Anote: This sketch came out a little sadder than I intended.
Chapter 7-
With his knife and fork at the ready, Sherlock looked down at the cloth napkin draped on his lap before glancing across at John who was sitting next to him, similarly poised. He had been informed that they had their dinner here infront the television off trays, instead of at the kitchen table which was usually in an unhygienic disarray.
'And Mrs Hudson is our housekeeper?' Sherlock inquired.
John snorted quietly in amusement, 'Technically she's our landlady, but she has a big soft spot for you. Every time she does a roast, she calls in the morning and lets us know she has extra. Roast is your favourite.'
Sherlock nodded in understanding, excited to meet someone else who was friendly to him, and one that liked to cook too! He had been getting hungry while John was showering, and was of course dismayed to find that they didn't have anything to eat in their cupboards.
'Is your girl coming, tonight? I don't think you said her name,' Sherlock said graciously, feeling in a charitable mood at the prospect of a hot roast on its way to his empty plate, 'Should we get another tray?'
'What girl?'
'The one you mentioned before. The one that almost got skewed with the spear.'
John relaxed. 'Her name is Sarah. No, we are not dating anymore.'
In the ensuing silence the doctor refocused his mind, trying to figure out the best way to broach this topic of Sherlock's memory loss with Mrs Hudson. Would a head on approach be best?
'So...,' Sherlock glanced around in almost his old familiar way as though deducing, 'do we have girlfriends? I am thinking not, as this flat is not by any standard inviting to the females.'
John put down his cutlery slowly unsure as to what to say. His friend Sherlock, couldn't give two straws about attachments that distracted from the Work.
'You're right. We're die-hard bachelors,' John decided to say, 'but you have your share of "admirers".'
Sherlock waved his fork inviting him to continue. He scowled when John just sat there and twiddled his thumbs in a foolish manner.
'Why have I not asked anyone out on a date?!'' he snapped in irritation, 'Am I shy? I don't feel shy!'
John restrained himself from rolling his eyes. 'No, you don't have a problem making yourself heard. You...you are more guarded where it comes to matters of the heart.'
The doctor felt congratulations were in order.
He didn't know where that burst of inspiration came from but it was an epic relief when Sherlock subsided, and no longer looked that interested in this topic. Even now John could feel that pain in his chest when he thought of, "The Woman". Sherlock could usually take care of himself but John had never been so worried for his friend in all his days, until they had first meet Ms. Irene Adler.
'A woman hurt me,' Sherlock blurted out so suddenly that John jumped. Open mouthed, he stared as the detective looked across at him expectantly for confirmation.
'I don't want to talk about this!' John fired off without thinking.
Sherlock nodded to himself. John had been hurt too, probably dragged reluctantly into the cross fire as the best friend. Had he gone against John's good advice? It was likely, judging from the deep crease in between the doctor's eyebrows.
'Are there any of my "admirers" who you do wish to talk about?' he asked in a more subdued way.
John picked up his cutlery again. 'Sherlock, don't worry about that now. Although...'
The detective perked up as John pointed a fork at him to get his undivided attention.
'...when we run into a young woman named Molly, even in your state its going to be obvious that she has a massive crush on you. Speak to her nicely.'
Sherlock frowned.
Speak to her nicely? What did that mean?
'What do you think of her?' Sherlock said archly, trying to wheedle more information out of his flatmate who was again staring distractedly at the door of the flat.
'We don't know each other well,' John admitted, 'but you two have been mates for years. You have a shared passion for forensic science. Molly is quiet, and I always thought of her as a bit of a mouse actually, but if anyone says a word against you, look out! She is ready to morph into an angry bear!'
John gave him a lopsided grin of reassurance and turned to stare at the door again, as if this would make Mrs. Hudson appear faster. If he hadn't done so, he might have noticed the downcast expression on his friend's face. In Sherlock's head his past choices, where he ignored and pushed away a loyal, loving friend like Molly in favour of someone who had hurt him, was a direct reflection of his character; one that was beginning to look poorer by the minute.
Of course there could be some reasonable explanation, but maybe the reason he was taking so long to regain his memory was because deep down, he didn't want to.