts to swirl over me, making me drowsy and pliant. I barely make it to the bed, but this time, however, I'm able to change into my pyjamas before I slide under the blanket and pass out…