It took a few days of back and forth deliberation and weighing the pros and cons but Sherlock finally came to a decision. He was most likely just desperate – or mad – but he knew it had to be done: he was going to tell John how he felt. The question was, how was he to proceed? This wasn't something he could just come out with; careful planning needed to be executed.
The consulting detective told his landlady of his decision and she nearly suffocated him with a hug. After holding him prisoner in her arms for a few minutes she began to advise him on how to approach the situation. Sherlock listened to her, his mind working furiously. This could either benefit him, as Mrs Hudson appeared to be so convinced of, or it could cost him a very dear friend, something the consulting detective tried very hard not to believe. Never in his life had he felt so nervous about taking a risk; he prayed that it was all going to be worth it.
Needing to be somewhere he knew no one would find him, Sherlock did something that was out of character for him: he went to go sit in a café. He knew no one would even consider looking for him there, and a café was always full of loving couples. He watched them all closely, wondering how they had managed to profess their love and not have their relationship fall apart because of it. Some of those couples, Sherlock noted, had been friends before lovers, which gave him some hope for him and John. But only some. That nagging fear of losing his best friend kept haunting the consulting detective to the point he occasionally found himself having second thoughts about his decided course of action. He never talked himself out of it, however: he swore to tell John how he felt, and he was going to see it through no matter what.
He watched the people go by, either chatting with friends or making a quick stop in order to buy a coffee. It was strange, thought Sherlock, how he could be in such a public place and yet be absolutely invisible. Everyone went about their business and paid him no mind. The consulting detective enjoyed this odd sort of privacy.
He returned to the task at hand: he had to find a proper way to tell John how he felt. Sherlock did not want to make it a big thing, but he had no interest in simply blurting out his confession either. How was he to do this? Mrs Hudson had said that something of this kind needed love and affection, two things that Sherlock had zero knowledge on. His landlady had unfortunately been busy with the plumber finally fixing her kitchen sink to give any more advice so the consulting detective was very much on his own for the time being.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as he began to feel like he was being watched. Sherlock slowly turned his head and sprang out of his chair in shock, knocking it down, as he discovered Lestrade's face only inches from his own. The consulting detective pressed a hand to his heart and glared at the staring onlookers until they faced the other way. He turned back to Lestrade, who was watching him in amusement.
"Did I scare you?" the detective inspector asked lightly as the consulting detective picked up his chair.
"Shut up," Sherlock scoffed, taking his seat. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Your landlady thought you may need a little help in the romance department."
"So she sent you? She has a bizarre sense of humor."
"Very funny. I was married once, remember? I know how nerve-racking a confession of love can be."
"Oh God, she told you about that? I'll have to give her a lecture on discretion."
"She's just trying to help! And, clearly, you need it."
"How did you even find me?"
"Did you forget that your phone has a GPS? And I thought you were the genius."
"Very amusing, Lestrade. You are an absolute comedian."
"I do try. So, what do you need help with?"
"I do not remember requesting any type of assistance."
"You consulted Mrs Hudson, who's busy at the moment. You want help; you're just too damn proud to say so outright."
Sherlock glared at Lestrade but the detective inspector appeared unruffled. The consulting detective sighed exasperatedly and passed a hand through his hair. The detective inspector was not going to leave him alone regardless of what he said; that much was clear. Lestrade was determined to help and did not appear to care that Sherlock did not welcome it. But Sherlock knew that he didn't have much of a choice in the matter: it was either (grudgingly) accept the help or endure Lestrade's pestering until he did. Neither sounded appealing but he knew which would satisfy the detective inspector.
"Fine," Sherlock growled. "If it'll get you to stop badgering me, help me."
"Excellent." Lestrade rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "What have you gotten so far?"
"Absolutely nothing."
"That doesn't surprise me. Don't look at me like that; you're practically useless when it comes to this."
"I know you speak the truth, Lestrade, but can you be a little less abrupt?"
"Would you rather have me lie and beat around the bush?"
"You know I have zero tolerance for either."
"Then don't complain and let me speak as honestly as possible. You know the only way we're going to get anywhere is by identifying the problem before coming up with the solution."
"Fine. You may proceed."
"Thank you," Lestrade said, nodding in satisfaction. "Now, when you're confessing your love to someone, you have to do it in a nice, gentle manner. It makes the whole thing more special, memorable, and better received."
"Nice and gentle have never been strong qualities of mine, Lestrade. You and everyone else know that quite well," Sherlock reminded him.
"Don't worry; we'll practice on that later, which should be an interesting experience on its own."
Sherlock glared at the detective inspector, who was chuckling quietly. Lestrade was enjoying himself far too much; that much was obvious. There was no need to be so amused at the fact that the consulting detective's abilities to be a kind and gentle soul were left to be desired. It wasn't that he was unable to be that way: he just completely didn't know how.
"Stop giving me the evil eye, will you? I know you're capable of being much nicer than your usual self. You just need to use it a little bit more often. The more you do, the better you'll get at it," Lestrade stated mildly.
"Somehow, I am not reassured."
"Like I said, we'll work on it, and we'll have Mrs Hudson pitch in as well. I think she'd murder us both if we don't include her somewhere in here."
"She's very enthusiastic about this."
"And she has every right to be. Just like her, I think you've made the right choice to tell John how you feel."
"Why does everyone seem to ignore the fact that I'm taking a big risk here? I could end up losing my friend!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"You've always been a risk taker. Sherlock, did you ever stop to think that maybe there's a reason as to why we're so eager for you to do this? Besides, John would never walk away from you. Not unless he absolutely has to. I mean, look at all the time you've spent together, and I'd say you've spent about ninety percent of that time driving him mad. It could be more but it's just an estimation. But he stuck around, didn't he? I can tell you right now that not many people would have tolerated you for this long."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You think that I am not aware of that, Lestrade?" he asked. "I've been rejected all my life because people like Anderson and Donovan believe me to be, as they say, a 'freak'. I know I am intolerable for the most part."
"They also think you're a psychopath," Lestrade replied helpfully. "I know, I know," he added, holding his hand up as Sherlock opened his mouth to argue. "You're a high-functioning sociopath. I did my research."
The consulting detective gave an curt nod and motioned the detective inspector to continue.
"You're letting me go on? Excellent. I think we should get together with Mrs Hudson and have you practice confessing your feelings. I can think of a place we can go where we won't be disturbed."
"Why not Baker Street? Mrs Hudson and I live under the same roof and you can call on us when John is at work."
"You do realize that we would be risking having John walk in on us, even while he's at work? What if he has to come back to your flat for something? Or leave the office early? No, 221B won't do. I'll find a place and text you the location, date and time of the meeting and you can pass on the information to your landlady."
"Just one meeting, Lestrade?"
"Probably more like fifty." Lestrade chuckled at his own remark as Sherlock sighed in exasperation. "I'm kidding. It'll be most likely just a few. If we work really hard and have your cooperation, I'm sure we can have you ready in no time."
"Great," Sherlock said, not looking forward to this in the least. "And when I do tell John how I feel, if I find you and Mrs Hudson eavesdropping in any way, I will very much make sure you regret it."
"Really, Sherlock? Do you truly think we'd intrude on something so personal?" Lestrade asked, sounding offended.
"I acknowledge that you are not my brother but one cannot be too careful."
"I suppose that's true… Anyway, so we're in agreement? Mrs Hudson and I will tutor you and have you practice what you're going to say to John and how you'll say."
"Yes, yes. I grudgingly accept this."
"Well, a grudging acceptance is better than none, I guess." Lestrade sighed and stood up. "All right. I'll text you when I've got everything sorted, so expect to hear from me later this afternoon."
"I'm so looking forward to your message."
"Stop sulking. We're doing this to help you. Anyway, I've got to get going and head for Scotland Yard. I'll see you soon and say hello to Mrs Hudson for me."
"Fine, I will," Sherlock replied stiffly as Lestrade made his exit. The consulting detective sighed heavily. Being stuck for hours with Lestrade and Mrs Hudson trying to show him the proper way to confess one's love for someone was going to be a slow torture. He prayed that he will not die of boredom before he received the chance to tell John how he felt during this so-called 'tutoring'. Unfortunately, he did not have much hope in that.