Today is my day off, so I allow myself to sleep in till 10 A.M. There's no intrusion upon me in the middle of the night; my sleep is undisturbed, and wake up gradually, stretching my body and opening my eyes slowly. There's no need to get up right away, and I stay in bed the next twenty minutes, using that time to prepare myself for the conversation with Sherlock.
Actually, I think I'm beginning to regret that I've started all this. Of course I didn't expect it to be easy; but, on the other hand, I didn't expect it to be so complicated either. And although outwardly Sherlock remaines his usual unperturbed self, I can clearly see the battle, which is raging inside him. I saw it in his eyes yesterday – a desperate search for means to satisfy my request, mixed with the desire to leave everything as it was before – and it actually cuts me to the core. For me, it is physically painful to see him like this, and if that is the cost, I am pretty much ready to abandon my plans. After all, I can cope with Sherlock's odds and quirks just fine; and as for others… Well, let's just say that everything in this life comes with a price, and Sherlock's inborn talents are not an exception. In other words – if they need him, they ought to put up with him, and that's exactly how it should be working.
A nature's call finally distracts me from my musings, and I'm forced to leave my bed. Actually, now I feel ready to face Sherlock; so, after all necessary morning procedures I pull on my striped jumper and well-worn blue jeans, and make my way downstairs.
The flat is too quiet, and for the moment I start to suspect that Sherlock has run off again. But that suspicion lasts only until the moment when I arrive in the living room and find Sherlock still lounging on the sofa. He is fast asleep in half-sitting position, one hand resting on my computer, which is open on his lap – it looks like he's been reading again. And that's probably a good thing, I suppose, because it may indicate that he's still considering my request. Or he just hasn't bothered to fetch his own computer again… Either way it doesn't really matter now, because I'm definitely calling the whole thing off.
Having finally decided on my course of action and therefore being quite at peace with myself, I move into the kitchen and start preparing our breakfast. Sherlock is still sleeping peacefully, which means that maybe we'll be able to spend a quiet day indoors – assuming, of course that there aren't going to be any urgent calls from Lestrade or, God forbid, from Mycroft Holmes himself. And maybe I'm even going to hear the story about Sherlock's three-day absence.
Right, John. Like that ever happened since you've met Sherlock.
The return of my apparently sarcastic inner voice invokes the sudden urge to argue with it, which a priori is a completely pointless thing, so I decide not to pay attention.
Oh, here we go. Go on, ignore me. That doesn't change the fact that I'm right, though.
"Do shut up, will you?" I grumble aloud, instantly realising how bizarre it may sound. Luckily for me, the only person that could hear that is still asleep, so I wisely push the annoying intruder back into the depth of my mind and continue my task.
As I had expected, Sherlock wakes the moment the aromas from the kitchen waft to the living room. I'm keeping my back turned, but I can clearly hear the slight creaking of the sofa and then the shuffling of bare feet, which are obviously heading in my direction.
"Smells good," Sherlock comments, sounding very close, and I glance back over my shoulder. My flatmate has stopped near the table, and currently is perched on the corner, watching me with amusement.
"There's a chair right beside you, if you haven't noticed," I remark casually, flipping the two slices of bacon over and keeping an eye on the frying eggs. "I thought we'd discussed your table manners already, Sherlock."
My friend snorts and remains where he is. "Still trying to boss me around, John?"
"Not at all," I reply casually, transferring the contents of two frying pans onto the plates, and bringing them over to the table. "If you insist in staying like that for the entire breakfast, knock yourself out".
I thrust one of the plates into his hands and move to the opposite side of the table, laying out the food and marvelling at the question of what the hell I'm doing. Because right at this moment I'm honestly at loss as to why I actually have said all that.
Sherlock, however, seems to take it all in stride and, turning slightly, drops down onto his seat in one fluid motion. Then he places his plate on the table and, reaching out, snatches the knife and the fork right out of my hands, all the while looking at me with the same amused expression.
Holding his gaze, I snatch the cutlery right back. Sherlock raises an eyebrow. I shrug my shoulders and start eating. Sherlock continues to watch me for a few moments, then turns to the right and reaches into the one of the drawers, pulling out a knife and a fork.
We spend the next ten or so minutes in absolute silence, while we take time to savour our meal. When we are finished, I start to rise up, intending to put the dishes away, but Sherlock's hand unexpectedly snakes across the table, closing around my wrist and therefore stopping me in mid-movement. I lock my eyes with him again.
"What?" I ask calmly, keeping my expression neutral.
"Do you still wish to hear it?" he asks, tilting his head to the side.
"Hear what?" I carefully tug my hand free and gather the tableware, carrying it over to the sink.
"The story," Sherlock elaborates cryptically, but I know exactly what he's referring to.
"Of course. Just give me a few minutes to finish this, and then I'll be all yours," I reply cheerfully, not missing the sharp intake of breath on Sherlock's part. "You want to do that in the living room, right?"
"Do what?" he enquires carefully, trying to sound nonchalant but not quite making it. I glance over my shoulder briefly, catching him staring at me with curiosity.
This is too tempting; I just can't help but to deliver the final blow. "To molest me with your story, of course," I deadpan, watching closely for his reaction.
It comes almost immediately: Sherlock's expression rapidly closes down, transforming his face into an emotionless mask, and he pulls himself up to his full height, raising his chin defiantly for emphasis. "Is that supposed to be a joke, John?" he says coldly, condescension coming from him almost in waves.
"Of course it is, Sherlock," I flash him one of my best disarming smiles. "No need to get your knickers in a twist, my dear."
Sherlock shoots me one of his withering glances and stalks off into the living room with the air of wounded dignity. There he throws himself into his favourite chair and attempts to drill a hole into me with his piercing blue-grey gaze.
Okay, a small confession here: when we first met, those stares served their purpose perfectly, stunning me into the immediate compliance. But over the course of time they seemed to gradually lose their menace, and I grew accustomed to ignore them. There were times when it had cost me dearly, because Sherlock attempted to use them as a warning in potentially dangerous situations, and with me stubbornly ignoring those attempts… Let's just say that the results weren't pretty.
But the current situation holds no threat for me at all, so I disregard the staring thing completely and proceed to go with my task to its full completion. Right after that I move into the living room and take my seat across Sherlock, meeting his unwavering gaze steadily.
Sherlock narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the right for a few moments, then straightens in his chair and steeples his hands in front of his mouth, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. "Three days," he says thoughtfully.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and give a slight nod in acknowledgement of his words. Although I'm not quite sure that he's noticed, because his distant expression clearly indicates that his mind already had taken him somewhere else.
"I was visiting an old… acquaintance," my friend seems to be musing aloud. "Outside of London, deep in the countryside… Quite boring, actually."
"Good place for thinking," I prompt quietly, and his eyes immediately shift into focus, scrutinizing me.
"Undoubtedly," he agrees, and in one move mirrors my position, leaning towards me. "But I missed the patches."
"That should teach you how to pack things for a field trip," I remark casually, causing a spark of amusement to appear in my friend's silver eyes. "So… any thoughts about…"
"Quite a few. But I don't think that you'll like it," he says calmly and pauses, obviously waiting for my reaction.
Of course, he doesn't have to wait long. "Try me."
He breaks our rapport, casually leaning back again and steepling his fingers. Ah, lecture mode in full force. Better not to interrupt him when he's like this.
"As I was saying earlier, I took the liberty to re-read those articles. And, despite the fact that we'd established the asexual nature of our supposed relationship, I'm pretty much convinced that we can't succeed. Simply because in addition to honesty, trust and caring that you'd mentioned in our previous conversation, there's a small issue of… inequality," Sherlock pauses slightly and shakes his head.
"Pretty awkward, huh?" I ask softly. "Look, if you don't want to talk about that…"
A raised hand stops me in mid-sentence. "Let me finish, John."
"Of course, Sherlock. Fire away."
For a few moments he visibly struggles with words, and I can only guess what it costs him to simply continue this conversation.
"Never thought that it would be so hard for me to say it," he murmurs under his breath. "Okay, let's try again. According to the articles, this type of relationship is based on a constant submission of the one person to the other. And, having observed your behaviour lately, I had come to the obvious conclusion that you perceive yourself as a dominant side of our pairing. Is that correct?"
I simply nod in confirmation.
"Good. Then let us consider the fact that since the moment we met, you were pretty much content with your position as my assistant, and therefore we had formed a perfectly functioning partnership."
"Yes, Sherlock, but that's not exactly the point. I'm not talking about the effectiveness; I'm talking about the way you treat other people."
"Oh, please, don't make it sound like you're concerned about The Greater Good," Sherlock actually rolls his eyes and makes air quotes for emphasis. "We both know perfectly that this is about your desire to fit me into a common standard, and I thought I have expressed myself clearly on that matter. I'm not going to change, John, not willingly, anyway. And that, by the way, is a direct contradiction to the Grand Rule. You can't force me to submit, I must do that voluntarily. Surely you do understand that I have no reasons to subject myself to such an experiment."
Well, it was clear from the beginning, actually. So let's end it. "Yes, I do. And that's exactly why I was going to inform you that I'm calling the whole thing off, Sherlock."
Pointless conversation, more like dancing around each other with no intention of getting any tangible results. A game in the sake of a game itself. Should've seen this coming.
My flatmate stares at me for a few moments, then, to my astonishment, smiles slightly. "Very well, John. Until the next time, then."
Oh no, Sherlock, I'm not falling for that. No bloody way. "There won't be a next time, Sherlock. You made yourself clear, and I accept that. End of story."
"As you wish, John," and here is that knowing smile again.
"Sherlock..," I begin, but right at that moment my friend's mobile decides to come back to life. Well, the conversation is obviously finished… for now.
Sherlock picks up his phone and hits the button. "Sherlock Holmes. Yes, of course. Where? Good. I'll be there shortly. What?" he casts a brief glance in my direction, "Probably. Will it matter? Okay, I'll see what I can do."
He hangs up and focuses his gaze on me. "Lestrade. Murder, Nine Elms. Coming?"
So that's what it was all about. "Do you want me to?"
"Depends on your inclination, John," Sherlock raises his eyebrows and waits patiently for my answer.
Clever, Sherlock, very clever. Well, now I simply can't disappoint you, can I? "Then I'll sit this one out, Sherlock. If you don't mind, of course."
Sherlock springs out of his chair in one smooth move and crosses the living room in a few strides, tugging his coat from the hook at the back of the door. "Actually, I DO mind, John," he dons the coat. "But I'm not going to force you into anything. Have a nice day, then, and don't wait up."
With that, he's out of the room in a flash, and I'm left with only one option.
Leaping up from my chair, and grabbing my coat on the way out, I rush downstairs and burst out of the front door right in time to see my friend getting into a cab.
"Sherlock, wait!" I call out, and he spins around to face me, hand on the door of the car. "I'm coming with you."
A small smile tugs at the corner of my friend's lips, and then he turns and dives inside the cab, leaving the door open for me. I cover the short distance in two leaps, dive in right after Sherlock and slam the door shut.
"Nine Elms and Kirtling, hurry up!" Sherlock commands, and we speed off towards the awaiting mystery…
A/N: Not quite sure about this chapter, actually, because Sherlock in my head was constantly putting up a fight and fending my ideas off. Thankfully, John seemed to agree with my opinion, so... That's the actual result. Feel free to tell me what do you think about it :)