15.The morning
Sherlock was completely out of his mind. He couldn't begin to comprehend what he had witnessed the previous day. The whole night he tried to organise what he knew, what he had seen, what he had heard. What were facts, what were mere supposition.
1. John is straight. Inconclusive.
2. John had a fling with Max in the past. Possible.
3. John had a one off with Max yesterday. Unlikely, yet possible.
4. Max has been in love with John for ages. Fact.
5. Gwen seems to have been in love with John for ages. Possible.
6. John responded to Jeanie. Fact.
7. John responded to Max. Possible.
8. John responded to Gwen's kisses. Fact.
9. John was not serious about Jeanie. Possible.
10. John was not serious about Gwen. Possible.
11. John was not serious about Max. Possible.
12. John has gone to bed with Max. Possible.
13. John has gone to bed with Gwen. Quite possibly fact. Most likely fact.
14. John is bisexual. Possible.
15. If so, could he possibly, some day, be interested in me? Inconclusive.
And he'd always stumble at that same point. If John could, after all, be with men, then maybe he, Sherlock, had a chance. But with Gwen and Max around, what chance did he really have? John was perpetually exasperated with him, complaining about things he did or failed to do. The other two seemed to just please him. Sentiment was his blind spot and he had no idea on how to deal with it. He also couldn't help feeling a bit angry. He was jealous. Both people, what right did they have to steal John from him? They had a perfect life together, this simply had to mean something. It had to.
If John developed a relationship with either of them, that meant he'd have to follow to wherever they would be stationed next. He would eventually leave Baker Street.
He remembered John saying 'we huddle together for warmth, it gets cold in the desert'. Had he and Max had an affair all along? John always said there had been no girlfriends while he was deployed. Surely, with his sexual appetite there had to have been some form of release? No, he couldn't imagine John, such a ladies man, with another male.
Most likely, yesterday was John's first time with a man. He chose Max, someone he trusted, a dear friend- No, he didn't smell like he had just shagged Max yester-
He was interrupted by John walking in, uniform all crumpled, jacket open at the neck, beret in hand, hair dishevelled. He had a somewhat guilty look in his eyes. Soon he averted them and wordlessly, removed his jacket, untied his shoes, grabbed some clothes and went to the bathroom to shower. The sun was already bright outside.
Soon there was a knock on the door. Sherlock got up and was surprised to see Max, standing with one arm bent and resting on the door frame, the other hand resting on his hip. Even in this relaxed pose, in shorts and a t-shirt, he still looked sexy. Sherlock was happy John hadn't seen it.
'Good morning, Sherlock. Is John in?'
'He's in the shower.'
'Can I come in and wait for him?'
Sherlock stepped aside. He could tell that, despite being calm, deep down Max was upset. He noticed Max looked at him curiously, and became aware that he was still wearing his tuxedo. Max sat at the armchair, leaning forward, legs wide apart, elbows over his thighs. The only hint of his state of mind was his frantically bouncing foot. He didn't attempt to talk, only waited. His gaze fell on the pristine beds, which indicated no one had slept on them. Foreseeing having to follow them, Sherlock started removing his tie and jacket.
When John came out in shorts and a t-shirt, he was shocked to see Max waiting for him. He stood up saying, 'John, we need to talk,' and simply left the room. John dropped the rest of his uniform on his bed and followed.
Sherlock rushed and threw on some less conspicuous shirt and ran after them. He looked in both directions when he got down to the lobby, then turned towards the beach. It was early enough that vacationers wouldn't be up, so that provided some privacy. Soon he saw them. John was sitting on the sand, just like the previous day, staring at the sea. Standing up, Max had his hands on his hips and talked while walking, gesticulating angrily, pacing, yelling at John. He looked wild. He kept on pacing, running one hand through his hair, talking angrily. He paused and stared at the sea, panting, hands still on his hips. Then he hung his head and the fight was gone from him. He sunk onto the sand next to John, head bowed. John looked at him and talked, while Max listened. They sat there for quite a long time. Sherlock couldn't tell whether they talked the whole time or merely sat in silence. Eventually, they got up and walked. They headed to Max's hotel again. Sherlock's heart sank. He went back to his room.