Chapter 17

"Wouldn't we be quite the pair?-you with your bad heart, me with my bad head. Together though, we might have something worthwhile."
-Zelda Fitzgerald to F. Scott Fitzgerald

"Hey thanks for meeting me," John greeted as he joined Everleigh in the coffee shop she found herself frequenting with both him and Sherlock in the recent weeks.
"Yeah of course," she replied as they both sat down in a table in the back corner, the waitress bustling over with a kettle and mugs.
It was two days into 2011 and for once, the sun was shining, basking the city outside in its warm, welcoming glow. John had called Ev earlier, asking to meet her somewhere to talk, about what she had no idea. She hadn't seen or heard from either of the residents of 221B Baker Street since she'd watched Sherlock walk back into the flat in the early hours of New Year's Day and she'd missed them. John looked as cheerful as ever, his light hair shining in the sunlight filtering in through the windows, a crooked smile adorning his face.
"So, next week, is Sherlock's birthday and I know for a fact he would love for you to be there, whether he would admit it or not. Now, it's a surprise, so don't tell him. It's Thursday and we're just getting some people together at the flat around seven. Can you make it?" he asked her, his dark blue eyes glinting.
"I think so. I'll have to push my work schedule around but I should be able to make it. Is surprising Sherlock, even possible?" she replied with a laugh.
"We'll see. I doubt it though. So, I uh, I saw you, on New Year's. You and Sherlock."
"Oh."
"I think he'd probably like to see you again."
Her heart jumped into her throat as a mischievous grin came across John's lips. She thought she'd probably like to see him again too. She hadn't forgotten the way she'd felt curled up into his ribs, how safe, and happy. The sleepless nights plagued on, the encompassing darkness only making her crave his warm, guarding embrace even more. In the early hours of the morning as she lie awake, tossing and turning, her body aching and her mind exhausted, her thoughts found solace in the memories of him. Although few in number, they were powerful, and peaceful, working as a distraction to the horrifying images that were more commonly played out behind her fluttering eyelids. Her curiosity peaked at what it would feel like to be held ever so gently in his long, slender arms, his body pressed against hers, the soft sound of his sleeping breaths lulling her to sleep. But that was nothing but a fantasy.
"I, would like to see him, again," she finally answered, taking a small sip of her tea.
"Good. He's at the flat right now not doing much of anything. If you'd like to come by," John invited, slapping a few notes down on the table and rising from his chair.
"Right now?"
"Yeah. Good a time as any. I mean you don't have to, but, if you want. He's there, bored..."
"Sure. Why not?"

The butterflies were dancing wildly in Ev's stomach as her and John ascended the stairs into 221B, the creaking of the wooden floorboards no doubt giving away the presence of a second guest to Sherlock's trained ears. He heard the muffled voices echoing in the halls, noticing at once that one person was John, and the other was not Mrs. Hudson. He rolled his eyes and returned his attention back to the microscope on the table in front of him; he'd brought that awful girl back here again. Honestly, John could not keep expecting him to "behave", as John so eloquently put it, she got more and more intolerable every time she stepped foot into this flat.
"Sherlock," John greeted as he threw his keys down onto a side table, "I brought someone along to see you."
"How lovely, what news from the steadily diminishing IQ club today- Oh," Sherlock snapped his mouth shut as he saw who accompanied John.
His memory never did her justice. Every time he saw her it was like seeing her for the first time again. Her eyes had fallen to him gently, her hands locked together nervously in front of her. Why was she nervous? He felt a sudden urge to go over and pull her to him, assure her she had nothing to fear. But then another thought passed through to the front of the queue. Where had she been with John? His soft expression turned to questioning as he looked back and forth between the two of them. He had nothing to worry about, right? John had Emma, not that that fact was very reassuring, and Ellie, well, John had already had his chance.
"What are you working on?" she asked softly as she removed her scarf and coat, coming to stand a seemingly cautious distance away from him.
"Eyes," he answered quickly, no longer caring about his research instead wondering, why was she so far away?
"Oh. Lovely."
John stood still in the sitting room, watching in awe of how Sherlock's features instantly changed when his eyes fell to their guest. They softened, his eyes wide in childlike wonder, his shoulders slumped slightly, and he was totally at ease. A piece of him regretted bringing her here, his own selfish desires fighting for dominance over the joy he knew he needed to feel for his friend, no, his friends. They both became entirely different people in the presence of the other, what they appeared to have was exactly what every person on the planet searched for, including him. He hadn't found it yet. That thought snapped his next task back into his head. His next extremely unpleasant task.
"Well, I'm off, you two uh, have fun I guess," John bade the pair goodbye, neither one turning to look at him, "All right, see you later."
John waited for a response, but after a few awkward seconds he realized he wasn't going to receive one. With an acknowledging nod of his head, he grabbed his keys and trotted down the stairs two and a time, leaving Sherlock and Ellie alone in the flat for the first time.
Sherlock attempted to turn his eyes back to his microscope but his gaze kept falling back to the woman beside him. She stood leaning against the table, her hands still joined nervously in front of her. She stayed silent as she watched him with gentle, adoring eyes, not rushing him or pestering him, just observing.
"You, don't have to stay," Sherlock told her as his eyes met hers.
"I want to," she assured him softly, "As long as you don't mind."
"I don't mind."
Her face lit up like the moon, he watched her shoulders relax and her eyes fall back to their almond shape, the fear draining away. Her pink lips had pulled up into a small smile and Sherlock couldn't help but mirror her expression with a crooked smile of his own. From the corner of his eye he saw her hand raising slowly upwards which came to stop on the back of his head tenderly, her fingers moving slowly through his curls. Her touch was so calming, his body was humming with a mix of fascination and fondness, his brain tumultuous with a variety of thoughts.
"Can I ask you something?" she questioned, her fingers still twirling through his hair.
"Yes," he breathed, trying his hardest to focus.
"What makes you happy?"
His face fell. What made him, happy? Happiness wasn't real; he'd had that pummeled into his brain since he was seven years old. But was it? What other word could capture how he felt in this moment, here, her hand combing through his hair softly?
"Happiness is nothing more than a trick of the mind. An illusion," he responded, hardening his voice and face, the words he wanted to say crashing against his closed teeth.
"No it isn't," she told him sympathetically, "It's a choice. You accept the happiness you think you deserve. What makes you happy Sherlock Holmes?"
"Murder."
'You' is the word that came stampeding to the front of his brain, bouncing off of every wall and ceiling in his mind, but he didn't deserve her. He deserved the joy he felt from serial killers and murders, bad events bringing joy to an unpleasant, rude asshole. But her, she was kind, warm, and genuine, he was the very last thing on the planet he deserved. He was never kind to anyone; he wasn't even kind to her.
"Murder? Hopefully not participating in them," she replied with a laugh, pulling her hand away from him and walking into the sitting room.
He watched her meander around his flat, looking at the different objects and knickknacks scattered around on shelves and tables. Her fingers ran gingerly across the surfaces, leaving little trails in the dust that layered everything in the room, maybe he should have allowed Mrs. Hudson to dust in there. She came to stop at a collection of music, her eyes scanning the titles.
"Claire de Lune. When I first started playing the piano that was the one song I wanted to learn," she mused as she pulled the CD away from the others, "I'll never forget the first time I played it through. I made so many mistakes, but I was so happy. To this day it's still my favorite."
She turned the case over in her hands, smiling sadly down at it. Memories from her childhood came flooding back, sitting with her grandmother at the piano for hours, her fingers stinging from practicing, her head throbbing, but the pride emitting from her gran beside her made it all worth it. The feeling of the notes flowing through her the first time she'd completed the piece had been one of the most gratifying things she'd ever done. Her reminiscing was interrupted as she felt a pair of hands overlap her own before gently pulling the case from her hands. Without breaking eye contact with her he opened it and removed the disc. She stared back at him; her eyes were intent and hopeful. She was hoping for him, and that baffled him. All he could was try and make her happy, like she made him feel with nothing more than her breathing. He turned his attention to the radio and placed the disc in the player, pushing play with a long, slender finger.
The music began floating around the small room, serene and soft. She looked so delicate, fragile, like she was going to shatter at any moment. Cautiously, he reached out and took one of her hands in his; it was so much smaller than his, warm and soft. Slowly he pulled her towards him, placing his other hand on her hip. Dancing. It was one thing he knew how to do, and actually enjoyed it. Her hand rose up to his shoulder and came to rest, her fingers gripping the muscle of his upper arm almost desperately. He started moving his feet, each step quicker than the last, stopping when he learned where her skills topped out. Their pace was slow and their eyes bore into each other's, investigating, searching for answers.
Her voice broke the silence. She told him she wasn't herself, and she hadn't been for a long while. He didn't know what she meant, but he didn't care what had happened, or why, not right now anyways. He wanted to weave inside her chest and kiss everything she thought he would hate; all of her fears, insecurities and failures. He didn't hate them. He could never hate any piece of her; each one had a place in her puzzle; each one necessary to paint the beautiful picture before him. He liked her for exactly what she was. But his nerves and his lack of romantic experience stopped him dead in his tracks. Nervous? This was certainly new and as much as he wanted to say he hated the feeling it wouldn't have been the truth. In fact, he enjoyed it. It was new, rejuvenating; it brought him back from the dull monotonous patterns he had adopted so long ago.
Her hand dug into his shoulder, clinging to him as he watched despair contort her face. Instinctively, he moved his hand tighter around her middle, pulling her closer to him, the warmth radiating from her waist shooting up his arm. Her head came to rest on his chest; it fit perfectly in the dip of his shoulder, her hair tickling his jaw. Just like a few days before, he leaned his cheek down atop her head, remembering how much he'd enjoyed it before. Why did this feel so natural? He loathed human contact, dismissed fickle emotion and his heart was made of stone, but with her, everything was different.
They swayed to and fro silently, her small frame cradled by his long, slender refuge, the silence between them settling and untroubled by their personal turmoil and problems. Their senses flooded by the other, nothing else mattered. Not his shattering resolve or her debilitating self loathing, he didn't question anything in that moment, just took in the feeling of her hands, her warm breath on his chest and the happiness, yes, the happiness that he felt could explode from his chest.
The song stopped and her head lifted from his shoulder, the despair replaced with tranquility. He looked closely into her eyes, and he saw it. That twinkle of mystery, her untold secret, but he wasn't able to focus on it, his senses had been clouded with affection and reverence for her that he didn't care what she wasn't telling him, he just wanted her to stay. They separated, but he kept a hold of her hand, which he used to lead her back into the kitchen, stopping when she was in front of his microscope.
"What do you see?" he asked her, gesturing to the instrument on the table.
She smirked over at him before lowering her eyes, "Laser eye surgery," she stated, keeping her eyes on the specimen.
"What?"
"Whoever this was, they had laser eye surgery, minor, just a little residual scarring."
A large smile broke out on his face as she raised her eyes back to him, a triumphant little grin decorating her porcelain face. He jotted her observation down before reaching around her back and replacing the slide on the tray with a new one. He retracted his arm, dragging his palm across her back slowly. Her breath hitched in her throat as traitorous goose bumps erupted on her skin, which didn't go unnoticed by their cause. He was learning what actions of his caused which reaction from her, and seemingly, she enjoyed every touch.
"You," he whispered as his hand lingered on the small of her back.
"What?" she asked, confused.
"The answer to your question."
She thought back, what question? She couldn't remember any question, her nerves were buzzing and her head was floating, this all seemed like a dream, cloudy and hard to concentrate on. Question?
A pair of footsteps thudded against the wood of the stairs, announcing the other inhabitant of flat's return. Sherlock pulled his hand away sharply, taking three large steps away from Ev just in time to be greeted by John's troubled face.
"Hey, what uh, what're you two up to?" John asked, his voice flat and low.
"Science," Sherlock blurted out, his lips pursed and eyes wide.
"Science? Right."
"I was just leaving," Ellie announced, clapping her hands nervously.
"What, why?" both John and Sherlock asked simultaneously, causing them to turn and look at each other bewildered.
"I told, Sam, someone I work with, I'd help him, run lines," she lied.
"Oh," they responded in sync again.
"Thank you, Sherlock, for, the science... experiment and John I will see you, later."
She looked first at John, then behind her to Sherlock, who she gave a longing stare to before quickly grabbing her things and walking back out into the shining sun, her heart light and her head spinning.
"So, science huh? Is that what they're calling it nowadays?" John asked, smirking.
"What?" Sherlock responded, furrowing his brow in confusion.
"I was gone an hour, and all you did was look at eyeballs with her?"
"What was I supposed to do?"
"Oh I don't know. She likes you, Sherlock, you recognize that right?"
"Yes."
"Right. Good."
Sherlock stared at his friend, wishing he could talk to him about everything that was going on. John could make sense of it all. There was no one Sherlock trusted more with his heart's wellbeing than John Watson, and perhaps if his heart weren't so invested, he would have found it easier to talk about. But it wasn't only his heart at risk in this, so were Ellie's and John's and one of theirs was going to break no matter what he decided.

A/N: Sorry about the delay! I'm afraid that until the end of March updates will be few in number. I have my national certification test for my job in March and I need to study for that. Boo. But, after March 17th I'll be free to do this with all my free time again!
On the question of a story for John, I can't start a new one for him, I can barely handle this one! Haha, however, if you guys want a small little side storyline in this one let me know and if enough people want me to add it in I will. We are going explore the time between Reichenbach and Hearse, so John and Mary getting together will be involved much later.
The next one features everyone's favorites! Mycroft makes a triumphant return, Greg and Molly. It should be good!
I hope you guys liked this one, please review! Thank you to indescribable music, Miko Hayashi, Lunar678 and AnaBella1969 for your kind words!